By GottaLaff
(click on image to enlarge)
is the apt title of a piece in today's
New York Times. Joe the Bamboozler and Scrambled Sarah have book deals. That's enough to make anyone's head explode, but Timothy Egan (thankfully subbing for MoDo today) tries to talk us down:
I have a question for Joe: Do you want me to fix your leaky toilet?
I didn’t think so. And I don’t want you writing books. Not when too many good novelists remain unpublished. Not when too many extraordinary histories remain unread. Not when too many riveting memoirs are kicked back at authors after 10 years of toil. Not when voices in Iran, North Korea or China struggle to get past a censor’s gate. [...]
With a résumé full of failure, he now thinks he can join the profession of Mark Twain, George Orwell and Joan Didion.
I'm not talked down yet. I'm not even talked sideways.
Next up may be Sarah Palin, who is said to be worth nearly $7 million if she can place her thoughts between covers. Publishers: with all the grim news of layoffs and staff cuts at the venerable houses of American letters, can we set some ground rules for these hard times? Anyone who abuses the English language on such a regular basis should not be paid to put words in print.
Here’s Palin’s response, after Matt Lauer asked her when she knew the election was lost:
“I had great faith that, you know, perhaps when that voter entered that voting booth and closed that curtain that what would kick in for them was, perhaps, a bold step that would have to be taken in casting a vote for us, but having to put a lot of faith in that commitment we tried to articulate that we were the true change agent that would progress this nation.”
I have no idea what she said in that thicket of words.
When I write my TPC posts, even when I'm rushed, I actually try to sound coherent, and nearly always try to make a point (I say nearly always, because sometimes I depend on others to do that for me). But Scrambled Sarah apparently hasn't gotten a handle on that, yet she's getting millions and I'm humbly requesting donations from you, our generous readers.
Writing is hard, even for the best wordsmiths. Ernest Hemingway said the most frightening thing he ever encountered was “a blank sheet of paper.” And Winston Churchill called the act of writing a book “a horrible, exhaustive struggle, like a long bout of painful illness.” [...]
The idea that someone who stumbled into a sound bite can be published, and charge $24.95 for said words, makes so many real writers think the world is unfair. [...]
For the others — you friends of celebrities penning cookbooks, you train wrecks just out of rehab, you politicians with an agent but no talent — stop soaking up precious advance money. I know: publishers say they print garbage so that real literature, which seldom makes any money, can find its way into print. True, to a point. But some of them print garbage so they can buy more garbage. [...]
I guess that’s why we have karaoke, for fantasy night. If only there was such a thing for failed plumbers, politicians or celebrities who think they can write.
And even some bloggers.
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