Exhibit 10.3

So I've discovered that a good percentage of people who visit this blog are actually coming through Google image searches to this post in order to get pictures of Sean Penn and Al Pacino in Carlito's Way. That really puts things in perspective.

Still, it's oddly comforting to know that a lot of people in Finland desperately need pictures of the cast of Carlito's Way. I don't remember reading that in the World Fact Book.

In a completely unrelated development: There may be no better way to waste four hours than The World Fact book. For instance, you may have known about the islands that constitute Vanuatu, but did you know that nearly 11% of the population are Seventh Day Adventists?

I suppose if you did know that, you also have a position on the Matthew and Hunter Island disputes that will surely drag us into WWIII someday soon.

Exhibit 4.11

By popular demand:


That's your hand in the corner.

Exhibit 3.12

So Stephen King has an essay in The New York Times about the short story. You can read it here (at least for the moment). I'd like to imagine someone writes an article like this every day. Some writer who is frustrated by the lack of the impact, other than that sweet C.V. credit, each of their published stories has. Some writer who feels conflicted about writing short stories when there are novels and screenplays and blog posts to be written. Some writer who then sits down and writes a short story.

Well, consider this as close as I'm going to get.

The short story isn't dead. It isn't being killed. It isn't, as King says, not "well." The short story gets about what it deserves, honestly, which is to be read by those that write them. It's hard to imagine what's wrong with that, but King seems to think that writers only read other writers in order to "get an idea of what sells." King laments this as "copping-a-feel" reading, but from my perspective it's a rare misstep by the usually self-effacing King which somehow ends up insulting both writers and readers.

Here's the thing: short stories don't sell. If The New Yorker were to accept one of my stories tomorrow, the transaction would be less like selling a car and more like winning a school raffle (incidentally, I would totally sell my car to The New Yorker if they're interested). The short story simply isn't a commodity anymore--nor was it probably ever--so it's naive of King to suggest that most (or any) writers spend their time working on short fiction in order to become famous or even get a little cash. Then, frustrated when they are unable to do so, give up or start pandering to what's popular. As no short fiction is popular, this seems particularly absurd.

I can tell you from the stacks of envelopes I opened while working at a journal and the stacks of envelopes I send out myself, the short story is certainly not hurting for writers and so should not be hurting for readers. That many of these writers don't read (and, more importantly, subscribe) to every journal they submit to is no doubt a cause of great concern for those journals' editors, but it hardly signals the end of the short story. Rather, it means writers (and journals) should reassess what kind of fiction they seek practice. Once we stop lamenting that short fiction isn't in the Saturday Evening Post, maybe we can finally stop seeking Saturday Evening Post short fiction.

(My favorite part about King mentioning the SEP is that it completely ignores the fact that the publication has ceased to exist at all. I'd like to think that this week the Washington Post or whoever will publish an article by a famous painter bemoaning the state of hyper-American, realist magazine cover art. Then, on some snooty art blog no one reads, someone else will write a post about how we should be happy that anyone still does hyper-American, realist magazine cover art. My guess is that this happens once a year for every single part of the Saturday Evening Post, including the recipes section).

King begins to make the point in the article that it's the stories that are bad, but by the end of the article he backs off this point in favor of a fairly broad critique of our short-fiction-ignoring culture. (Or, perhaps more accurately, King suggests it's the culture that leads to bad short stories. In any case, King doesn't seem willing to blame the writers). But again, this seems almost nonsensical to me as it is nearly impossible to imagine a writer being self-interested enough to care that their work will bring little financial benefit yet self-destructive enough to waste their time anyway.

It's interesting that some of the writers King chose for this year's Best American were writers who have had much more success with their short fiction than with their novels. If anyone should be bitter, it's probably a writer like Jim Shepard who everyone seems to know is great but can't get the recognition he deserves. Still, it's hard to argue that there was a time when short stories alone could make a writers' reputation. Sure, there's Flannery O'Connor and John Cheever and Raymond Carver. But we have Aimee Bender and George Saunders, not to mention dark horses like the previously mentioned Mr. Shepard. They may not ultimately get the respect of the former, but when it comes to dedicated short story writers, no generation has had more than one or two cross-over to the mainstream anyway.

None of this is meant to be an attack on Stephen King, who I can say without embarrassment showed me what it meant to be a writer in On Writing. But I do think there is a disconnect of status--not to even mention the generational disconnect--that leads him to his conclusions. Why get upset about what's at B&N? There are still hundreds of venues for short fiction in this country alone and that's without considering online journals (or anonymous pamphlets).

As with most things, poets have done a much better job of creating venues that cater to poet/readers. Breaking down the distinction between the reader and the writer for short stories is the first, and easiest, step for writers in a position of power (like King) to be making. Instead of acting like any writer who reads a short story is some grubby-handed molester, we should try to cultivate stories that do things writers admire. Not surprisingly, writers will admire many different things, which is how a dead, dying, "not well" form like the short story can be vital.