- J. Michael Straczynski quits writing monthly comics, declares future is in original graphic novels. Warren Ellis discusses some of the figures, the actual dollar amounts that might be driving Straczynski’s decision. Financially, it may be a smart decision. But Ellis also adds, not unkindly, the following question:
What I’m wondering is what happens the first time Joe writes an OGN that isn’t a new iteration of the biggest heritage brand in comics [Superman] with the concomitant press coverage and bookstore push.
It’s an interesting move on Straczynski’s part, and it will bear watching — both in reader reception of his future projects, and whether or not other monthly comics writers join him. But I think it’s too soon to call this a harbinger of things to come, no matter how troubled the monthly comic book might be as a format.
- A Canadian Jersey Shore? Can I nominate Red Green to play the role of Snooki?
- Attention, writers: whatever you do, do not sign a contract with this man. No, not John Scalzi, but that “prevaricating hustler” and “master of bullshit” James Frey, who Scalzi talks about further here. Seriously, there are some pretty terrible publishing contracts out there, vanity presses dressed up like real publishers or outright scams from which no book emerges, but this is still pretty egregious — and exactly the sort of thing MFA programs should be teaching their students how to avoid, not facilitating by offering those students up as Frey’s misguided recruits. [via]
- A typographic anatomy lesson [via]
- And finally, a haunting tour of the abandoned — and soon to be demolished — Six Flags New Orleans [via]
publishing
Tuesday various
- Peter Sagal on the difference between an opinion and a bias:
A bias doesn’t mean that you think that what a certain candidate says is idiotic; a bias means that not matter what he says, you’ll attack him. Or, if it’s a bias in favor of him, no matter what he says, you’ll forgive him, or simply choose not to draw attention to what doesn’t make him look good. You know your opinion after you read the day’s paper; you know your bias before you open it.
- Maybe it’s just me, but I bathe every day. [via]
- In case you were wondering: what happened to the Doctor Who companions?
- Original estimates of the untapped oil reserves in Alaska only off by…oh…about ninety percent [via]
- Amal El-Mohtar on a steampunk without steam:
I submit that the insistence on Victoriana in steampunk is akin to insisting on castles and European dragons in fantasy: limiting, and rather missing the point. It confuses cause and consequence, since it is fantasy that shapes the dragon, not the dragon that shapes the fantasy. I want the cogs and copper to be acknowledged as products, not producers, of steampunk, and to unpack all the possibilities within it.
I think I like the idea of calling this subgenre “retrofuturism,” with steampunk just one sub-subgenre of that. While, of course, differentiating the whole thing from alternate history, since that posits a specific branching point, a moment in history — the Nazis win, the South doesn’t lose, etc. — rather than an historical era. It’s only the ubiquity of steampunk that, to my mind, is the problem — insofar as this is a problem; it’s the fact that it chokes out other retrofuturistic viewpoints, necessitates a very specific and limiting aesthetic, keeps retrofutrism tethered (much like steampunk’s zeppelins) to specific countries, eras, worldviews.
If steampunk were just one type of story, rather than the all-consuming and defining aspect of retrofuturism, I think we’d be seeing less backlash against it.
Monday various
- Glenn Beck vs. Science Fiction [via]
- Gosh, if watching The Office means that I’m smug and think I’m better than other people, what does it mean that I think the show isn’t quite as good this season? Is that a double-reverse smugness?
- Publishing good: Apex Magazine’s Special Arab/Muslim Issue. The impetus for the issue can be found here.
- Publishing bad: Cooks Source claims Internet is all public domain, acts like big jerk.
- And finally, I give you: the birth of Kitty Pryde.
Zero history
So that was kind of an interesting day.
Still lots of work keeping me busy at the office, and a meeting we’d planned for tomorrow to discuss it got pushed to this afternoon. It’s good, though, in that what’s expected of me on this new project is a little clearer now, but the trickier elements still won’t be finished until December. Of course, the need to be finished by December. That’s the thing about textbooks: because of adoption cycles, when professors are picking the books for their classes (or having them picked for them), you actually have a pretty limited window of when you can publish. If you miss the fall adoption cycle, for instance, you might be better off just waiting another six months and trying for the spring. And that’s kind of tough to do, when you also have to time things up with manuscript delivery and a six-to-seven-month production schedule. This particular textbook represents brand new territory for us in a lot of ways, production-wise, so it’s going to be an interesting learning experience.
Hopefully also a relatively painless one.
I ran an errand at lunchtime that took me a little further uptown, closer to Broadway, so I decided to stop in a place I haven’t been to since March and try the same sandwich I had then, a tempeh “Reuben.” It’s not much to look at, maybe. But, again, it was tastier than any miso mustard-glazed fermented soybean cake topped with avocado, ginger sauerkraut, and spicy Russian dressing on vegan 7-grain bread has any business being. If the sandwich was cheaper, and the place was closer…well, I still don’t think I’d eat it often. It’s not that tasty. But it’s weird and healthy enough that I don’t mind trying it every now and then.
Later, I took the subway downtown to meet me father for dinner around Union Square, near where he works. We ate at Pete’s Tavern, which is allegedly where O. Henry wrote many of his most famous short stories, though I’m afraid no ironic twist endings occurred to me as I ate my bacon cheeseburger. I was mostly just talking with my father and trying to figure out why my alma mater, Penn State, was on the silent but ESPN-displaying big-screen TV in the corner. (Apparently, this was going on, whatever it is.)
And then we split up, my father going home, and me going to the nearby Barnes & Noble bookstore for a reading and signing by William Gibson. That’s him up there at top. He read a chapter from his newest book, Zero History, and then opened up the floor to some actually quite interesting Q&A. (I always cringe a little at the Q parts, but nobody was too awkward or overly fawning to be painful to watch.) I really liked when he talked about using the tools of science fiction to investigate the present, which is really the only thing he’s ever done, he said, and about how science fiction is usually pretty lousy at prediction. A smart young reader would look at Neuromancer today, he said, and in twenty pages have figured out the central mystery: where did all the cell phones go?
After the talk, he signed books for awhile — and believe me, some people asked him to sign a lot of books. Then I got the subway to Penn Station and got a train home. On which I had the lovely coda to my day of watching some guy stumble around, presumably drunk but possibly sick, and throw up a little in the corner of the car. I don’t know if that, or the jackass filming him on his iPhone, was more annoying.
At least I got a lot of reading done.
And now, I think, I shall go to bed.