A remarkable first line, leading the reader to look at something familiar in a slightly different light forever after.
"Christmas crept into Pine Cove like a creeping Christmas thing: dragging garland, ribbon, and sleigh bells, oozing eggnog, reeking of pine, and threatening festive doom like a cold sore under the mistletoe."
Christopher Moore, 'The Stupidest Angel'
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Monday, September 17, 2007
Notable Quotes
From the business world:
"It was a crime of passion. Not a disgruntled employee. Everyone here is extremely gruntled."
Steve Carell as Michael Scott, in 'The Office'
"It was a crime of passion. Not a disgruntled employee. Everyone here is extremely gruntled."
Steve Carell as Michael Scott, in 'The Office'
Sunday, September 16, 2007
On Ghostwriting
It seems the debate on whether or not Shakespeare truly was the nimble wordsmith history believed has gained another layer. Today's edition of The Toronto Star reports that a coalition of well-regarded people who make their living in the movie/theatre/writing industry have added their names and clout to the 'We're sure he was a perfectly decent fellow but not the real brain behind all those famous plays' camp.
As an aspiring author, Apprentice Writer can certainly empathize with the injustice of toiling away and having someone else snatch the critical glory and cold hard dollars (or pence, as the case may be). But the controversy took place in the middle of the last millenium. Apprentice Writer has not quite grasped why the veracity of Shakespeare's authordom has become such a burning question (apart from the nice-to-have-history-written-accurately aspect). Nor has she any clue about this period of English history. Is it possible that someone in the Shakespeare family is still earning royalties, and these are now being contested by the 'real' author's descendents? Is there really convincing evidence that some other creative genius was cheated of his (her?) centuries in the sun? And if so: how would this affect casting for Shakespeare in Love, Part Deux?
Perhaps some Gentle Readers are more knowledgable and can provide insight. In the meantime, Monty Python's interpretation (also from today's issue of The Toronto Star, via intriguing.com/mp/scripts/claim.asp):
GAME SHOW HOST: Good evening and welcome to Stake Your Claim. First this evening we have Mr. Norman Voles of Gravesend, who claims he wrote all Shakespeare's works. Mr. Voles, I understand you claim that you wrote all those plays normally attributed to Shakespeare.
VOLES: That is correct. I wrote all his plays and my wife and I wrote his sonnets.
GSH: Mr. Voles, these plays are known to have been performed in the early 17th century. How old are you, Mr. Voles?
V: 43.
GSH: Well, how is it possible for you to have written plays performed over 300 years before you were born?
V: Ah, well. This is where my claim falls to the ground.
GSH: Ah!
V: There's no possible way of answering that argument, I'm afraid. I was only hoping you wouldn't make that particular point, but I can see you're more than a match for me!
GSH: Next we have Mr. Bill Wymiss, who claims to have built the Taj Mahal.
Wymiss: No.
GSH: I'm sorry?
W: No. No.
GSH: I thought you cl...
W: Well I did, but I can see I won't last a minute with you.
GSH: Next...
As an aspiring author, Apprentice Writer can certainly empathize with the injustice of toiling away and having someone else snatch the critical glory and cold hard dollars (or pence, as the case may be). But the controversy took place in the middle of the last millenium. Apprentice Writer has not quite grasped why the veracity of Shakespeare's authordom has become such a burning question (apart from the nice-to-have-history-written-accurately aspect). Nor has she any clue about this period of English history. Is it possible that someone in the Shakespeare family is still earning royalties, and these are now being contested by the 'real' author's descendents? Is there really convincing evidence that some other creative genius was cheated of his (her?) centuries in the sun? And if so: how would this affect casting for Shakespeare in Love, Part Deux?
Perhaps some Gentle Readers are more knowledgable and can provide insight. In the meantime, Monty Python's interpretation (also from today's issue of The Toronto Star, via intriguing.com/mp/scripts/claim.asp):
GAME SHOW HOST: Good evening and welcome to Stake Your Claim. First this evening we have Mr. Norman Voles of Gravesend, who claims he wrote all Shakespeare's works. Mr. Voles, I understand you claim that you wrote all those plays normally attributed to Shakespeare.
VOLES: That is correct. I wrote all his plays and my wife and I wrote his sonnets.
GSH: Mr. Voles, these plays are known to have been performed in the early 17th century. How old are you, Mr. Voles?
V: 43.
GSH: Well, how is it possible for you to have written plays performed over 300 years before you were born?
V: Ah, well. This is where my claim falls to the ground.
GSH: Ah!
V: There's no possible way of answering that argument, I'm afraid. I was only hoping you wouldn't make that particular point, but I can see you're more than a match for me!
GSH: Next we have Mr. Bill Wymiss, who claims to have built the Taj Mahal.
Wymiss: No.
GSH: I'm sorry?
W: No. No.
GSH: I thought you cl...
W: Well I did, but I can see I won't last a minute with you.
GSH: Next...
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Laughter Reviews, #7
Here another review with the focus: funny or not, and why?
A STITCH IN TIME (in U.K.: NIP AND TUCK)
BY KATHY LETTE
MOMLIT / BRITLIT
Premise
Careerwoman approaching forty takes a hard look at artificial rejuvenation from a personal and business point of view.
What works
The oneliners. Witty quips come so fast and (often literally) furious from beginning to end that the top of Apprentice Writers copy was splayed to double the width of the bottom from all the corners turned down to mark especially good ones.
Heroine introducing herself: 'This morning (I) got my antihistamine and spermicide sprays confused. I now have a vagina that can breathe more freely and nostrils I can safely have sex in for at least six hours.'
On husband changing from idealist to conservative businessman: 'When did I first notice he was turning into the sort of bloke who wore pinstriped condoms?'
Model sister on Forty: 'A terrible age. Too old to lambada, too young to die.' and: 'Turning forty is the major cause of old age.' and: 'Whoever says money can't buy happiness doesn't know where to shop.'
On preparation to surprise spouse with new lingerie, etc. (summarized): 'Due to breastfeeding, my boobs were like day-old party balloons with all the air leaked out. A pelt of pubic growth sprouted from each leg hole (so) I took to my pubes with a pair of kids' project scissors (until) my spiky rear resembled a sea creature disturbed in a rock pool, preparing to attack. My thighs were spilling over (the) stocking tops like lava from a flesh volcano. I tore off the nylons (exposing) acres of of white flesh. While the kids yapped around me, demanding to know why their fingers and nostrils had to be kept apart when they so obviously fitted and whether sneezes were really your soul trying to escape, I slapped (on some old tanning lotion). Forty minutes or so later...I looked as if I was wearing a tangerine wet suit...I took to my body with a pot scorer...no improvement. By the time I gave up on my attempt (to insert ben-wa balls) I was so depleted with exhaustion that I had to eat the banana-flavored erecto gel. With the sound of my husband's key grating in the lock, I leapt onto the bed to lie sensuously among pillows that I now noticed were splattered with squashed chicken nuggets...I seemed to have hirsute toenails. Oh, God! My pube trimmings had fallen into the wet nail polish and dried there...Dry of mouth, I licked my lips - only to discover I was still wearing mustache bleach. Dry-retching from the poisonous taste...I gawked into the bedside mirror to see the bleach...had turned my top lip albino. It neoned out at me from my reflection...Bloody hell! I also had a stress pimple erupting on my nose. Now there's a good look - wrinkles and pimples...'
It is a rare page that doesn't contain a wry assessment from one character or another's perspective.
What doesn't
The oneliners. The author's outstanding talent with incisive, stinging remarks comes at a price; in this case, character development, dialogue, and plausibility all seemed to suffer the more the story unfolded. The way the characters spoke with one another and sometimes acted , the sitations in which they were placed, the time frame in which characters were supposed to achieve and revert from certain mindsets - all these elements seemed occasionally fake (pun intended and appropriate). The children often seemed curiously absent from the action and from the characters' thoughts, to the point that Apprentice Writer is undecided about whether the novel is more accurately described as momlit or chicklit.
Overall
So long as she thrives in her job as news correspondent and feels secure in her marriage to reconstructive surgeon Hugo, Lizzie is certain that her model sister Victoria's ferocious pursuit of youthful beauty is misguided. But when she is fired to make way for someone more eye-appealling, and suspicions that her spouse is having an affair with a starlet known for the size of her chest instead of IQ mount, Lizzie's conviction wavers.
In an age when cosmetic surgery and chemical procedures are rampant, this book asks some tough questions. Where does the pressure to look young no matter the physical, emotional and financial cost come from? Why do so many more women than men feel compelled to drastically 'improve' themselves? And what happens when a woman who is confident that intelligence and wit outshine youth and big breasts is put to the test?
There are no simple answers. The story of how Lizzie, Victoria, and Hugo arrive at different conclusions has rough spots, but it is without a doubt thought-provoking.
But does it make you laugh? ABSOLUTELY.
Every writer has strengths and weaknesses. If one accepts this, and concentrates on what he/she does well rather than throwing the baby out with the weak dialogue/ one-note characters/ implausible situations bathwater, it makes one's reading life much more enjoyable.
This author's skill at distilling large-scale observations down to smart, amusing, bite-sized chunks is extraordinary. Apprentice Writer will seek out Lette's backlist without delay.
A STITCH IN TIME (in U.K.: NIP AND TUCK)
BY KATHY LETTE
MOMLIT / BRITLIT
Premise
Careerwoman approaching forty takes a hard look at artificial rejuvenation from a personal and business point of view.
What works
The oneliners. Witty quips come so fast and (often literally) furious from beginning to end that the top of Apprentice Writers copy was splayed to double the width of the bottom from all the corners turned down to mark especially good ones.
Heroine introducing herself: 'This morning (I) got my antihistamine and spermicide sprays confused. I now have a vagina that can breathe more freely and nostrils I can safely have sex in for at least six hours.'
On husband changing from idealist to conservative businessman: 'When did I first notice he was turning into the sort of bloke who wore pinstriped condoms?'
Model sister on Forty: 'A terrible age. Too old to lambada, too young to die.' and: 'Turning forty is the major cause of old age.' and: 'Whoever says money can't buy happiness doesn't know where to shop.'
On preparation to surprise spouse with new lingerie, etc. (summarized): 'Due to breastfeeding, my boobs were like day-old party balloons with all the air leaked out. A pelt of pubic growth sprouted from each leg hole (so) I took to my pubes with a pair of kids' project scissors (until) my spiky rear resembled a sea creature disturbed in a rock pool, preparing to attack. My thighs were spilling over (the) stocking tops like lava from a flesh volcano. I tore off the nylons (exposing) acres of of white flesh. While the kids yapped around me, demanding to know why their fingers and nostrils had to be kept apart when they so obviously fitted and whether sneezes were really your soul trying to escape, I slapped (on some old tanning lotion). Forty minutes or so later...I looked as if I was wearing a tangerine wet suit...I took to my body with a pot scorer...no improvement. By the time I gave up on my attempt (to insert ben-wa balls) I was so depleted with exhaustion that I had to eat the banana-flavored erecto gel. With the sound of my husband's key grating in the lock, I leapt onto the bed to lie sensuously among pillows that I now noticed were splattered with squashed chicken nuggets...I seemed to have hirsute toenails. Oh, God! My pube trimmings had fallen into the wet nail polish and dried there...Dry of mouth, I licked my lips - only to discover I was still wearing mustache bleach. Dry-retching from the poisonous taste...I gawked into the bedside mirror to see the bleach...had turned my top lip albino. It neoned out at me from my reflection...Bloody hell! I also had a stress pimple erupting on my nose. Now there's a good look - wrinkles and pimples...'
It is a rare page that doesn't contain a wry assessment from one character or another's perspective.
What doesn't
The oneliners. The author's outstanding talent with incisive, stinging remarks comes at a price; in this case, character development, dialogue, and plausibility all seemed to suffer the more the story unfolded. The way the characters spoke with one another and sometimes acted , the sitations in which they were placed, the time frame in which characters were supposed to achieve and revert from certain mindsets - all these elements seemed occasionally fake (pun intended and appropriate). The children often seemed curiously absent from the action and from the characters' thoughts, to the point that Apprentice Writer is undecided about whether the novel is more accurately described as momlit or chicklit.
Overall
So long as she thrives in her job as news correspondent and feels secure in her marriage to reconstructive surgeon Hugo, Lizzie is certain that her model sister Victoria's ferocious pursuit of youthful beauty is misguided. But when she is fired to make way for someone more eye-appealling, and suspicions that her spouse is having an affair with a starlet known for the size of her chest instead of IQ mount, Lizzie's conviction wavers.
In an age when cosmetic surgery and chemical procedures are rampant, this book asks some tough questions. Where does the pressure to look young no matter the physical, emotional and financial cost come from? Why do so many more women than men feel compelled to drastically 'improve' themselves? And what happens when a woman who is confident that intelligence and wit outshine youth and big breasts is put to the test?
There are no simple answers. The story of how Lizzie, Victoria, and Hugo arrive at different conclusions has rough spots, but it is without a doubt thought-provoking.
But does it make you laugh? ABSOLUTELY.
Every writer has strengths and weaknesses. If one accepts this, and concentrates on what he/she does well rather than throwing the baby out with the weak dialogue/ one-note characters/ implausible situations bathwater, it makes one's reading life much more enjoyable.
This author's skill at distilling large-scale observations down to smart, amusing, bite-sized chunks is extraordinary. Apprentice Writer will seek out Lette's backlist without delay.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Word Dares
Today's word is one of those creations so obvious in hindsight that multitudes of readers will ask themseves why they didn't think of it before. Apprentice Writer predicts it will sweep the net.
BLOGATUS (noun) : blog + hiatus
Wordsmith: Wylie Kinson Source: Wylie's Words, wyliekinson.blogspot.com
Go ahead, give it a spin. Apprentice Writer's: "Still being a new and relatively undiscovered blogger, Ella worried that if she took a blogatus her trickle of semi-regular readers would dry up - never to return."
BLOGATUS (noun) : blog + hiatus
Wordsmith: Wylie Kinson Source: Wylie's Words, wyliekinson.blogspot.com
Go ahead, give it a spin. Apprentice Writer's: "Still being a new and relatively undiscovered blogger, Ella worried that if she took a blogatus her trickle of semi-regular readers would dry up - never to return."
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Laughter Reviews, #6
GOODBYE, JIMMY CHOO BY ANNIE SANDERS
WOMEN'S FICTION / BRITLIT
Premise
Two former Londoners develop a friendship and work partnership in response to personal problems and boredom with village life.
What Works
Faced with the sudden, extreme realization that the economic and emotional stability of their families rests on their shoulders, some people might be tempted to retreat into chronic depression or substance abuse. Izzy and Maddy have no time for such luxuries; when it becomes clear that they don't know their husbands as well as they thought and like it or not must become chief providers, they roll up their sleeves and get on with it. The co-operation, creativity, and sheer grit with which they climb a steeper than usual learning curve is convincing and has the reader cheering for them to succeed.
What Doesn't
There is a disconcerting vein of casual contempt that marks the attitude of various groups towards one another, with little or no attempts to investigate whether an individual actually fits the preconceived label he/she has been slapped with. Izzy and Maddy haven't a shadow of a doubt that they are superior to the village populace based solely on their status as ex-Londoners. At their first meeting, Izzy is desperate to disassociate herself from the village women so as not to be '.....dismissed as one of them' by the newly arrived Maddy. For the village women, it is likewise self-understood that Izzy is beneath them due to her lack of wealth, and that they must ingratiate themselves with Maddy due to her apparent possession of it. Maddy seems to accept the fawning as her due, and when her circumstances change, is certain that the former fawners will no longer consider her worth their time.
Although there are some glimmers of openness to change in this behaviour on the part of the heroines by the end of the story, such pervasive class-based preconceptions seem outdated and thoughtlessly self-involved.
Overall
Apprentice writer is a closet Anglophile. Television series 'Coupling' and the original 'The Office', various home improvement shows copied by American broadcasters, 'Snatch', Rupert Everett, Alan Rickman, Ali G, the Scottish designers - these are a few of the wildly entertaining things that make her want to spend summer holidays in a thatched period cottage, drinking tea, wearing hats like in 'Four Weddings and a Funeral' and extending her vocabulary (so far she has managed to figure out that 'snog' means kiss, 'bog' means toilet, 'gobsmacked' means surprised and 'twee' is not a compliment).
This is all to say that she views a new-to-her Brit author and/or story set in Britain with happy anticipation, and will forgive weaknesses (up to a certain point) so long as stories do a good job of transporting her to another world. This one tells a convincing tale of sisters doing it for themselves, for the sake of their children.
But does it make you laugh? NO - but not its fault
Even though Apprentice Writer didn't laugh a single time, she does not blame the authors (Annie Ashworth + Meg Sanders = Annie Sanders) because it seems evident that they never intended this as a lighthearted romp. It is women's fiction, deceptively packaged as comedy. From the quote describing it as 'hilarious', to the three synonymous-with-luxury brand names mentioned, to the cartoons depicting the eponymous high-heeled shoes on one side and a cafe scene with rubber boots on the other (until the advent of crocs, there was surely no form of footwear less stylish or more susceptible to humor than the lowly rubber boot), and even to the choice of font for titles - everything about the book's cover seems calculated to make the casual browser think the story is funny chicklit. It is not - and the resulting non-fulfilment of expectations could well cause some readers to unfairly hold this against what is otherwise a reasonably well-written and entertaining story. As it is, in future Apprentice Writer will view books published by Orion with some suspicion.
WOMEN'S FICTION / BRITLIT
Premise
Two former Londoners develop a friendship and work partnership in response to personal problems and boredom with village life.
What Works
Faced with the sudden, extreme realization that the economic and emotional stability of their families rests on their shoulders, some people might be tempted to retreat into chronic depression or substance abuse. Izzy and Maddy have no time for such luxuries; when it becomes clear that they don't know their husbands as well as they thought and like it or not must become chief providers, they roll up their sleeves and get on with it. The co-operation, creativity, and sheer grit with which they climb a steeper than usual learning curve is convincing and has the reader cheering for them to succeed.
What Doesn't
There is a disconcerting vein of casual contempt that marks the attitude of various groups towards one another, with little or no attempts to investigate whether an individual actually fits the preconceived label he/she has been slapped with. Izzy and Maddy haven't a shadow of a doubt that they are superior to the village populace based solely on their status as ex-Londoners. At their first meeting, Izzy is desperate to disassociate herself from the village women so as not to be '.....dismissed as one of them' by the newly arrived Maddy. For the village women, it is likewise self-understood that Izzy is beneath them due to her lack of wealth, and that they must ingratiate themselves with Maddy due to her apparent possession of it. Maddy seems to accept the fawning as her due, and when her circumstances change, is certain that the former fawners will no longer consider her worth their time.
Although there are some glimmers of openness to change in this behaviour on the part of the heroines by the end of the story, such pervasive class-based preconceptions seem outdated and thoughtlessly self-involved.
Overall
Apprentice writer is a closet Anglophile. Television series 'Coupling' and the original 'The Office', various home improvement shows copied by American broadcasters, 'Snatch', Rupert Everett, Alan Rickman, Ali G, the Scottish designers - these are a few of the wildly entertaining things that make her want to spend summer holidays in a thatched period cottage, drinking tea, wearing hats like in 'Four Weddings and a Funeral' and extending her vocabulary (so far she has managed to figure out that 'snog' means kiss, 'bog' means toilet, 'gobsmacked' means surprised and 'twee' is not a compliment).
This is all to say that she views a new-to-her Brit author and/or story set in Britain with happy anticipation, and will forgive weaknesses (up to a certain point) so long as stories do a good job of transporting her to another world. This one tells a convincing tale of sisters doing it for themselves, for the sake of their children.
But does it make you laugh? NO - but not its fault
Even though Apprentice Writer didn't laugh a single time, she does not blame the authors (Annie Ashworth + Meg Sanders = Annie Sanders) because it seems evident that they never intended this as a lighthearted romp. It is women's fiction, deceptively packaged as comedy. From the quote describing it as 'hilarious', to the three synonymous-with-luxury brand names mentioned, to the cartoons depicting the eponymous high-heeled shoes on one side and a cafe scene with rubber boots on the other (until the advent of crocs, there was surely no form of footwear less stylish or more susceptible to humor than the lowly rubber boot), and even to the choice of font for titles - everything about the book's cover seems calculated to make the casual browser think the story is funny chicklit. It is not - and the resulting non-fulfilment of expectations could well cause some readers to unfairly hold this against what is otherwise a reasonably well-written and entertaining story. As it is, in future Apprentice Writer will view books published by Orion with some suspicion.
Monday, September 3, 2007
Page 1
This week's notable first line:
"Will Scarlet hated trees."
Carrie Lofty, 'Redeeming Will Scarlet'
This first line has a number of things going for it: brief, unequivocal, and deceptively unremarkable until one makes the connection between the the subject and the place he spent much of his time (Sherwood Forest).
Altogether, a brilliant first line.
"Will Scarlet hated trees."
Carrie Lofty, 'Redeeming Will Scarlet'
This first line has a number of things going for it: brief, unequivocal, and deceptively unremarkable until one makes the connection between the the subject and the place he spent much of his time (Sherwood Forest).
Altogether, a brilliant first line.
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