It might appear that the memoir has been tarnished by association with all those lying autobiographies, most often written by ghosts and published in the name of celebrities barely out of Pampers. What Makes A Good Memoir
“How would a woman feel if she were hammering a guy on the head with a briefcase full of money?” (via Conversational Reading First-Time Novelist Constantly Asking Wife What It’s Like To Be a Woman
8. Walking through the cloud of smoke emitted by the Lung Cancer crowd gathered around the tiny ashcan just outside the lobby door. If one of them is gesturing, add dodging a cigarette burn. Left Behind
Myth No. 3: All critics are frustrated writers. It might be more accurate to say that all writers are frustrated writers. J.K. Rowling critic would be dead if recent e-mails were really fire-breathing dragons
But there is no crying in publishing, except when I realized I couldn’t e-mail anyone anything because I kept getting AOL’s Failure to Connect reasons 63-AYCX or 73-CHOM. The Zoo*: Week Three
[Note: the source is the husband, overheard during one of his rare moments outside of headquarters] The kids have been reading non-stop since they got it. They kept going until they were delirious. They stayed up, reading, until the words didn’t make any sense. They went to sleep, and when they got up, they started reading again. They’re delirious.
Muldoon’s husband said the family would return the book to the publisher, though his stepson, Sylum Mastropaolo, admitted reading about two pages. N.Y. store accidentally sells new Harry Potter book
If heterosexual romance novels are called bodice rippers, what’s a gay romance novel? A tight-tank-top tearer? Isn’t it Romentic?: South End couple pens new chapter in gay literature
In an effort to walk back the cat – young people are listening to iPods, therefore media should be reiterated in a form that they both use and enjoy – big media is taking a stab at the next big thing. Much of it is awkward and some of it is downright dumb. Big Media Wants a Piece Of Your Pod
I count myself as guilty as the next guy when it comes to ignoring the details of my literary ancestors’ lives, but in my romantic, sepia-toned fantasies of the past, all writers had to do was string lovely sentences together. Then again, when I consider the ones with staying power, most of them had something that would please a publicist. Hemingway was impossibly masculine, rugged, and outdoorsy; London photographed like a sad-eyed movie star; and Sylvia Plath was out of her mind. I’m mildly cheered by the idea that all Dorothy Parker and her cohorts had to do was drink
