I’ve been talking with some savvy online folks about bringing my out of print books back into “print” electronically. And bringing out TFAOAFGND as an ebook or app. Which got me to thinking about why any author would want to have an old dead-tree type publisher (ODTTP) (not naming names here) buy the e-rights to a book and publish what would essentially be a pdf of said book.
First thing is what appears to me that most ODTTPs have their heads so far up the back end function of their digestive systems that they can’t see past their teeth. I’d like to be wrong on that.
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Flavorwire has a great piece on the 10 onlne lit mags you — the thinking reader — ought to be reading.
Although plenty of established print journals have now fostered an online presence, this new generation of internet-centric periodicals has taken hold of the malleable platform (and the absence of print and distribution costs) to further the creative community.
This is where the future lies, folks. Take a look.
“The Sun From Under Water” is an excerpt from my novel, The Final Appearance of America’s Favorite Girl Next Door (aka, TFAOAFGND), and appears in Arts & Letters today. Get a copy.
I’m thinking of starting up a new sort-of-charity, the sole beneficiary of which would be me. I’m calling it Habitat for Steve. Here’s how it would work: You (whoever you are) would donate time and money to me for cleaning up my yard, building new stuff, and generally helping me out around the house. You couldn’t write this off, but you would have nice warm-and-fuzzies and the genuine sense of accomplishment that would come from helping Steve out.
Habitat for Steve has nothing to do whatsoever with Habitat for Humanity, which is a fine organization. Supporting Habitat for Steve would not prevent or preclude you in any way from supporting Habitat for Humanity, which is not only fine, but pretty cool, too.
The other night a friend and I were upstairs at my house looking at possible solutions for my odd closet situation. I have an old Cape Cod sort of house and a previous owner kicked up the roof in the back, but the front still has the dormers and seriously angled roof. In the front, I have closets that are sort of hard to use and we were talking about what I could tear apart and redo.
We were walking down the stairs when there was a clunk in the living room. I said, “What was that?” Trusted advisor said, “I don’t know.”
It was about 9 P.M. Turned out it was the mail. That is, the USPS-type mail, being delivered around 9 at night.
We were standing near the door (it has a mail slot) talking about how weird it was that the mail was so late. Trusted sensiblist was in the middle of a sentence when something else pokes through the slot. I headed for the door and went outside.
The carrier explained that my mail had been late for the last several weeks (i.e., no earlier than 6:30 P.M., but rarely that early) because the route that my house used to be on had been eliminated, and folded into another. It was at the beginning of the first route. Now it’s at the end.
The route elimination decision had not been made at the local level, but at some other, higher bureaucratic level.
I asked the guy if he got overtime. He said that, yes, they all got overtime. Okay, I get it that the USPS needs to cut costs. Must cut costs. But eliminating routes and then paying overtime seems stupid.
Tell me that I’m wrong.
Arts & Letters 24, which comes out of the Georgia College, has a story of mine, which is a piece of The Final Appearance of America’s Favorite Girl Next Door. Check it out. Buy a copy.
The issue officially launches November 8.
And while your at it, get yourself some DFW.