Mother, about 25, and son, about 8, exiting car outside of Star Wash laundromat.

"Now go get a belt so I can whip your ass."

"No."

"You know, in some places they cut off your hands when you disobey."

She gives him a piece of fruit.

Image courtesy the author

A group of young professionals waits in line at Bi-Rite Creamery.

(Teasing): "Look at her, rockin' that like 1987 flip phone!"

(Brandishing): "Yeah, I gotta admit it, I'm kinda proud of my flip phone."

(Defending:): "Hey man, nothin' wrong with that. She's thrifty. That's how she's a homeowner now!"

[Unintelligible financial small talk]

(She, being thrifty:) "Hey, you wanna live in the basement of my house? I'll give you good rent."

Image courtesy the author

Party of five: Grandma, Grandpa, Mom, and two young sisters crouched together staring at a smartphone. They are not talkative but not unfriendly. The three adults order their breakfasts but the sisters do not look up when it's their turn. Grandpa looks at Mom and says:

"Are you going to coach your daughters on how to order?"

Image: closetcooking.com

It's mid-August, aka prime vacation time, so we at Black Balloon decided to let our beloved Siri roam free. Here are her latest dispatches from Johannesburg, South Africa!

The safari truck is waiting and the air is cold; the August chill awaits Siri and her cohort of American onlookers. Once they board, they look out at the broad, rutted road leading away from Johannesburg and toward the velds.

Through light and shadow the truck travels on. As the lounging animals of the safari park come into view, the oohs and aahs of the group grow louder, and slowly fade away.

After its off-course trip away from lions and ravenous, red-clawed nature, the safari truck and its tight-knit fellowship of riders find themselves in an unrecognizable veld not far from Thohoyandou. As men working nearby come into view, the truck stops. 

Unable to talk to their compatriots in Hausa, Afrikaans, or Xhosa, Siri is called upon for help by her kindred safari-goers.

The grasses part as the safari truck and its grizzled driver make their way toward, they hope, some sign of civilization. They pass a few gazelles and insist that Siri help them orientate themselves. In the distance, a battered truck full of armed men bounces towards them, sending up a trail of dust as the safari-goers watch with increasing alarm.

[Co-written by Anjuli with help from ifakesiri.com]

image: kellyjstoner.wordpress.com, with Anjuli's iPhone photoshopped in.

Inspired by the five hundred fairytales recently discovered in Germany (reported here in the Guardian), I thought it might be fun to take a modern-day tale and twist it, just a smidge, to reflect their style. Erika Eichenseer, the researcher responsible for unearthing the lost German tales, calls them “unadorned” and says “there is no romanticizing.” Fairytales without adornment? Plainspoken fables? I think I know what that sounds like. 

Little Red Riding Prostitute

There was once a slut going to college in this wacky town that allowed women to go to college, even though sluts like her only wanted to have a lot of sex. This slut wanted sex so badly, she even wanted the American people to pay for it. Anyhow, one day, her fairy godfather suggested she put an aspirin in between her knees so she wouldn’t have to drag everyone else down with her embarrassing and immoral medical malarkey.  

A monster appeared to her and she got all scared and pricked her finger, which happens a lot, I guess. After pricking her finger she fell into a deep sleep and had a dream. In the dream her fairy godfather ate snickerdoodles and watched television while elves bathed together—sinfully. The slut didn’t really know what this dream meant, but she went ahead and followed her fairy godfather’s advice about the aspirin because her fairy godfather influenced lawmakers. After like, two hours she got a wicked cramp and had to go walk it off. Then she got pregnant. Nobody’s paying for that damn bleeding finger, either. Bitch better not need stitches.

Oh dear. Is it time for an apology? Have my advertisers pulled all their spots from my program? The whole point of fairytales are that they in some way instruct people on how to live; or, to paraphrase Eichenseer, the stories are focused on what it means to become an adult. Fairytales provide more than just fantasy. I think a few of our politicians and pundits would be well-served to read some.

Image:trashionista.com

Is there anything more darkly satisfying than an impeccably written scathing review? The bright chorus of well-read, sharply intelligent people fighting? The singular, succulent voice of just one intelligent person mocking another?

Omnivore’s Hatchet Job of the Year Prize, which seeks to recognize “the writer of the angriest, funniest, most trenchant book review of the past twelve months,” solicited my deepest appreciation and applause. And it got me wondering how else, besides the prize, the literary community could both celebrate and sex up the art of book reviewering.

Is there some way, now that the publishing world is a bit of a mess and in some ways we are now free to do what we want with it, that we could transplant book reviews into a fresher format? I would never hope to replace publications like the Times Literary Supplement or Harper’s; no, what I’m envisioning is more of a marketing platform from which such publications might allow book reviewers to become more visible.

My first ideas were unsurprisingly juvenile. They involved mud-wrestling and physical combat with comically sized props. Televised. Probably on cable. A show called Critical Takedown, where prominent literary critics could face off with best-selling authors, and snubbed writers could challenge the critics who ignored their work. Who gets the last word now, bitch? I don’t know how this could fail.

Then I thought the publishers themselves might throw critics a bone with an invention I like to call "The Sticker." What would happen is that every book that gets put on a shelf now has to bear a particular Sticker noting what a prominent critic has thought of it. Different reviewers could be identified by different colors: people would start identifying the yellow stickered books as loathed by Dale Peck (you know what they say about "all press"), bright pink means New York Magazine thinks it’s hot, etc. Stickers. We could even get that pixelly square thing to connect to full reviews on shoppers' smartphones. This idea sells itself and would never go horribly wrong.

The Omnivore’s doing a pretty stellar job of rounding up criticism, but we can do so much more. Bake sales? T-shirts with Kakutani caricatures screened on the chest? A calendar called "Authors and Kittens" and another "Go Fetch with Critics"? Maybe I am not so good at marketing. But I do think we're at a time in publishing when something great could happen. Imagine a search engine that would incorporate all lit-related web content and organize it, with the power and ease of Google, but exclusively books and uncomfortable social networking icons that intentionally degrade its users!

It could be so exciting!

image: bill37mccurdy.wordpress.com

I’m always a touch skeptical when I read writing tips from famous writers. Scrolling through Open Culture’s recent selection, I wondered whom these authors—from George Orwell to William Safire—saw as their intended audience. Beginners, most likely. Students, dabblers. But what about that vast, silent majority that lies between the beginners and the pros?

“Take a pencil to write with on aeroplanes," suggests Margaret Atwood. "Pens leak.” I am immune to the kind of privileged bullying going on here, and I won’t stand for Neil Gaiman’s condescending #2: “Put one word after another. Find the right word, put it down.” I know when I’m being teased. Most of these tips read like your mother telling you to put on a sweater.

At the same time, I find them irresistible. And sometimes it’s a comfort just to see famous authors revealing the dull daily tasks that allow their work to proceed. Sometimes I need to be told to put on a sweater.

Here, then, are some suggestions for those of us who have surpassed the intermediate phase and are now approaching the very real, very dark side of the writer's life.

1. Become a better drinker. If you’re unable to write while drunk, get drunk on the nights reserved for not writing. Devise a hangover method that works consistently. Never edit under the influence.

2. Maintain a cordial relationship with your parents, as they provide useful storage for all the books and manuscripts you refuse to relinquish. You will also, at some point, need to live in their basement.

3. Do not get married. Never have kids. If you have to sleep with someone, do it in a public restroom or over at their place so you can leave easily and get back to work. Never have someone sleep over at your apartment unless you have a separate study with a door that locks. Also, your parents can hear you.

4. Survive by routine. Eat and wear the same things every day. You’re not going to look good; you’re not intended to.

5. Embarrass yourself publicly, as often as possible, in order to build up solid reserves of shame and insolence in your heart. And to convince yourself you don’t live a life of monotony and work, which you do.

Image: vulcanicnews.com