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Tonic:
Since the economic downturn in late 2008, the headlines about foreclosures and unemployment have become familiar and all too commonplace. What is less known is that the economy has fractured many families, separating parents and children. Now, a $20 million HUD grant hopes to reunite more than 5,000 homeless youngsters with their parents and provide affordable housing to another 750 young people leaving foster care.
Read the whole story: Tonic
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Boulder Daily Camera:
An 18-year-old Longmont man, who police say has been arrested previously on suspicion of sex assault on a child, has been arrested again on suspicion of using his role as a babysitter or the friend of a babysitter to make sexual advances on young boys.
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For the first time in 2010 and the first time since 2008, Greg Biffle was the first to the checkered flag Sunday afternoon in the Sunoco Red Cross Pennsylvania 500 at Pocono.
Biffle snapped a 64-race winless drought and ending the year-long struggle for Ford when he rolled into victory lane. He led 30 laps in route to the victory that had to go through rain delays, red flags, wrecks and just about everything else that Pocono threw the No. 16 team's way.
Pole sitter Tony Stewart came home in the second position after only leading two laps. Stewart was one of the drivers that were thought to be a strong contender, along with Denny Hamlin, who led 19 laps and finished fifth.
Other drivers that made a big statement were Jeff Gordon and Jimmie Johnson. Johnson started the day by dominating and seemed to be well in control, however, just as it's been the last weeks, the No. 48 Lowe's team couldn't keep a handle on things. Johnson began to slide through the field and eventually got into Kurt Busch, sending Busch into Bowyer, then the inside and outside walls.
The wreck also collected Elliott Sadler in a scary incident. Sadler went head-first into the inside guardrail, tearing the engine and many other parts from his No. 19 Ford Fusion. Luckily, he was able to walk away.
After Johnson was out of the picture, Gordon began to dominate. He was oh so close to collecting he win when rain moved in, but NASCAR was determined to finish the event. When they finally did, Gordon took four tires on his final pit stop and was only able to rebound for a sixth place finish.
Our Creatures were in good shape when it came to believing who was going to end the day in victory lane. One picked up a win and 10 bonus points for when the Chase starts, while the others will try again next week.
Here's how they'll look when rolling into the road course of Watkins Glen.
Kara Martin (2,972 ) Denny Hamlin finished fifth (2 )
Billy Fellin (2,920 ) Denny Hamlin finished fifth (3 )
Sal Sigala Jr. (2,825 ) Denny Hamlin finished fifth (2 )
Christopher Leone (2,818 ) Denny Hamlin finished fifth (3 )
Dustin Parks (2,722 ) Denny Hamlin finished fifth (2 )
James Broomhead (2,713 ) Denny Hamlin finished fifth (2 )
Rob Tiongson (2,702 ) Denny Hamlin finished fifth (0 )
Kelly Crandall (2,656 ) Denny Hamlin finished fifth (2 )
Misan Akuya (2,627 ) Tony Stewart finished second (1 )
Patti Rodisch (2,411 ) Denny Hamlin finished fifth (0 )
Alan Wade (1,118 ) Tony Stewart finished second (1 )
Kyle Brandt (421 ) Greg Biffle won (1 )
Next Up
The Sprint Cup Series heads to the second and final road course on the schedule in Watkins Glen. If Sunday's race follows in the footsteps of the race from Infineon earlier this year, it's bound to be action packed.
Creatures have your picks for the Heluva Good! Sour Cream Dips at the Glen by Thursday, August 5th, at 7 p.m. ET.
I read a post on author Tayari Jones' blog earlier this month that hasn't left my mind. She asks why books by black writers aren't considered universal, starting her post with these words:
“In the last few years, black writers have been speaking out about double standards in the world of publishing. Among these are Martha Southgate's NYT essay, “Writers Like Me” and more recently, Bernice's MacFadden's “Black Writers in A Ghetto of the Publishing Industry's Making”. In these articles, both writers (who also are novelists) put into a public conversation the issues that black writers have been complaining about for years — like why is it that stories about black folks that are written by white folks get so much traction. (The Help, The Secret Lives of Bees, Little Bee, etc.) How come books about us by us are not thought to be “universal”? Why are black faces on the cover of a book thought to be so alienating? At this point in the gripe session, I break out my favorite oh-no-he-didn't moment — when someone asked me what percentage of my work is “black” and what percentage is “human.”
It's not only a great post, it's an important question for all readers and writers. For readers: you/we are missing a vast store of great books by staying within one's cultural boundaries. We're missing great reads and, as important, we're missing that most important (to me) method available to understand each other. How better to understand other's experiences, than to immerse in their lives through novels and memoirs? Whether or not one has issues with The Help in it's portrayal of black servants in the South, it is beyond argument that one will be immersed in a more honest, experiential read with Anne Moody than with Kathryn Stockett.
Not that I think we should be reading across racial and cultural lines to do good, reading for the common good or as an act of charity. But Jones' point in her post is important: in regards to the need for black writers to be considered American authors as well as black American authors, “It is going to be up to readers.”
I am not going to belabor her points — she makes them far better than I could. I will say that I am grateful that I found her through Twitter (another point for Twitter!) And I am grateful that it led me to read one of her books, because now I can look forward to reading all her work.
My main question is this: I gobble novels. I read a certain sub-genre (the troubled family in a troubled culture) like crazy. Jones' novel Leaving Atlanta is a perfect gem of the genre. I also read reviews, magazines, papers — you name it — like crazy. (My home would be a candidate for Hoarders, if I weren't also addicted to recycling and clear surfaces.)
So why didn't I know about Jones before Twitter? Why is Kim McLarin, a great writer, not a household name? Why are there so few readings by black authors in my home town of Boston — a city rife with author visits?
Yes, it's up to us as readers to discover the gems we've been ignoring, such as Leaving Atlanta. Based on the true story of the Atlanta child murders from 1979-80, the three narrators in this book will break your heart. Jones' writes in the transparent manner I love –calling no attention to itself, while wrapping words seamlessly around the story with clarity, precision and beauty. Describing a scene of traumatized children, she writes “All of the kids wore weird expressions, like their eyes had been reversed and they were all staring inside their own heads.”
When we can read page-turning work, learn about history, and drink in great writing, that seems like a good deal to me — especially if we can pull away from ghettoizing writers at the same time.
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The week ahead in literary London
Wednesday: Lee Rourke reads from his new novel, The Canal, and answers questions at the Big Green Bookshop in Wood Green (7pm, free).
Travis Elborough takes you on a tour round England's seaside from the comfort of the Stoke Newington Bookshop at 8pm (£2).
Paul Eccentric hosts Edward TudorPole, plus other poetic ranters and ravers, at the Poetry Cafe for RRRant Poetry Night (8pm).
Apples and Snakes heads over to RichMix for Jawdance (7.30pm, free), with Esther Poyer, Ralph Swift, Zionite, Clair Whitefield and Captain of the Rant among the poets and singers. Plus you, if you want, cos there's an open mic.
Thursday: Back at Wood Green's Big Green Bookshop, Orange New Writers shortlisted author Evie Wyld reads and chats about her novel. Probably best to get there early to bag a place (7pm, free).
Bloomsbury Voices is having a nice picnic at the Poetry Cafe (8pm, £6 / £4), with Stephanie Gerra and Wendy Shutler, plus songs by Ben Richardson and Catherine Paver.
Litro Live!'s summer party should be a blast: host Paul Lyalls introduces Joe Dunthorne, Sabrina Mahfouz, Mark Pilkington, Murray Lachlan Young and Brigitte Voutsa in Kensal Rise (6pm, £5).
Ambit magazine launches issue 201, with Dr Martin Bax, at the Owl Bookshop in Kentish Town (6.45pm).
Jammie Sammy and the-getting-a-bit-famous-actually Luke Wright are at Bang Said the Gun, along with the regulars and the infamous Tequila open mic slot (8pm, £5).
Camden Writer in Residence Aoife Mannix and Anthony Joseph are at Leading Edge, a free (but you should book) evening of poetry and spoken word at Swiss Cottage library (7pm).
Farrago's celebrating the holidays with a School's Out SLAM! AF Harrold, Fran Landesman, Rachel Rose Reid and Suli Breaks are some of those poets performing (7.30pm, £6 / £5).
Three—yes three!—poems by Gregory Pardlo.
Aquinas: The mover gives what he has to the one who is moved in that it causes him to be in motion.
Jumping often refers to something you’d rather not
get involved in, but when you’ve left the parking
lights on overnight, a jump can mean the difference
between being employed and not. Worse than having
to buy a swipe from a stranger on the bus is having to flag
a neighbor for a jump. People willing to defibrillate
flatlining cars on ice scraper mornings are like organ
donors and subway heroes. For karma like that you need
a Winnebago covered with solar panels sprouting a fountain
of jumper cables so you can spend your day suckling
weary vehicles like an electric wet nurse. By your example,
thugs would soon measure their cred by a tattooed lightning
bolt under the eye to symbolize each battery they have
sprung back to life. Soon gangs will jump-in initiates one
toothy clamp at a time, and civilians will jump all over each
other with reciprocal gifts and hugs, finding power where
power is given, a residual lifting of the spirits in the act.
Occam: Every body has an impetus which allows it to continue to move. Being moved is passing from potential to the act.
You often size up the random demographic holiday
traffic makes hoping to see yourself inside a picture bigger
than the neighborhood you know. But the knots of cars
strung in rows like Incan quipu ordain your destination for
they script your possibilities in the Nielsen lingo, abstracted
from ad copy instead of the tangible planet. So who is really
driving the soapbox you find transporting your thoughts while
you inch the highway like the Pope’s bubble-mobile? Lines at
the toll plaza are a poem where you idle in this way, mindless
as Sonny Corleone. Every procession ends in a funeral. Think
of the chain gang of reindeer and the tiny hands making toys
in Santa’s maquilas. Will you spend the whole poem reading
bumpers and vanity plates, concerned how they distance you?
At the end of this poem full of furtive glances will you count
yourself among the seers or the seen? No one sees you sleeping
but your wife, and for her you thought of nothing. Look how little
you give of yourself. How little of yourself you have been given.
Gassendi: ambulo ergo sum.
We labor to maintain them in the macadam fields around
Pep Boys, where legs dangle from the maw of upraised hoods
like tailfins draping a pelican’s beak. We can say about cars
what Jefferson said about slavery when seeking pity for his
hardships. “Like holding a wolf by the ears.” Talk about
awkward. Yet it’s for domesticating horses that he charges
Europeans with “the degeneracy of the human body.” Perhaps
we are all, like him, exhausted by our compulsion to be free
from carrying our weight, human to heap our load on some other
burdensome body we’ve subordinated to our sloth. Who could go
on schlepping the lanes flanking Eastern Parkway beneath plane
trees as trumpets from dollar vans blow Dixie? Few haven’t caved
to the runagate’s dream of those chariots come to carry us home.
Hasidim fill the streets Saturdays with ambling demonstrations
of civil-resistance. James Meredith trod a shoulder in Mississippi
for freedom. We may all go someday Pan-like marching, transported
by the rapturous clopping of the only two hooves we can own.
Gregory Pardlo is the author of Totem (April, 2007). He is recipient of a New York Foundation for the Arts Fellowship and a translation grant from the National Endowment for the Arts. He has received other fellowships from the New York Times, the MacDowell Colony, the Lotos Club Foundation and Cave Canem. Pardlo is an associate editor of poetry for Callaloo, and an Assistant Professor of Creative Writing at George Washington University.
You may contact the editor of The Poetry Section at poems@theawl.com.
Would you like to read more? Visit our vast archive of poetry!
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Please keep your comments relevant to this blog entry. Off-topic, promotional or otherwise inappropriateinappropriate comments will be removed.
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it sounds like a side effect of energy efficiency.
If the mp3 players use a hard drive instead of flash memory, then operating the hard-drive takes the lion's share of the battery power, therefore to achieve a useful battery life, you have to minimize the time that the drive is active.
This is done by using buffer memory. Let's say an mp3 player has 16meg memory. When it powers up the hard drive, it will read the entire mp3 track in a split second and copy it to memory, so that it can then power down the drive, and play the song from memory, (memory requires far less power to operate than a hard drive).
Since the mp3 song is about 5 Mb, and the buffer is 16 Mb, more power can be saved if it reads the next three songs into memory when it powers up the drive – then it won't need to power up the drive again for another 15 minutes!
The problem, of course, is knowing which three songs you are going to play next. If you are using a playlist, it will preload the next songs in the list. If you pick a song from an album, it may assume there is a fair chance that the next song to play will be the next one in the album.
With these songs already cued up in memory, if you decide to select a different song from what it thinks you were going to play, then there is a period of a few seconds during which time the hard drive has to be powered up so the new selection can be copied to memory. During this time, a fragment of the song it thought was next might get played. The bug might also be related to volume fade-in fade-out, whereby the song fades to ease transition to the new song, but for some reason, the fade finishes or is suspended before the song being loaded has loaded (perhaps because the CPU is focusing on IO with the hard drive, and lowers the priority on other tasks?)
I wouldn't expect to see the problem on a flash-based player, but of course, bugs happen.
posted by -harlequin- at 3:01 PM on July 9
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Story On Dean Smith's Failing Health May Give You Some Dust In Your Eye
“People close to the coach say his famous memory is slipping. On some days he doesn't recognize people he has known for years.” [Fayetteville Observer]
Send an email to Barry Petchesky, the author of this post, at barryp@deadspin.com.
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so the point determining quality of the story is the way that story is told, isn't it?
^_^
Posted by: hokya |
July 4, 2010 5:56 PM -
I'm wondering if you'll be ok with a re-post of this article, and perhaps a short five min. interview for my blog “Tales from Here and There”.
Would you let me know?
Thank you.René ~stillmind~
Posted by: rene |
July 4, 2010 9:53 PM -
Unfortunately I beleive this is a horrible way to present marketing. Marketers are not all liers, and yes, I know many many very wealthy people who hold the same principle of telling the truth.
The way to a great story is to be honest and hit a cord that your customers will be able to connect with. That is what good marketing is about, not lying but promoting the core values that are key influencers for your clients.
I teach people to be honest. Being dishonest may bring short term gain, but is no way to build a long term business.
Posted by: Dee Kumar |
July 5, 2010 2:46 AM -
You story should be understandable by VC's, Angels, bankers.
If not you will be wasting much time.15 years ago, explaining mobile data using mobile phone technology was an uphill battle as mobile phones were still exclusive and voice only. SMS / Texting was not yet popular.
Posted by: Alan Green |
July 5, 2010 6:06 AM -
I wish I had a great story for my company, but the simple truth is that it has been a lot of hard work for many years, and we're not solving hunger or cancer (even worse; we're not solving a pain at all, we're only helping people become more efficient, and not everybody *wants* that).
Most companies work hard to solve a tiny little problem for some people, and if you want a great story then you need to make one up. I strongly agree with the previous poster that you should be honest even if it hurts you in the short term !
Posted by: Atle Iversen |
July 5, 2010 9:05 AM -
“Have a good time, ALL the time.” – that spinal tap keyboard guy
Posted by: Srini Kumar |
July 5, 2010 8:32 PM -
You forgot a few things:
1) Be part of a silly meme that every major tech blog covers (check).
2) Be part of a network of venture capital, angle investors or similar that all give you inbound leads based on pre-existing arrangements to get a boost in your visibility from day #1.
3) If you self fund in a category that gets crowded, it doesn't matter how unique the story, blogs like ReadWriteWeb, Gigaom, etc, will ignore you, while the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal still do some investigative reporting and will in fact, quote you.So the story goes…if you're not helping the rich get richer, your story won't be shared, b/c nobody likes to gossip about the guy in his garage
Posted by: Jeremy |
July 6, 2010 4:01 AM -
Good post.
Believe a start up's communications should revolve around the third bullet:
“Your story should be memorable.”
In short, make an impression.
Which isn't easy given the noise level and the number of new ventures vying for attention. There simply isn't enough “oxygen” to go around.
The same storytelling techniques associated with fiction can help elevate a start up above the fray. This Slideshare deck http://www.slideshare.net/thehoffmanagency/aligning-pr-with-storytelling-by-the-hoffman-agency-4478327 highlights such techniques.
Posted by: Lou Hoffman |
July 6, 2010 7:52 AM -
INC did a 16 page report called “Bring on the Entrepreneurs” We agree, so stand up and be counted at Startups Across America
http://lnkd.in/szZ6vG
Posted by: Startupsmap |
July 8, 2010 8:18 PM
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Stunning, no? Campbell is described as a “visual chameleon” with a vision and process to match:
With Benedict's creative origins very much grounded in photography, his use of computer generated imagery has been to enhance reality, rather than detract from it. By creating a ‘virtual studio' on computer, Benedict is able to create sets that he can light, dress and manipulate in the same way that he can do with photography. Unlike photography however, this new media is boundless in its scope , pushing back the frontiers of perception while remaining accessible and reassuringly ‘organic'.
Campbell has several sets of photos, videos, and various art in his portfolio. I highly recommend that you check them out. [Benedict Campbell]
Send an email to Rosa Golijan, the author of this post, at rgolijan@gizmodo.com.
MONTEREY, Calif. — Authorities say California artist Thomas Kinkade spent a night in jail after being arrested on suspicion of drunken driving.
California Highway Patrol officials said Monday that Kinkade was pulled over outside Carmel and arrested by a CHP officer just after 10 p.m. Friday
CHP Officer Robert Lehman says the 52-year-old Kinkade was booked into the Monterey County Jail on suspicion of misdemeanor drunken driving. He was released Saturday morning.
Kinkade is famous for his paintings of cottages, country gardens and churches in dewy morning light.
The Thomas Kinkade Co. said in a statement it was reviewing the allegation. The company noted it wasn't speaking on behalf of the artist, and said Kinkade has been advised by his lawyer not to comment.
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Ricky Gervais to Appear on Upcoming Curb Your Enthusiasm Season - Vulture
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The New York Mets ‘Deeply Regret’ Giving Jerry Seinfeld’s Citi Field Seat to Lady Gaga - Vulture
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Free Sangria at the Brindle Room; Aquavit’s Herring Smorgasbord - The Cut
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Fergie Wore a Scary Alien Outfit to Perform in Honor of Soccer
John McNally's novel After the Workshop (Counterpoint, 2010) describes a hectic few days in the life of Jack Hercules Sheahan, a media escort in Iowa City, Iowa, forced to take care of preening writers and their unreasonable expectations. Time was, Sheahan was a bit of a star in the Iowa Writers' Workshop himself, having published a well-received story in The New Yorker. But those years are long past. Now Sheahan is derided by the current Workshop instructors, when his presence on the periphery of the action is even recognized. Enter Vanessa Roberts, a memoirist of incest, and also Tate Reinhart, the reigning East Coast literary star, both pressing Sheahan into service. While Sheahan escorts these writers around, at every turn he confronts reminders of his own failed promise. In Tate Reinhart's backward-written words–he takes notes about Sheahan's miserable life for a potential story–”Himself killing from him keeps what?” Jack, of course, discovers this coded message, and wonders what exactly is keeping him from killing himself. A novelist from Sheahan's past, S. S. Pitzer–a “real writer,” we are led to believe–also arrives on the scene, wanting Sheahan to resume writing his masterpiece, which he abandoned years ago; Pitzer is so eager to see this novel finished that he'll undertake the task of completion himself, whether or not Sheahan permits it. It is appropriate that Sheahan eventually gets unblocked due to the helpful ministrations of one Lucy Rogan, a romance novelist he had once escorted and had a crush on. All in all, this is one of the most outrageously funny books I've read in recent years, and the very best novel I have ever read about writing culture. But its appeal goes well beyond writers and would-be writers; its satire is broad enough to take in nearly all of our intellectual and social pretensions in these waning days of empire.
I thought McNally, because he has experienced the Iowa Writers' Workshop firsthand–and lived to tell the funniest tale ever written about it–would be an ideal subject to interview about a lot of concerns in the writing and publishing industries, such as the incorporation of writing into the academy, the relevance of MFA programs, the transition from short story writing to novels, the general political economy of writing–and, of course, the inside scoop on the Iowa Writers' Workshop.
Anis Shivani: When did the idea for a satirical novel about the Iowa Writers' Workshop occur to you? I imagine it must have had a long gestational period.
John McNally: About two seconds after graduating from Iowa, back in 1989, I began working on a novel titled Murder at the Writers' Workshop, which I stuck in a folder after twenty pages and never looked at again, but the idea of writing about that world stayed with me. So, the gestation period was almost twenty years. And I guess you could say that I had some issues to work out. I wrote a short story titled “Contributor's Notes” about a writer living in Iowa City. That story, which is included in my collection Ghosts of Chicago, took about six years to get right. Fortunately, I work on a lot of things at the same time, or else I'd be the least prolific writer alive.
A few years ago, I was talking to my then-agent about my days of working as a media escort after I had moved back to Iowa City in the mid-1990s, and she said, “You should write that novel.” That's when the idea of actually writing a full-length novel took root again. Originally, the Writers' Workshop wasn't going to be a part of the book, but once I set the novel in Iowa City and made the narrator a writer with a horrible case of writer's block, I decided to tackle every aspect of the writing and publishing world, including the Workshop. Suddenly, no one and nothing were immune. And that's when I really started having fun writing it.
Shivani: Do you feel purged, having written this novel?
McNally: I do! I don't feel purged when it comes to the absurdities of academia, but as far as the writing world goes…yes, I'm purged. For now. My fear of writing a satire about academia is that I wouldn't be able to stop. It would quickly turn into a multi-volume novel that Time-Life would have to sell on an installment plan.
Shivani: Satirical fiction doesn't seem to get as much recognition or as many awards as the more typical narcissistic fiction. Is it because the reigning aesthetic value is for the reader to be able to identify with characters (mostly grief-stricken), which is harder to do with the unlikeable characters that often populate satire?
McNally: I once taught a course on the history of humor in American literature, and the thing I realized pretty fast was that some people just aren't wired to get humor. We're all wired to recognize moments of grief, but the ability to recognize humor must be housed in a different part of the brain. Or, some people appreciate one kind of humor but fail to find humor in a different kind. Whenever I teach Denis Johnson's story “Emergency” to a class of sixteen students, I'm lucky if two see the humor in it. But the humor in it is dark, and since we're a sentimental culture, we don't want to think that a story in which a character has a knife stuck all the way into his eye can be funny.
I've had students tell me that Flannery O'Connor is dark and depressing, populated with unlikeable characters, and I suppose if you can't see the humor in it, it would be dark and depressing. But here's the thing. She's funny as hell! That's what makes her work transcend the abyss. And here's the other thing. It's not her fault if you don't find her funny.
Shivani: On the other hand, there seems to have been an upsurge lately in works of effective satire. Would you agree with that assessment, and could you point to specific examples that have struck you as accurately reading the cultural moment?
McNally: The 1930s saw the rise, and quick decline, of the protest novel, but those novels, which protested some sort of injustice, weren't funny novels. No one talks about the hilarious, laugh-out-loud adventures of the Joads, for instance. Recently, Jess Walters' The Financial Lives of Poets, a hilarious novel, nails problems with the financial crisis as well as the imminent death of print newspapers. A forthcoming novel by Maya Sloan titled High Before Homeroom does a superb comic job of dealing with, among other things, hero worship. Satire is an excellent vehicle for making the political palatable–and I mean “political” in the broadest sense of the word. Since we're living in deeply divided times, the rise of satire seems inevitable.
Shivani: There has been a lot written in the campus novel genre, both in America and Britain. Many writers continue to try to their hand at the genre, with various degrees of success. This is less true when it comes to taking on writing departments. Is it because it would be too much a case of biting the hand that feeds the writer?
McNally: I'm sure that's true. And I'll confess, I had moments of concern each time I decided to satirize yet another segment of the writing world in my novel, but I'm good at sabotaging myself, so I figured, What the hell…fuck 'em if they can't take a joke.
It's also possible that the books are getting written but not published. One recurring reason why my book was rejected, even when it was being championed by editors at various publishing houses, was that it was too insider-ey. Who, except other writers, would want to read the book? Ironically, the only people who've posed that question to me have been other writers and editors. I've gotten plenty of emails from people who aren't writers or editors who've read the book and responded positively to it. After all, the book is really about a guy with a shitty job who's come to a critical point in his life. To my mind, that's universal. If I'd written about a postman at the crossroads of his life, would only postal workers have been interested in it?
Shivani: How do you feel about your writing training on the whole? What are the worst things that stand out for you now? And the best parts of the experience?
McNally: The worst part of my MFA experience was the way that a hierarchy was put into place. I don't know if it's still like that at Iowa, but in the late 1980s, funding was doled out so that there was a clear hierarchy: the Teaching-Writing fellows who taught creative writing on top, those who taught literature just below, those who taught Composition even lower, those who were Research Assistants barely hovering above the bottom, and those without funding–well, they were shit. The hierarchy was reinforced by which students were selected to meet with writers passing through town, who got to eat with them, etc., etc. I didn't have funding my first year, and initially I was one of three who didn't get funding my second and final year. It was only after a visiting editor, who was teaching a summer school course, spoke up on my behalf that I was given a Research Assistantship. I was angry then, but I'm not now, because I started working twice as hard, and it eventually paid off. It motivated me. I still think the hierarchical way things were done was shitty, but I'm the sort of person who, instead of crouching in a corner and feeling sorry for myself, will say, “Fuck you. I'll show you.” The best part of getting an MFA was that I did have good teachers who taught me useful things. My writing improved significantly after two years.
Shivani: Are you more angry or less angry toward writing programs than when you were in the throes of it?
McNally: Less angry. Definitely less angry.
Shivani: Were you ever a media escort yourself?
McNally: Yes, in the mid-1990s, in Iowa City. You wouldn't know it if you've read After the Workshop, but it was a pretty good job. The pay was good. Most of the authors were decent people. A few publicists pissed me off, and I know I pissed off at least one. I tacked on a late fee when one publicist's employer, one of the behemoth publishers, didn't pay me in a timely manner, so the publicist wrote me a personal check and told me my services weren't needed anymore. In my novel, the publicist is gored by a bull in Pamplona.
Shivani: The academy is by nature conservative. It seems impossible when nearly all our writers are affiliated with the academy that their writing won't also become conservative. Do you agree with that?
McNally: Since there are scores of writers affiliated with universities whose work I admire, I have a difficult time making a generalization, but I will say this: To remain at a university, you have to publish; and to get published by a press that your colleagues recognize, you probably have to play it safe, to some extent. But I'm not even sure if that's true. Is George Saunders, who teaches at Syracuse, a conservative writer? Is T. C. Boyle, who teaches at University of Southern California, a conservative writer? I don't think so, but maybe they are in the eyes of someone else. And I suppose if you're comparing them to an avant-garde writer, like Richard Kostelanetz, they are conventional. The answer to your question really depends upon who you ask and what their aesthetic sensibility is.
Shivani: Is there any alternative to writers joining the academy en masse? Have you thought of any alternatives for yourself? Do you know of writers who have successfully taken the plunge for themselves?
McNally: I wish I knew of an alternative! In the 1990s, I spent a number of years earning less than fifteen thousand dollars. I couldn't get a decent job to save my life. And I was finishing up a PhD at the time. I was overqualified for janitorial work, which I applied for. But since I hadn't yet published a book, I couldn't land a tenure-track teaching position. So, I did shitty paying adjunct work at the community college, scored standardized tests part-time for about eight bucks an hour, and signed up with a temp agency. When I think back to those days, as well as other, earlier times, like when I was living in a camping trailer in Southern Illinois and collecting an unemployment check, it's hard for me to thumb my nose at my job now. I have tenure; I make a decent salary; I have health benefits. Even so, I still feel ill-suited for academia. I was a first-generation college student, which immediately puts me at odds with most, if not all, of my colleagues, and I attended a third- or fourth-tier state school for my undergrad, which further puts me at odds. So, when I watch colleagues dismiss state-school grads out-of-hand who've applied for teaching positions in our department, even when those grads have more teaching experience and more publications than the Ivy League grads, I want to scream at them. It's the sort of elitism, not to mention logical fallacy, that drives me absolutely mad. Whatever hierarchy I had thought was in place at the Iowa Writers' Workshop, it's ten-fold in the academy once you start teaching. So when you ask me if I've thought of any alternatives, the answer is that I'm always thinking about it, all the time, but I haven't come up with any good answers. I still have student loan payments to make, and I at least have time to write. Also, I think I'm a pretty good teacher. The writers I've known who've successfully taken the plunge–and I know a few–did so because they landed film deals for their books. They could afford to take the plunge. My father was a roofer, and my mother was an assembly-line worker in a factory that made cardboard boxes, and I know for a fact that I have a hell of a lot better job (and a better quality of life) than either of them, so it's hard for me to bellyache all that much. Furthermore, I know people who'd kill to have my job. I'd have killed to have my job before I had it. I think it's okay for me to say, regarding my life in academia, that I'm often-irritated, lucky, ill-suited, and grateful all at the same time. The day I find a job that pays me good money to read true crime books and watch the Three Stooges with my dogs, however, I'll be in heaven.
Shivani: I feel that regularly reading and critiquing apprentice writing is enormously destructive to the quality of writing one is capable of producing. What do you think?
McNally: Since I've been teaching, off and on, since 1989, I hope to God you're wrong! In all seriousness, the first several years of teaching helped my writing. Here's why. There's a kind of “default writing” that all writers slip into–it's just easy, lazy writing–but it's difficult to know what default writing is unless you've read thousands of pages of apprentice writing, at which point you begin seeing the repetitions, the patterns, and then you can work on purging it from your own work. Or maybe it purges itself. But I do suppose the law of diminishing returns eventually kicks in. I don't believe it's destructive to my writing so much as it is to my soul. Well, okay, maybe not my soul. Maybe it's just my general well-being. If I see one more story about a dead grandmother, for instance, who knows what I'll do? (And why are all dead grandparent stories about dead grandmothers? I don't remember ever reading a dead grandfather story. A dead grandfather story might just change my opinion on the whole genre.)
Shivani: In After the Workshop, you're commenting on the narrow confines of not just writing culture, or literature and humanities departments, but our intellectual life as a whole. We seem to be in a very advanced state of intellectual paralysis, something we might expect at the twilight of empire. Where are the fresh ideas, if any, coming from?
McNally: I'm not concerned about fresh ideas. I think there are plenty of those. I'm more concerned about whether those fresh ideas will have a chance to live, given the state of publishing, the rise of Kindle, the amount of time the Internet cuts into the time we might have read a book in pre-Internet days, etc. And I'm guilty of it, too. I've Googled away a good part of the last ten years. It's depressing, really.
Shivani: What has been the response of your former writing teachers and colleagues toward After the Workshop?
McNally: I'm not sure if any former writing teachers have read it yet. Colleagues? A few have read it. One colleague cut out a paragraph that he assumed was about another colleague of ours and anonymously posted it on the departmental bulletin board so as to stir up some shit. So, there you have it. Academia in a nutshell.
Shivani: If you don't get an MFA, you have to be almost superhumanly talented and persistent and lucky to make up for the lack of connections and the bias of publishers at all levels toward MFA graduates. This seems to be the criterion publishers are most interested in, as a shortcut to judgment, rather than the quality of the writing. In poetry, the only route to publication is through a small press contest, and try doing that without an MFA credential. Do you agree with this assessment?
McNally: I'm probably the wrong person to ask since I have an MFA and a PhD. (I applied to PhD programs when I was living in a camping trailer and unemployed. Going back to school seemed a better option.) What I can tell you is that no agent I've ever had–and I've had five–has asked me what degrees I have, and I don't remember ever telling an agent where I had gone to school when I first approached them. After they took me on, they knew I had gone to Iowa, but I quit mentioning it in my cover letters years and years ago. Furthermore, even with my Iowa degree, I've had four completed novels roundly rejected by publishers–two of them after I'd already published books–so, again, I don't think having an MFA means much of anything. For an agent, I think the primary criterion is “Can I sell this book?” (Most agents will tell you that the primary criterion is “Do I love this book?” and I don't doubt that that's one of their questions, but I tend to think “Can I sell it?” has veto power over “Do I love it?”) I think the same criterion is true for publishers, but I would add this: If you already have a sales track-record, your past sales (if they weren't good) could come back to haunt you. I think it's a ridiculous way of running a business, because there's no correlation between past sales and future sales. The sales of John Irving's first three novels were terrible, by today's standards. By today's criterion of looking at past sales to determine future sales, it's likely that The World According to Garp, his fourth novel, wouldn't have been published, at least not by a commercial press. This is where the publishing industry and, in turn, the chain bookstores that order the books and, in turn, dictate print-runs, shoot themselves in the foot, in my opinion. It's not good for anyone–the writer, the publisher, or the bookstore. It's not good for the culture, either. And yet it's the business model that's in place. Does anyone, in this scenario, care really whether I have an MFA or not? I honestly don't think so. But, again, I'm probably the wrong person to answer this question.
Shivani: What would be your advice to someone thinking about joining an MFA program?
McNally: I've spent my entire adult life trying to figure out how to buy time. Time is the writer's most valuable commodity. There aren't many opportunities that allow you to take a few years off to spend it writing, but an MFA is one of those. I wouldn't recommend going into debt to do it. And I wouldn't necessarily have any other expectations, either. It won't get you a teaching job, unless you publish a book. As I said before, my MFA experience helped speed up my development because I had writing professors who pointed out things that might have taken me years to figure out on my own. The downside is that it's easy to get sucked into all the bullshit that accompanies an MFA program–bitter jealousies, competition, writing to that particular audience, etc. If you can somehow shield yourself from all of that crap and write every day, it's not a bad way to spend two years. And who knows? You may decide, at the end of it, that you'd rather do something else with your life instead of spending it writing.
Shivani: We don't have great critics like Malcolm Cowley, Edmund Wilson, Alfred Kazin, or John Aldridge anymore. Why have we lost the great critics?
McNally: The first reason is academia. Critics like Cowley, Wilson, Kazin, and Aldridge are mocked these days. Academic scholars continually have to reinvent the wheel to make themselves necessary or relevant, which is why there are so many generational turf wars within English Departments. But here's the big difference to me. Cowley, Wilson, Kazin, Aldridge–these guys loved literature. I don't see many academic critics these days who actually, honest-to-God love literature, and, in fact, I see critics making entire careers on the backs of writers they don't even like. What's the point, I wonder. My cynical take is that if you still have an old-fashioned love of literature, you're doomed as a “scholar” in an English Department. Or you're seen as a lightweight. Or you're mocked. Novels are no longer novels; they're texts. They're fodder for sociological analyses, as though the novel were an elaborate paint-by-numbers exercise–a giant puzzle that only scholars can decode. How utterly depressing, if that were really the case.
I also blame the culture. Amazon reviews, Facebook, Goodreads. Everyone's a critic. Who needs Cowley, etc., to give us thoughtful observations? Hell, I'll just log onto Goodreads to take the pulse of contemporary literature. Who's to say that if Edmund Wilson were alive today, he wouldn't have a thumbnail photo of his dog to identify himself and use a frowny-face emoticon to express his displeasure with a novel? What does Edmund Wilson think of Proust? The answer is: 
I should note that I recently shut down my Facebook page and bought a refurbished IBM Selectric, and I am infinitely happier. The onslaught of public opinion, including my own, depresses me to no end.
Shivani: Does training in writing short stories–the staple of MFA programs–interfere with later development as a novelist? The same question applies to the major first route of publication, the literary journals, which promote short stories at the expense of longer fiction.
McNally: I tend to believe that it does interfere. For me, it's as though I'm using a different side of my brain writing a novel than when I write a short story. While there are a handful of writers who are wonderful in both genres, it seems to me that most writers fall into only one category: they are either good short story writers or they are good novelists. So, it does seem to be a disservice to treat the writing of short stories as the beginning of an arc that will eventually lead to the writing of successful novels.
When it comes to finding an agent, you may find yourself in a Catch-22. It's easier to catch the eye of an agent if you've published short stories in literary magazines, and yet no agent wants to see your story collection. And what if you're really a novelist and not a short story writer? My first novel–The Book of Ralph–is really a collection of linked short stories. I wrote the chapters as short stories, and I gave it to my agent as a collection of short stories. When the novel was published, it didn't say “short stories” on the cover. It said, at my suggestion, “fiction.” The book was reviewed mostly as a novel, so when the paperback came out, “fiction” was replaced by “novel.” I now write novel-novels instead of novels-in-stories, but I don't think I hit my stride until I wrote After the Workshop. A previous novel of mine (America's Report Card), along with four failed and unpublished novels, were clunky attempts at the form, in large part because I had spent the first fifteen years of my writing life writing mostly short stories.
Shivani: Have you read David Shields's Reality Hunger: A Manifesto, and what is your opinion of it?
McNally: I haven't read it yet. I've spent the past year reading a lot of true crime and watching the Three Stooges with my dogs. I've been meaning to read it, though.
Shivani: You must have encountered many real-life models for prima donnas like Vanessa Roberts, Tate Reinhart, and Vince Belechek?
McNally: Yes. Absolutely. They all have real-life counterparts. I just can't say who they are.
Shivani: Which is worse, being a media escort or being a publicist?
McNally: As much as the publicist in After the Workshop is a villain, I would have to say that the publicist has the worse job. I actually enjoyed being a media escort. The authors' only expectation for me was to be at the airport to pick them up. The authors' expectations for their publicists? Whew. As a writer, I try to be nice to publicists. I send cookies. That's the key to my success, such as it is. Cookies. Lots and lots of cookies.
