Category: Writing

Via Kevan comes a 1978 speech by Philip K. Dick about science fiction, solipsism, Gnosticism and Disneyland that everybody else has probably read before. Regardless, it offered me the best answer to the question “why write?” I’ve ever encountered:

“What if our universe started out as not quite real, a sort of illusion, as the Hindu religion teaches, and God, out of love and kindness for us, is slowly transmuting it, slowly and secretly, into something real?”

Okay, let’s be men for a minute. 101 words isn’t much of a challenge anymore. I’ve been cramming stuff into that space for almost two and a half years and, like a man who plays Tetris every day, I pretty much know what is going to fit where.

I don’t want to change that constraint on Anacrusis because, while challenge is an important part of a constraint, it’s not the only part. It’s an easy selling point; it’s a convenient finish line on days when I’ve got very little material. Besides, I like the form and I’m not done playing with it. But the fact remains that as a device, the word limit has lost much of its ability to stir up ideas.

So. Something new, with occasional interruptions, starting today.

Sumana asked the other night whether there was any depth to which I wouldn’t sink for a story idea. I have discovered that there is. I just can’t try to pawn this off as fiction.

C O R Y

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PALO ALTO, CA — Researchers at Stanford University have announced that the hole in Earth’s ozone layer is rapidly being filled by another stratum of the atmosphere.

“We’ve done spectroscopic analysis,” said Doctor Cory Wonkette-Searls on Thursday, “and Dooce Gaiman at Washington State has obtained confirming results. The replacement gas is coming from the blogosphere.”

“I wouldn’t want to be in Antarctica right now,” he added. “Wheeoo.”

The ozone layer absorbs ultraviolet radiation, and has been depleted by chlorofluorocarbon pollution. The blogosphere, composed of superheated air and self-absorbed methane, is separated from life on Earth by several orders of magnitude.

Unstoppable David Clark has retained me to edit his longest (I think) play. It’s like Heaven, except there are some assholes in Heaven, but it’s cool, I’ve got a gun.

My family is a shotgun shell

My sister has landed by now, I think. Mom and Kyle and I saw her off at the airport yesterday evening, carrying her life in four bags bigger than herself. Caitlan is a packrat. She is also a genius. She’s going to have a degree from Oxford and I could not be more jealous or more proud.

Today is my brother’s birthday, and he is alone in Los Angeles, sans roommate, sans internets. Happy birthday, Ian. I’ll call you later and tell you that you should go to a bar and let drop that you’re alone on your birthday on your first week in California. If you can’t wring some makeouts out of that, you’re just not trying.

The Central Ethos of Harry Potter

I’m not sure what Fantine was going to say, but here’s my overanalysis: the central ethos of Harry Potter–that one should trust children to be competent, but shield them from the consequences of failure; that a parent should protect them from harm, but never information–is a highly political one. It’s also already stated in about a jillion other YA books, but when was the last time it was distributed on such a scale? When was the last time it was internalized so widely, so willingly, outside the classroom, by children and adults?

It’s at that question that I start to wonder what the book-burning groups are really out to fight.