writing

Lunch with Wendy today led to a snicker-filled discussion about a flap in the publishing world I hadn't heard about yet. Apparently a prolific romance novelist, Cassie Edwards, who has authored over a hundred romance novels, was outed as a plagiarist by the romance-novel review blog Smart Bitches Who Love Trashy Books, whose contributors used Google Book Search to spot numerous similarities between Edwards' work and other works.

If you're curious, check the site; Smart Bitches has posted transcripts. (Ouchie.)

The real winning moment, however, comes from this article in the New York Times:

So far, I’ve managed to explain to very few people why I adore using a fountain pen. It’s the equivalent of the ‘slow food’ movement for writing. While I don’t see myself going back to iron gall ink and dip pens, there’s a tactile pleasure in using a fountain pen that I just don’t get with ballpoints.

Ballpoints are blunt instruments. Not getting the ink flow you want? Scrub the point of the pen against the paper as fast and as hard as you can. You’ll either get ink, and go on with your life, or you’ll throw away the pen and uncap a new one that will be just like the old one.

My friends have teased me about my Small Spiral Notebooks for ages, but I’ve never gotten around to showing some of you the little treasure that my notebook contains. I’d watched my friends rave about their fountain pens and decided that I’d look into saving up the money to get a good one for myself as well.

I’m addicted. Horribly addicted.

Six years, it’s been. Six years and nine days to be exact, and I’m still here. I owe you a debt of thanks, those few of you who have kept wandering by, even when the muse packed up and flew to warmer climes every now and then. (These past few months have been another instance of that recurring problem, but it seems to be ending, as the urge to write has been returning as of late.)

Somewhere, in the Official Book Of Personal Websites, there is an admonition about never creating posts for an audience of one. “The readership,” it bemoans, “think of the readership!” The OBPW (a righteous tome inwardly certain of its correctness and self-worth, very British in that regard) goes on to decry those who would veil the true nature of a public piece of writing behind anonymizing pronouns, because if writing is made available online, it should be as comprehensible as it is physically accessible.

Hogwash. I’ve been creaking around this domain for six years now, and while the OBPW makes a fantastic stepstool in my kitchen, it’s of little other practical use to me. I keep trying to run off all but the most patient of you lot; what’s one more post in that vein?

If this post is impenetrable to you, then worry not and read on; it’s not for you, but you’re welcome to tag along for the ride.

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This conversation has been edited to fit your screen, for length, and for content, which is to say that it might or might not bear any resemblance to the original conversation at all: