Trying desperately to finish the first six Harry Potter books before Saturday I have neglected posting some interesting links and information. Since it appears I will fail to finish the books anyway, I might as well clear out my email and share these links.
– Writers will want to be sure to check out the The Warren Adler Short Story Contest . The 2007 Contest Theme is New York City
Born-and-bred, out-of-towner, tourist for a day, or just longing and dreaming to visit, you’ve got a story about New York, some moment or snapshot you feel evokes this mad, exciting city and the fascinating people at its core.
Maybe you’ve already written it and have it buried deep in your desk drawer or in the bowels of your hard drive. Or maybe it’s still bouncing around your head, waiting for that chance bolt to strike you.
Try telling it in no more than 2,500 words and you might share it with the world.
– In conjunction with the release of (Not that You Asked): Rants, Exploits, and Obsessions Steve Almond is also having a contest:
In Steve Almond’s latest book, (Not that You Asked), Almond shares his rants, exploits, and obsessions about everything from why he hates Oprah’s Book Club to why he loves Vonnegut to what he thinks about being a first-time dad (whether you asked for it or not). Now, we are asking you for your own rants, exploits, and obsessions!
For more info on the contest see the unofficial rules for instructions and the official rules for the technicalities.
Here is how Steve describes how the book came together:
Seeing as how the format of Not That You Asked is somewhat unique in structure, how did the book itself and the content within evolve?
SA: By “unique in structure†I take it you mean “complete mess.†The book began life as a proposed biography of Kurt Vonnegut, whom I’d worshipped during high school and college. It was my Corporate Masters at Random House who suggested a book of essays. I was immediately suspicious, fearful that I’d be sent off to Toledo and told to write about the Amazing Bearded Fat Lady at the State Fair. (I have enough Bearded Fat Ladies in my life as it is.) So I told these Corporate Masters, I says to them: “Listen, I’m not really an essayist. I’m more a writer of depressing, pornographic short stories. Are you sure you want to me do this?†And they said, “Yes.†And I said, “I only write essays about the stuff that obsesses me.†And they said, “Fine.†And I said, “Okay, look. I want to believe you. But I’m a pathetic, anxiety ridden wretch. Meaning, I don’t really believe you, because you’re a bunch of Corporate Masters and it’s pretty much your job to hornswoggle pathetic, anxiety-ridden writers. So what I’m going to do is send you some of my essays and you can tell me if this is what you had in mind.†So that’s what I did. And their response was, “Looks dandy.†So I finally got it through my thick skull that they actually weren’t pulling an elaborate April Fools gag and signed on the dotted line. The manuscript I turned in had about twenty essays, many of them shorter pieces. My editor, Julia “Please Stop Being a Pathetic Wretch†Cheiffitz, suggested I cut some of these, and write a few more long pieces, which I did, after the standard period of aggrieved grumbling. This is a very long answer that I hope makes perfectly clear why the book is a complete mess. I deserve all the blame. Then again, I’m not sure readers care so much about organization. In the end, they just want good stories, a laugh, something to remind them how deeply embarrassed we all are, all the time.
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