Ransom Note: Read “West Oversea” or we will break up glaciers and send polar bears to every U.S. Port!
We rnt kidding! Viking zombies will storm Boston if U dont buy West Oversea!
Buy West Oversea and other Lars Walker books or all kittys will be taken off Interweb!
You have been warned! [All of the media content in the original post has dropped from the Interwebs, making this post much less fun. Saddness.]
"I'm just like you, so let me go first."
This morning on Bill Bennett’s radio show, they interviewed a spokesman for the Special Olympics.
Nothing wrong with that. I have no objection to the Special Olympics per se.
However, I found the spokesman irritating. He never said “mentally disabled”–that’s no surprise. People are expected to say “mentally challenged” nowadays (I think. I may have missed a memo and be a step behind).
But he didn’t say “mentally challenged” either. He used some circumlocution like “people with intellectual differences.” And he kept talking, again and again, about how people with intellectual differences were NO DIFFERENT FROM ANYONE ELSE.
I’m getting tired of this.
Logically, it seems to me, there are only two choices.
You can say, “I want to be treated just like everyone else.” Great. That’s fine. Then don’t ask for special accommodations.
Or you can say, “I need special accommodations.” That’s fine too. But if that’s what you want, don’t pretend you’re NO DIFFERENT FROM ANYONE ELSE. People who are no different from anyone else don’t need special accommodations.
I have a mild handicap. I suffer from an emotional disorder. I don’t hide this, and I let the people who become my friends know about it. I expect them to cut me a little slack, to have different expectations of me, because certain things that normal people can do easily are very, very hard for me.
I’m different from everyone else.
A lot of people in this country seem to think they can change their neighbors’ attitudes through silencing certain words that offend them. It doesn’t work. It just drives people’s attitudes underground, and breeds resentment.
I would never call a person with a mental disability a dummy. But I might use the word to describe some of their advocates.
Not a Review
I decided not to review a novel a few weeks ago, because what I was reading got under my skin. Maybe I’m thin-skinned, or maybe I couldn’t adjust to the genre. I didn’t know it was a historic romance until a couple chapters into it. That’s entirely my fault. A few clues on the cover and in the general description should have been enough, but no, I thought it was historical fiction, maybe even a bit of fantasy. I even said to myself, “I hope this doesn’t become a romance,” a few pages before the book swatted me in the gut.
A woman, taken from her home as a child, raised by nurses in a distant land, and well-trained to survive and hide in the wilderness, sees a prince who is searching for her without a clear sense of her. She is hidden in the trees on the mountain side. The wind whips around the prince, pressing his cloak to his skin, and this medieval sylan thinks to herself (paraphrase), “Wow, is his face as handsome as his body?”
Maybe I’m a puritan, but this strikes me as completely out of character.
Later, when the prince is badly injured and she begins to nurse him back to health, the narration dwells on her need to wash him, and bodies have unseemly parts . . . It’s distasteful. It was all written indirectly, because it is a Christian novel, and maybe overall the story accomplished its goal, but I didn’t want to take it in. I’ve read worse, that is, more vulgar narration, but I wouldn’t have it this time. I’m not sure why.
Link sausage
Stopped at KFC for supper tonight. They were playing mariachi music. I suppose that’s the new normal. Even in Kentucky.
I don’t like mixed metaphors in my dining, though. Of course, my regular Chinese buffet plays Classic Rock. The last time I went there, the hostess, for some reason, was asking me if I knew the names of the various songs that were played. (Probably because there was nobody else in the place.) I think she was trying to assimilate. I only knew one of them (“We Are Family” by the Pointer Sisters). I guess I need to assimilate myself.
I re-wrote my review of the film “Elling” for The American Culture blog. You can read it here, if you want mostly the same thing, with extra pretentiousness.
Finally, here’s Andrew Klavan’s latest “Klavan On Culture” video. I liked it.
Hot
It’s not as hot and humid as when I stacked hay bales in the loft of my dad’s barn back in 1960, but it’s pretty stinking swampy out there. The weather forecast said 70% chance of thunderstorms this afternoon, but when I got home the sky was clear and blue, and I took my walk anyway. It rained this morning, and will likely rain again tonight, but for now the only moisture is suspended in the air, in molecule form, in high concentrations.
Last night I watched another new DVD acquisition, Robert Altman’s “Popeye.” What a strange movie. Awful script. The songs are just an embarrassment. But the actors seem to be having fun playing cartoon games, and the visuals are great, and Robin Williams sings the Popeye song all the way through at the end. It always leaves me feeling better when I’m done with it.
A Norwegian relative wrote me years ago from a vacation in Malta, saying he’d toured the Sweet Haven set, which apparently is (or was at the time) still standing as a tourist attraction.
Speaking of DVDs, I’m on the cheap plan with Netflix now, and I’m taking the opportunity to view some of the cable series everybody’s been raving about. This weekend I finished the final episode of “Rome.”
A Novel's Setting Can Be the Key to Its Marketing
Be sure to scan this interview with a self-published author who has sold many books in the locale in which her novel is set.
As a self-publisher, you’ve sold 50,000 copies of your books. I’m sure every self-published author wants to know your secrets. So, let’s start from the beginning: When your first book was hot off the press, did you have a marketing plan? Did you have an existing platform or readership of any kind?
I had a very simple plan for my first novel. My husband and I were living in Nashville, Tenn., at the time, and when the novel released, we loaded our trunk with books and drove to Sanibel Island, the setting of my book. I sat out in the car with our baby as my husband went in and out of every book and gift shop on the island asking if they’d like to carry the book.
I remember letting out yelps of pure joy and shock every time he returned to the car to tell me, “Yes!” Of course the shops were cautious at first, taking only a couple copies at a time and most did want books on a consignment basis. If they sold, then they would pay us.
Where Is All the Good Cover Art?
How do separate, completely different books have almost identical cover art? Is there a poverty of available photography?
Methods for Book Signing
Overlook Press comments on an article about how book-signing events go down in New York. It isn’t first come, first serve. From the article:
It’s just that certain branches are simply better for certain types of books. “There are definitely uptown authors and subjects and downtown authors and subjects,” he said. “A lot of it has to do with where a writer has most of his posse. Thus, you’re not going to put the latest Tea Party author at the B&N at 82nd and Broadway,” Mr. Kirschbaum continued, alluding to the store in the heart of the famously liberal Upper West Side.
Where Are the Conservative Novelists?
Reviewer Craig Ferhman writes, “Every so often, spurred by some kind of creative liberal guilt, someone will ask: Where are the conservative novelists?” He reviews a first novel from a conservative novelist, and I have to ask, looking at this review, if foul language is required for publishing serious stories today?
Addendum to DVD review
It occurs to me, in thinking more about the film “Elling,” that it’s actually quite a pro-American movie.
As I mentioned, Elling, who has his doubts about the whole idea of freedom, is devoted to the Norwegian Liberal Party.
Later in the movie, the great symbol of freedom becomes a big American automobile.
I smell subtext.
So there’s that.