The business of writing is not mystical or special. Writing is tough and thankless work and I don’t know a working writer who has time to stop to attend a writer’s group because the author is either in the middle of a deadline or is collapsing after just hitting a drop-dead date.
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Google are making many surprise moves early in 2009 and I love them all. The latest Google gift is the ability to use Google Gears to work offline with Gmail and your Google Calendar.
Google Gears worked up offline access for Docs last year and now, as you can see below on my Mac Desktop, I have direct access my mail, sked and workload 24/7/365 and I could not be happier.
Bruce Springsteen is back. His latest album — “Working on a Dream” — is acoustic and impressive. The haunting in his voice is everlasting.
Toby Young is Michael Young’s son. Fifty years ago, Michael Young wrote the groundbreaking book, “The Rise of the Meritocracy.” Today, Toby examines the popularity of his father’s book and how the very idea of a “meritocracy” — a term his father coined — to condemn the British elite, has now been replaced with the “celebritariat.”
If you write a personal blog — are you now, or have you ever been — a Burned Out Blogger? If so, how did you pull yourself from the ashes?
One of the worst feelings is when you do someone a favor — like getting them a paying gig — and they then betray you by complaining on their blog about the very work you got them.
That sort of behavior is: The Definition of Bad Taste.
If you don’t like the job or appreciate the favor, that’s fine, but keep it to yourself.
No one wants to read about ungrateful complaining on a public blog.
Whine to your friends and bad-mouth — if you must — those who do you favors… out of earshot and eyeshot!
A former beloved professor of mine in graduate school was found of saying this about that sort of betrayer: “I will do nothing to hurt you; but I will also do nothing to help you.”
I, The Machine.
I am a machine.
My invented mechanisms are a compliment.
Writing a book in under a month is of neither myth nor man but of machine.
The machine is me.
The book is life.