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April 29, 2008

Comments

Robert Nedelkoff

Come to think of it - it'd serve these buncopersons right if you made their setup an incident or part of the plot in your next novel. The way I see it, it'd take them a half-century at this scam to raise a sum equivalent to, say, what Publishers Marketplace calls a "very nice" advance.

The story really has a grifters-who-couldn't-scam-straight quality. For one thing, the operation is inherently very limited in scope - for instance, the number of people whose names could plausibly be invoked. Many writers, especially ones living in NY, don't have a car and in some cases have never had a license to drive one. Ergo, the setup is inherently suspicious.

In the shower this morning I wondered what sort of strategies these jokers would use to improve their chances if they did have half a brain. Phoning a bookstore and pretending to be Peggy Selzer aka Margaret P. Jones seeking some impound money? Now, given Selzer/Jones' known history, I don't see why an employee would doubt it was the "Love & Consequences" author. The drawback to this ploy is that it logically follows that the employee would assume Selzer/Jones was fibbing about an impound or whatever, and refuse to pony up. (A few other writers come to mind in this category, but since they variously have reps for lawsuits, flaming, or driving big noisy choppers, I'll refrain from mentioning them.)

Jerry Sticker

Mark,

I feel downright awful your stolen identity has had it's car impounded. But it shouldn't have had so much to drink in the first place. Gotta show some tough love on this one.

J

John Shannon

Mark,
If you're going to impersonate yourself on these calls at least try the new Nigerian strategy of threatening to kill the person all their friends and relatives unless they send money, quick.

Antoine Wilson

We do what we can to get our names on the front page of the calendar section, right?

(Smart move to throw them off the scent with Ray Bradbury, Russell Banks, and Eric Alterman's assistant. Reminds me of that Law & Order where all the random sniper shootings turn out to be a coverup for a regular old murder.)

Seriously, though, Mark, I almost spit up my coffee this morning.

EG

I am surprised this would work if it WAS the real author calling to get money. Do (notoriously strapped) bookstores really hand out emergency money to authors that come to do signings. Shouldn't a call to a bookstore come after, say, a call to your significant other, friends, agent, publisher, publicist or local author? And if all those people stiffed you, maybe you aren't a very good risk.

Jim

Sorry for all the trouble, Mark, but I really could use $150.

tod goldberg

I've started calling churches posing as Tim Lahaye, telling them I need $500 to dispose of a hooker I accidently killed, and if I don't get it, well, the Jews will win. It's been working surprisingly well.

Steven Augustine

Meanwhile, Ed is strangely silent on the matter...

ed

Sorry for the silence, Steven. Snorting blow right now off a homeless man's ass crack, courtesy of my impeccable impersonation of Jonathan Lethem. As for Mark, I'm waiting for Novel #2. So he's been warned.

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TEV DEFINED


  • The Elegant Variation is "Fowler’s (1926, 1965) term for the inept writer’s overstrained efforts at freshness or vividness of expression. Prose guilty of elegant variation calls attention to itself and doesn’t permit its ideas to seem naturally clear. It typically seeks fancy new words for familiar things, and it scrambles for synonyms in order to avoid at all costs repeating a word, even though repetition might be the natural, normal thing to do: The audience had a certain bovine placidity, instead of The audience was as placid as cows. Elegant variation is often the rock, and a stereotype, a cliché, or a tired metaphor the hard place between which inexperienced or foolish writers come to grief. The familiar middle ground in treating these homely topics is almost always the safest. In untrained or unrestrained hands, a thesaurus can be dangerous."

SECOND LOOK

  • The Bookshop by Penelope Fitzgerald

    Bs

    Penelope Fitzgerald's second novel is the tale of Florence Green, a widow who seeks, in the late 1950s, to bring a bookstore to an isolated British town, encountering all manner of obstacles, including incompetent builders, vindictive gentry, small minded bankers, an irritable poltergeist, but, above all, a town that might not, in fact, want a bookshop. Fitzgerald's prose is spare but evocative – there's no wasted effort and her work reminds one of Hemingway's dictum that every word should fight for its right to be on the page. Florence is an engaging creation, stubbornly committed to her plan even as uncertainty regarding the wisdom of the enterprise gnaws at her. But The Bookshop concerns itself, finally, with the astonishing vindictiveness of which provincials are capable, and, as so much English fiction must, it grapples with the inevitabilities of class. It's a dense marvel at 123 pages, a book you won't want to – or be able to – rush through.
  • The Rider by Tim Krabbe

    Rider_4

    Tim Krabbé's superb 1978 memoir-cum-novel is the single best book we've read about cycling, a book that will come closer to bringing you inside a grueling road race than anything else out there. A kilometer-by-kilometer look at just what is required to endure some of the most grueling terrain in the world, Krabbé explains the tactics, the choices and – above all – the grinding, endless, excruciating pain that every cyclist faces and makes it heart-pounding rather than expository or tedious. No writer has better captured both the agony and the determination to ride through the agony. He's an elegant stylist (ably served by Sam Garrett's fine translation) and The Rider manages to be that rarest hybrid – an authentic, accurate book about cycling that's a pleasure to read. "Non-racers," he writes. "The emptiness of those lives shocks me."