Charles Dickens Wrote Web Comics

So Oliver Twist was basically a web comic.  The reason people put up with what was essentially a young adult fairy tale by a debut author was the same reason people watch Two and a Half Men: It was free.  Like a web comic, no one really had to commit to it; people just checked it once every couple of months - kind of like Dresden Codak.

Oliver Twist was published in 24 installments in a literary magazine from 1837-1839, which I think goes a long way towards explaining why it reads like your Victorian granny's diary if your Victorian granny saw lots of people get hanged. Look at this installment in the 1838 Bentley's Miscellany - each chapter is seriously like: oh Harry teaches Oliver how to write to-day, then the next one is like Rose and Harry all declare their love for each other.  At which point rabid fans wrote Dickens letters like, "OMG! rpse and harry are teh cutestEVER  lolz!!!!!!!" Thus, Oliver Twist was basically a web comic, or at least a bad 19th century sitcom.

Unlike Oliver Twist, books by new authors these days aren't free, so readers don't have the chance to try them out in little bite-size pieces. Web comics are awesome, but a significant percentage of their awesomeness comes from the fact that it's the advertisers paying for them. You might buy one of their t-shirts, but you get a t-shirt out the deal, plus certified wearable proof that you are a huge hipster.  Same thing goes with a lot of TV shows - most are fairly crappy, which is why TV executives know we'll only watch them if they're free. Books, on the other hand, just keep getting more expensive. Some people (not me) might say, why pay to read when you can look at pictures for free on the internet? (not porn)

Oliver Twist was free.  AND it had pictures:

Then Mr. Bumble gets yelled at by Strawberry Shortcake and oh
fuck it I have no idea what's happening in this book.

Real Life vs. Writing Life

Despite some very good intentioned vows to blog regularly, I have totally failed to post here for the past two months. I have a good reason, though: I (finally) got a full-time job.

At first, I had mixed feelings about it. It's a wonderful job working in wildlife conservation, something even more important to me (and the world) than books.  I wanted to be writer since I was 12. I wanted to save animals since I was 6.  So I guess this dream has seniority.

But I miss being able to write all day long every day. Sure, it sucked when we couldn't pay the rent and my boyfriend begged me to get a job as a barista. But before he came home, my days were endless, free-wheeling riots of imagination. I came up with ideas for and started no less than 5 new books.  And I miss it.

Now, here's where the "mixed" part of my "feelings" comes in: Even after my six month wonderland of writing, I'm happier working.  Even with my 1.5 hour commute because we fail at finding a new apartment, I'm happier now in my little office than I was at home.  Because I love getting out, living, contributing to the world.  Not just the fantasy worlds in my head.

But here's the silver lining to the cloud that's already pretty fluffy and awesome: Working makes us better writers too.  Why?  Because you have to interact with lots of different people and see all the struggles in the world before you can write well.  Do you think Kurt Vonnegut would have been a quarter as trenchant if he hadn't worked as a used car salesman first?  Hell no!

Plus, I get to spend all day learning about these:


African Wild Dogs :)  Dying in Zimbabwe :(



Saigas :)  Dying in Uzbekistan :(



Cheetahs :)  Dying in Botswana :(

(I realize that one line about not being able to pay the rent makes my life sound like a huge bummer.  But it's not!  Actually, the times when I've been dirt poor have been some of the happiest of my life. Hm.  I think there might be a post in there.)

A Flawed Love Letter to Boston

I moved to Boston in 2008 to start my spectacularly ill-advised masters in journalism. Even if the degree was a disaster, I'm grateful for the chance to have lived in such a beautiful city. Boston has this strange, lovely quality of oldness, like everything is frozen in the chilly air and has remained, unmoved for 300 years. No other place in America feels so ancient.

I wanted my book to be a love letter to Boston. In hindsight, I know I'm not a talented enough writer yet to evoke everything I love about the place. But if I can't make sweet literary love to Boston, I figure I can at least post a few photos of the city that inspired me so much. Photos are by the inestimable Geoff Gailey, and by the easily estimable myself.

The Arlington Street Church over the Public Gardens

Boston's sewers! Who knew waste disposal could be so epic?

Easily the nation's sweetest alleyways.  So creepy.

The Central Burying Ground in the Boston Common.

I keep telling myself that when I get good enough to do Boston justice, I'll move back. That, or I'll go broke and move into my Grandma's basement in Waltham, MA. You know. Either way.

DIY English Degree

Back in my day when we went to college, we didn't get these fancy degrees in arts and letters. We got degrees in things like engineering and environmental sciences, which we subsequently never used because there was a recession on and we realized we had an aversion to working more than 3 hours a day unless it involved using our imagination, in which case we might consider 5.

But now that my chances of becoming an actual, sort of real author have gone from 0.0000005% to, I don't know, 0.1%, I feel like maybe I should start reading books again. In the last 4 months, my reading list has consisted of:

- The first three pages in a book on Buddhism that I've read 8 times
- The ingredients list of Nutella knock-offs in my epic search for palm oil-free delicious hazel nut spread
- A couple of short stories about life post-apocalypse.

But no more! It is time that I become educated like a real person with literary aspirations. Thus, I will take my janky $40 bike from Wal-Mart and ride to the Berkeley public library, where I will feast mine eyes on great writings of this century and the last. Or, you know, whatever the library has in.

This is the beginning of a series of posts on how to create your own education in literature. It's a bit like a choose-your-own-adventure book, or a degree from Brown - figure it out as you go!

And here is the first part of the growing list of books that you, I, we, all of us really ought to read, at some point. Of course, I have to balance those with current stuff in my genre. I'll be going for these tomorrow:

Paradise Lost
The Iliad (I am not looking forward to this)
Something with a teenage girl and dragons/werewolves/vampires/unicorns/angels on the cover

The Secret to Writing a Novel

Okay, I just want to announce to the internet that I have discovered the secret to writing a novel. This is it, are you ready for it? Okay, really now - are you ready?

Write 500 words every day.

That's it. 500 words that you make up is practically nothing. It should take you a half-hour tops. Here's some math for all you doubting, uh, Dorises: 100,000 / 500 = 200

That's right, 200 days to write a 100,000 page novel. Bam. It's like NaNIWRiMO except without the suffering, arbitrarily capitalized letters and it takes a lot longer too. But that's okay, because no suffering.

I've been doing this for, like, 7 days and it's been awesome! I already have 500 x 7 = 3500 words done on a new book.

Why I'm Here

Everything needs a mission statement, or at least a good introduction. Here's one for this blog:

I recently finished Petrified, a novel about suicide, love and gorgons. With the help of said novel, I am now represented by Vickie Motter at the Andrea Hurst Literary Agency (Yay!). And now I can no longer avoid the inevitable: it's time to start blogging.

I'm new to blogging (at least, blogging about myself) so this blog will be a constantly evolving entity. I'll try to focus a little on the book, a little on writing and reading in general, and a bit on the urban landscapes and mythology that inspire me. Rock on.