Tag: literature

literature

Six Word Stories

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33 writers. 5 designers. 6-word science fiction.
We’ll be brief: Hemingway once wrote a story in just six words (“For sale: baby shoes, never worn.”) and is said to have called it his best work. I myself have been writing poetry for years and believe that one of my shortest poems is probably my best. Along these lines, Wired Magazine asked sci-fi, fantasy, and horror writers from the realms of books, TV, movies, and games to take a shot themselves (this was back in 2006 – I wrote a draft of this post then and never got around to publishing it). While Arthur C. Clarke refused to trim his (“God said, ‘Cancel Program GENESIS.’ The universe ceased to exist.”), the rest are concise masterpieces.
After the jump, feel free to read the rest. I’ll keep you in suspense about my own poem until next week when I post it.
Failed SAT. Lost scholarship. Invented rocket.
– William Shatner
Computer, did we bring batteries? Computer?
– Eileen Gunn
Vacuum collision. Orbits diverge. Farewell, love.
– David Brin
Gown removed carelessly. Head, less so.
– Joss Whedon
Automobile warranty expires. So does engine.
– Stan Lee
Machine. Unexpectedly, I’d invented a time
– Alan Moore
Longed for him. Got him. Shit.
– Margaret Atwood
His penis snapped off; he’s pregnant!
– Rudy Rucker
From torched skyscrapers, men grew wings.
– Gregory Maguire
Internet “wakes up?” Ridicu -no carrier.
– Charles Stross
With bloody hands, I say good-bye.
– Frank Miller
Wasted day. Wasted life. Dessert, please.
– Steven Meretzky
“Cellar?” “Gate to, uh … hell, actually.”
– Ronald D. Moore
Epitaph: Foolish humans, never escaped Earth.
– Vernor Vinge
It cost too much, staying human.
– Bruce Sterling
We kissed. She melted. Mop please!
– James Patrick Kelly
It’s behind you! Hurry before it
– Rockne S. O’Bannon
I’m your future, child. Don’t cry.
– Stephen Baxter
1940: Young Hitler! Such a cantor!
– Michael Moorcock
Lie detector eyeglasses perfected: Civilization collapses.
– Richard Powers
I’m dead. I’ve missed you. Kiss … ?
– Neil Gaiman
The baby’s blood type? Human, mostly.
– Orson Scott Card
Kirby had never eaten toes before.
– Kevin Smith
Rained, rained, rained, and never stopped.
– Howard Waldrop
To save humankind he died again.
– Ben Bova
We went solar; sun went nova.
– Ken MacLeod
Husband, transgenic mistress; wife: “You cow!”
– Paul Di Filippo
“I couldn’t believe she’d shoot me.”
– Howard Chaykin
Don’t marry her. Buy a house.
– Stephen R. Donaldson
Broken heart, 45, WLTM disabled man.
– Mark Millar
TIME MACHINE REACHES FUTURE!!! … nobody there …
– Harry Harrison
Tick tock tick tock tick tick.
– Neal Stephenson
Easy. Just touch the match to
– Ursula K. Le Guin
Special Web-only edition: We were unable to include these 59 stories in the print magazine.
New genes demand expression — third eye.
– Greg Bear
K.I.A. Baghdad, Aged 18 – Closed Casket
– Richard K. Morgan
WORLD’S END. Sic transit gloria Monday.
– Gregory Benford
Epitaph: He shouldn’t have fed it.
– Brian Herbert
Batman Sues Batsignal: Demands Trademark Royalties.
– Cory Doctorow
Heaven falls. Details at eleven.
– Robert Jordan
Bush told the truth. Hell froze.
– William Gibson
whorl. Help! I’m caught in a time
– Darren Aronofsky and Ari Handel
Nevertheless, he tried a third time.
– James P. Blaylock
God to Earth: “Cry more, noobs!”
– Marc Laidlaw
Help! Trapped in a text adventure!
– Marc Laidlaw
Thought I was right. I wasn’t.
– Graeme Gibson
Lost, then found. Too bad.
– Graeme Gibson
Three to Iraq. One came back.
– Graeme Gibson
Rapture postponed. Ark demanded! Which one?
– David Brin
Dinosaurs return. Want their oil back.
– David Brin
Bang postponed. Not Big enough. Reboot.
– David Brin
Temporal recursion. I’m dad and mom?
– David Brin
Time Avenger’s mistaken! It wasn’t me…
– David Brin
Democracy postponed. Whence franchise? Ask Diebold…
– David Brin
Cyborg seeks egg donor, object ___.
– David Brin
Deadline postponed. Five words enough…?
– David Brin
Metrosexuals notwithstanding, quiche still lacks something.
– David Brin
Brevity’s virtue? Wired saves adspace. Subscribe!
– David Brin
Death postponed. Metastasized cells got organized.
– David Brin
Microsoft gave us Word. Fiat lux?
– David Brin
Mind of its own. Damn lawnmower.
– David Brin
Singularity postponed. Datum missing. Query Godoogle?
– David Brin
Please, this is everything, I swear.
– Orson Scott Card
I saw, darling, but do lie.
– Orson Scott Card
Osama’s time machine: President Gore concerned.
– Charles Stross
Sum of all fears: AND patented.
– Charles Stross
Ships fire; princess weeps, between stars.
– Charles Stross
Mozilla devastates Redmond, Google’s nuke implicated.
– Charles Stross
Will this do (lazy writer asked)?
– Ken MacLeod
Cryonics: Disney thawed. Mickey gnawed. Omigawd.
– Eileen Gunn
WIRED stimulates the planet: Utopia blossoms!
– Paul Di Filippo
Clones demand rights: second Emancipation Proclamation.
– Paul Di Filippo
MUD avatars rebel: virtual Independence Day.
– Paul Di Filippo
We crossed the border; they killed us.
– Howard Waldrop
H-bombs dropped; we all died.
– Howard Waldrop
Your house is mine: soft revolution.
– Howard Waldrop
Warskiing; log; prop in face.
– Howard Waldrop
The Axis in WWII: haiku! Gesundheit.
– Howard Waldrop
Salinger story: three koans in fountain.
– Howard Waldrop
Finally, he had no more words.
– Gregory Maguire
There were only six words left.
– Gregory Maguire
In the beginning was the word.
– Gregory Maguire
Commas, see, add, like, nada, okay?
– Gregory Maguire
Weeping, Bush misheard Cheney’s deathbed advice.
– Gregory Maguire
Corpse parts missing. Doctor buys yacht.
– Margaret Atwood
Starlet sex scandal. Giant squid involved.
– Margaret Atwood
He read his obituary with confusion.
– Steven Meretzky
Time traveler’s thought: “What’s the password?”
– Steven Meretzky
I win lottery. Sun goes nova.
– Steven Meretzky
Steve ignores editor’s word limit and
– Steven Meretzky
Leia: “Baby’s yours.” Luke: “Bad news…”
– Steven Meretzky
Parallel universe. Bush, destitute, joins army.
– Steven Meretzky
Dorothy: “Fuck it, I’ll stay here.”
– Steven Meretzky

ramblings

And the Pursuit of Happiness

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Maira Kalman has a blog hosted on the NY Times site called “And the Pursuit of Happiness” which is phenomenal. She is an illustrator, author and designer and the blog, which is a mix of content and illustration, is about American democracy. A new post appears on the last Friday of each month and after reading this month’s post about Ben Franklin I then read the June Thomas Jefferson post and now I am hooked – thus me posting about it.
Both of these posts really struck me because both of these men were so very productive in their lives and I feel often, and by often I mean on an almost daily if not more than once a day basis, that I simply waste days. While I may have fun each day, its not often that when I put my head to the pillow I am proud of what I accomplished that day. As each day brings me a touch closer to my own demise, and with a third of my life probably behind me (and possibly more depending on when my time is up), my tangible accomplishments are nothing when compared to these two giants. Sure, it’s stiff competition but I’m not going to compare myself to Dave from Yonkers. I’m going to compare myself to the best.
Kalman says that Franklin “was a genius, one of the great inventors of this country.” She goes on to say “I don’t think he was ever bored. He saw a dirty street and created a sanitation department. He saw a house on fire and created a fire department. He saw sick people and founded a hospital. He started our first lending library. He saw people needing an education and founded a university. He started the American Philosophical Society, where men and women shared developments in science. And then, by the way, he helped create and run the country.” And so on and so forth – if you want to learn more, read the post.
Moving backwards from July to June, Kalman says that Jefferson “was a scientist, philosopher, statesman, architect, musician, naturalist, zoologist, botanist, farmer, bibliophile, inventor, wine connoisseur, mathematician and and…he was the governor of Virginia, Secretary of State, Minister to the Court of Louis XVI, Vice President and then President of the United States, initiator of the Louisiana Purchase and its exploration by Lewis and Clark.” Again, its a “and so on and so forth” situation here because he did a lot more as well. If you want to learn more, read the post.
The part of the Jefferson post that struck me the most was at the very end, when Kalman talks about how when Thomas’s wife of 10 years Martha lay dying, “he never left her side and copied out their favorite passage in the novel Tristram Shandy. First in her hand. Then in his.”
The passage they copied together sums up how I feel, especially now that I’m closely watching my daughter grow up. First she learned how to roll over, then to crawl, then to walk and now is learning how to talk. The mystery of life is confoundedly amazing and it’s fast. Without further ado, here is the quote:

Time wastes too fast: every letter trace tells me with what rapidity life follows my pen. The days and hours of it are flying over our heads like clouds of windy day, never to return – more every thing presses on – and every time I kiss thy hand to bid adieu, every absence which follow it, are preludes to that eternal separation which we are shortly to make!

Not my usual cherry and funny “Happy Friday!” type post but thought provoking and therefore worth sharing nonetheless. Have a great weekend – make it count!

literature

Happy Birthday Theodor Geisel

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If you aren’t familiar with Theo Geisel, maybe you know him as Dr. Seuss. I am reading plenty of Seuss books these days and flat out love his rhyme scheme. If I could walk around all day talking like either Yoda or Dr. Seuss, I think I would choose Dr. Seuss.
Today was his birthday so to honor this auspicious date, Google remade its logo Seuss-style:
seuss_google.jpg
Even though he passed away in 1991, I have a feeling that his legacy will live on for a long, long, long time.
Via Phyll

literature

Telephone Poles

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I never read John Updike until after he passed away and started to because numerous media outlets wrote lengthy tomes about his genius. “If I am a writer and a serious student of literature, I must read him” I thought.
One thing consistently stood out in all the obits / reviews: he wrote flowing, lovely, dense descriptions based on the idea that a flower is simply beautiful and there need not be any hidden meaning present when describing its loveliness. Does one always need to read into things? A rose is a rose is a rose, right? Up until now, I only knew that he and I shared the same birthday and that his four most popular books had Rabbit in the title (always helpful during Jeopardy). As I’ve always struggled with attaching meaning to the super cute descriptions that I develop I thought, here’s an author for me!
The New Yorker (where he got his start and which he contributed to steadily for his entire literary career) posted a number of his “Talk of the Town” pieces, poems and snippets of fiction and essays which really gave me a good introduction to his oeuvre.
When reading his material, one poem in particular (which originally appeared in the January 21, 1961 edition) really stood out. Therefore, I’ve posted it below for hopefully others to enjoy.
Telephone Poles
They have been with us a long time.
They will outlast the elms.
Our eyes, like the eyes of a savage sieving the trees
In his search for game,
Run through them. They blend along small-town streets
Like a race of giants that have faded into mere mythology.
Our eyes, washing clean of belief,
Lift incredulous to their fearsome crowns of bolts, trusses, struts, nuts, insulators, and such
Barnacles as compose
These weathered encrustations of electrical debris –
Each a Gorgon’s head, which, seized right,
Could stun us to stone.
Yet they are ours. We made them.
See here, where the cleats of linemen
Have roughed a second bark
Onto the bald trunk. And these spikes
Have been driven sideways at intervals handy for human legs.
The Nature of our construction is in every way
A better fit than the Nature it displaces.
What other tree can you climb where the birds’ twitter
‘Unscrambled, is English? True, their thing share id negligible,
But then again there is not that tragic autumnal
Casting-off of leaves to outface annually.
These giants are more constant than evergreens
By never being green.

politics

Praise Song for the Day

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I was very impressed by the poem “Praise Song for the Day” that was written and read by Elizabeth Alexander at the Inauguration, though I was surprised that the current Poet Laureate Kay Ryan did not perform this job.
The poem was straight forward and profound at the same time, something that is often difficult to achieve in poetry, and I looked all day for the text of this beautifully simple poem. I liked how it described the every day and especially the stanza which reads, “We encounter each other in words, words spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed; words to consider, reconsider.” That is what I do with this blog – meet you with my words, sometimes taken from others, sometimes written by myself. We lurch along this life, moving from one moment to the next, never realizing except in extreme circumstances what is routine and what is exceptional.
Thanks to the Grey Lady and CQ transcriptions, below is a transcript of the inaugural poem. If you missed it the first time or couldn’t wait to read it again, enjoy.
“Praise Song for the Day”
Each day we go about our business, walking past each other, catching each others’ eyes or not, about to speak or speaking. All about us is noise. All about us is noise and bramble, thorn and din, each one of our ancestors on our tongues. Someone is stitching up a hem, darning a hole in a uniform, patching a tire, repairing the things in need of repair.
Someone is trying to make music somewhere with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.
A woman and her son wait for the bus.
A farmer considers the changing sky; A teacher says, “Take out your pencils. Begin.”
We encounter each other in words, words spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed; words to consider, reconsider.
We cross dirt roads and highways that mark the will of someone and then others who said, “I need to see what’s on the other side; I know there’s something better down the road.”
We need to find a place where we are safe; We walk into that which we cannot yet see.
Say it plain, that many have died for this day. Sing the names of the dead who brought us here, who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges, picked the cotton and the lettuce, built brick by brick the glittering edifices they would then keep clean and work inside of.
Praise song for struggle; praise song for the day. Praise song for every hand-lettered sign; The figuring it out at kitchen tables.
Some live by “Love thy neighbor as thy self.”
Others by first do no harm, or take no more than you need.
What if the mightiest word is love, love beyond marital, filial, national. Love that casts a widening pool of light. Love with no need to preempt grievance.
In today’s sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun.
On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp — praise song for walking forward in that light.

literature

David Foster Wallace, Dies at 46

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Sadly, I learned from of all places a friend’s Facebook status that one of my favorite authors, David Foster Wallace, died at age of 46 of an apparent suicide this past weekend.
The NYT obit on DFW is a well written, well researched piece on the author. As they put it, he wrote “prodigiously observant, exuberantly plotted, grammatically and etymologically challenging, philosophically probing and culturally hyper-contemporary novels, stories and essays.” That is quite a mouthful but I couldn’t agree more.
Infinite Jest, the book that he is most well known for, is one of my all time favorite books. This is due in large part to the effort I expended and the difficulty I had in reading it coupled with the satisfaction I gained by finishing it. I would equate the experience with climbing an arduously steep and rugged mountain which at its apex gives way to the most extraordinary view imaginable. Other than The Silmarillion, which took me three attempts to read, I cannot recall a bigger literary challenge that I faced and won.
Not only was he a terrifically inventive novelist, he a great essayist (which is a dying – no pun intended – art) as well. When I went to the US Open for the first time last year to see Andy Roddick play Roger Federer, I brought DFW 6,000 plus word essay from 2006 titled Federer as Religious Experience with me to re-read on the train. Luckily the train ride took awhile because like all DFW pieces, it was dense, fun and damn good.
As Gawker notes, this terrible occurance was sort of preordained. In a 2005 speech at Kenyon College implied, he was not unfamiliar with the heft of existence:

[L]earning how to think really means learning how to exercise some control over how and what you think. It means being conscious and aware enough to choose what you pay attention to and to choose how you construct meaning from experience. Because if you cannot exercise this kind of choice in adult life, you will be totally hosed. Think of the old cliché about quote the mind being an excellent servant but a terrible master.
This, like many clichés, so lame and unexciting on the surface, actually expresses a great and terrible truth. It is not the least bit coincidental that adults who commit suicide with firearms almost always shoot themselves in the head. They shoot the terrible master. And the truth is that most of these suicides are actually dead long before they pull the trigger.

Thanks Dahlia for inspiring me to read Infinite Jest.
Goodbye David. The world just lost a brilliant mind.

literature

Anathem is Now At a Store Near You

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Neal Stephenson’s new novel Anathem is now in stores and I cannot wait to devour every one of its yummy 960 pages.
Back in August Wired wrote a great profile on Stephenson which I suggest you read. I learned quite a bit about him that I did not already know and found it quite interesting.
If you are thinking to yourself right now “Who is Neal Stephenson?” and/or you haven’t read any of his other books, like Snow Crash, Cryptonomicon or the three book Baroque Cycle, you are seriously missing out on some fantastic literature. Along with King and Gaiman, Stephenson is hands down my favorite living author. Please do not make me rank them. Please.
To get all sorts of fired up about Anathem, please watch the interview below. In it Neal talks about the themes that make up his new novel:

Last but not least, check out this blurb from Cryptonomicon that I posted back when I was just starting this blog.
Some via Neu

ramblings

Being Everywhere At Once

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I’m smack dab in the middle of The Painted Bird, a novel that many people read while in junior or senior high school (for me however it was never included on any class’s reading list).
One passage in particular jumped out at me and I thought I’d share it. It’s about one of my favorite subject – religion:

“The church always overwhelmed me. And yet it was one of the many houses of God scattered all over the world. God did not live in any of them, but it was assumed for some reason that He was present in all of them at once. He was like the unexpected guest for whom the wealthier farmers always kept an additional place at their table.” ~ Jerzy Kosinkski

The book is unique and a well done. I wish I read it years ago….

ramblings

My Holiday Haul

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Delightedly this past Saturday, the 4th day of Channukah, 5768, I was given gifts, which, upon further reflection after many minutes of glee, seem to be items one would attribute to a geeky 15 year old. I don’t even care – they are so friggen cool.
Star Wars: A Pop-Up Guide to the Galaxy is flat out ridiculous in its intricacies – please find a store and find this book. If you have to buy it to see inside, do it. You will not be disappointed. Another book I was given, The Sandman: Endless Nights by Neil Gaiman, is a great collection by one of the best authors out there and Super Mario Galaxy has been named “The greatest Nintendo platformer ever made.” Oh yeah, I also got an outdoor fleece perfect for running, skiing or dog walking and a really nice dinner out at a seafood place on Long Island (cue “The Downeaster Alexa”).
Yup, I’m a geek (among other things) but the people around me seem also to know me best. Thanks all. ‘Nuff said.

literature

Jonathan Selwood: Who he is and why I interviewed him

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Mr. Selwood is an author who I had the pleasure of interviewing via email after I read his debut novel The Pinball Theory of the Apocalypse. One Amazon review said, “In short, this isn’t just a satire: it’s a portrait of a world in constant flux” and I would tend to agree. His work is humorous and slightly bizarre. The book itself is a very quick read – it is under 200 pages and it features a mid-sized font and margins one could consider generous so you should be able to read it in a few trips to and from work on the subway. Maybe you’ll want to pick it up after you read the 10 questions that I asked him along with his answers:
JL: Since you are a male, did you find it difficult to write the novel considering it has a female protagonist and the story is told from her point of view?
JS: Oddly enough, no. At the time I started writing the book, all the artists I knew personally were women, so it just seemed natural to have a female protagonist. It wasn’t until after I finished the first draft that it even occurred to me that it’s considered odd for a man to write in the first person as a woman. But by then, it was too late.
JL: Why does Isabel’s father’s Pinball Theory of the Apocalypse play such a small role in the story considering it is the title of the book?
JS: It might only be referred to a few times in the novel, but I think it does play a big (if less obvious) role in showing the absurdity of thinking that art—or anything else, for that matter—can be “timeless.” Of course, for anyone who wants more, the whole theory is explained at his website, pinballapocalypse.com.
JL: What type of statement are you trying to make about modern society, especially as it relates to the arts and the artist?
JS: Basically, I’m trying to show that we’ve moved as a society way beyond the simple concept of “selling out.” How do you maintain your integrity as an artist in a world where everything has already been “sold?”
JL: How much of the book mirrors your ascent as a full-time artist, especially as it relates to the support Isabel’s family provides and the questions her father asks her and she asks herself?
JS: My parents have been very supportive of my choice to be a writer, but Isabel really isn’t my mirror. You can draw a few parallels, but the art world and the literary world are pretty distinct.
JL: If you were to describe your writing style, what three word term would you use? For instance, I have termed my friend’s paintings to be “Chunky Abstract Realism.”
JS: Lapsed Evangelical Absurdism.
JL: Are there future Isabel Raven novels planned? This one seemed to end abruptly and it wasn’t just due to the story’s length – she entered the gallery I could just hear the director somewhere yelling “scene.”
JS: With a Hollywood novel, there’s always room for a sequel (or even a prequel). Haven’t planned one yet, though.
JL: Having grown up in Southern California, are you looking forward to raising a family there?
JS: Right now I’m really loving Oregon, but I do tend to get footloose, so you never know. I had a lot of fun down there on my book tour.
JL: Turning our focus back East to your time in New York City, what do you most fondly remember about New York? What do you miss the most now that you live in Portland? What do you miss the least?
JS: I think the thing I loved the most about living in NYC was the energy. Whenever I felt creatively exhausted, I’d just walk around for an hour or so, and feel recharged. I miss that. I don’t miss the heat and malt liquor piss stench of a subway station in the summer.
JL: What are your future plans over the next five years? What projects are in the works? What other books / stories do you have on the way?
JS: I have another novel I’m working on, but I’m also working on some personal essays. I sorta switch back and forth depending on my mood. Every time I make a five year plan, it goes all to hell. Writing is not the most predictable profession.
JL: Since you are a writer, what would you like to be written as your epitaph?
JS: Good riddance to bad rubbish.