I am keen to feature a guest post on you blog as it would do wonders for my portfolio. I realized it was time I stopped ghost-writing for others and built an online reputation for myself.
I have received three emails at work pitching stories using this exact (misspelled) phrasing. They are a scam. Or something. Some computer somewhere is churning out these emails and sending them to publishers, or a coach has given scores of would-be writers—fed up with a life of obscurity behind the ghost-writing curtain, desperate for the rush of fresh air in their lungs and the warmth of sunlight on their pale, damp skin—some very bad advice and a poorly written form letter. Continue reading ‘A gambler, a pool supplier, and a fashionista walk into a bar …’
I’m writing more about myself than I am comfortable with. I’m worried it shows a lack of imagination, or at least a lack of observation. Truth is, I’m starting all kinds of posts and not finishing them for weeks at a time. I’m slow. But I want them to be good!
Anyway, I take small comfort in a logical technicality. It doesn’t matter whether I write about myself or not. If I don’t write about myself, the name of this blog is clever. If I do write about myself, the name of this blog is ironic.
Knowing I’d want to jot down some ideas as I walked through the neighborhood to my bank today, I stopped in at Rite Aid to buy a cheap pen. I can’t remember the last time I bought a pen. Usually they’re just in a drawer or on my dresser. They just sort of accumulate, and you always have one somewhere.
Well, I was overwhelmed at Rite Aid. First, there are far too many choices! (Glad I wasn’t at Staples or Office Max.) And it’s next to impossible to buy a cheap pen — they’re all Space Age and far more complicated than the simple instrument I’m looking for. Or they come several to a pack. (Shoulda gone to Staples or Office Max.)
I grabbed one for $2.59 or something similarly stupid and ran to the check out counter.
It’s an interesting idea: What if Oprah grilled Bush like she did James Frey, the published liar. (By the way, if you publish a memoir and change — even embellish — a few things, I have no problem considering it non-fiction if you follow the example of such confessors as Augusten Burroughs, author of Dry and Running with Scissors, and at least tell us so at the beginning. Frey did not do this, ergo, “liar.”)
I always find these “what if” columns to be a bit silly and unhelpful in the end. Mind you, I’d rather Oprah grill Bush on his criminally irresponsible tax-cut schemes or his unrealistic expectations of the future of the American health care system. But that’s just me.
Nevermind what you think of her. I love the way Oprah wins no matter what she does. At first, she declines to slam Frey, instead taking that bizarre middle ground: The book is good and important and meaningful whether it’s non-fiction or not. And people coo and sigh and say, “She has such personal integrity.” (However, it must be noted, some of her biggest critics were fans of her show.)
Then she changes her mind and rips Frey a new one on her couch, on TV, in front of millions of housewives and unemployed gay waiters, and people coo and sigh and say, “She has such personal integrity.”
Her couch is truly a hot seat. What a crazy world that she is among the most powerful and feared in media and the American press corps is continually disrespected and emasculated by our government. Let’s send Oprah after Scott McClellan. I’d love to have seen her go after Ari Fleischer, too.