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puddlesofunA short overview of how the publishing industry works, as far as I can tell:
“So,” said the successful writer of non-stop action coaster novels, “what do you think?”
“Well,” said the high-up and important publishing executive, “I do like that it was an unending thrill ride of excitement and adventure. I was glued to my seat whilst simultaneously feeling like I was going to be thrown out of it. At any rate, the person who summarised it for me said they were. And it scored very highly in our scientific tests for unputdownability.”
“That’s good news,” said the writer of non-stop action coaster novels. “Perhaps you would like to shower me with millions of dollars?”
“I would indeed,” said the high-up and important publishing executive, reaching below his desk, “but I’m afraid there is the small matter of you inadvertently stumbling across the GRAND CONSPIRACY to which I am a party.
“And now,” (with this he pulled out from behind his desk a sword) “you must die!”
“Oh no,” said the writer of non-stop action coaster novels, “I should have known that a member of the elitist left-wing literati such as yourself would be in on such a plot!”
“There’s no point in fighting, writer of non-stop action coaster novels! We control EVERYTHING!” With a manic laugh he leveled his sword, which was in fact an 18th century sword/gun hybrid, and pulled the trigger.
With preternatural reflexes honed by a lifetime of writing the phrase “preternatural reflexes”, the writer of non-stop action coaster novels somersaulted through the office window in a spectacular shower of glass, avoiding the enraged executive’s blast by mere millimetres, to find himself hanging 18 storeys above the city streets on parade day, suspended only by the curtain he had preternaturally grabbed hold of on his way out.
“Come back here, you pixel stained technopeasant wench!” roared the high-up and powerful publishing executive, flecks of spittle forming at the corners of his mouth.
The writer of non-stop action coaster novels knew he had only seconds or less to think of something. The swordgun wielding maniac was closing fast, and the curtain was tearing ring by ring from its railing. “It’s time,” said the writer of non-stop action coaster novels, “to take it to the limit.”
“You’ll never take it to the limit, writer of non-stop action coaster novels!” spat the executive as the curtain finally snapped and the writer of non-stop action coaster novels launched himself skillfully outwards into the air with a kick of his feet. Using the curtain as a makeshift parachute to slow and direct his fall, he skillfully evaded the executive’s bullets and steered himself toward a large balloon float on the streets below. One of the executive’s shots pierced the balloon, causing it to deflate and providing the wily writer with perfect cover. The high-up and important publishing executive howled in frustration and pounded on the button that would release Big Publishing’s elite squad of highly trained ninja assassins and slush-pile readers.
The writer of non-stop action coaster novels landed, cat like, on the ground, quickly made his way into the crowd and started blending in, taking advantage of the fact that, despite being a highly successful writer of non-stop action coaster novels, he looked much like a normal human being (only more rugged and exciting, obviously). His mind was racing. So, it turned out that his source on this novel was sane after all. He had had his doubts before, especially since the source was a professor of geobeefography, which was not nearly as respected a field as, say, symbology. But this afternoon proved that it was all true. All of it! Even the bits that had no logical connection to what he’d seen must surely soon fall into place. Once he was clear of his current danger (he assumed correctly that Big Publishing, like all major corporations, kept some sort of paramilitary retinue on staff and that they would currently be tracking him) he would have to find the professor again and warn him. He headed for the subway.
Suddenly, just before he reached the subway, one of Big Publishing’s assassin squad cartwheeled out in front of him, blocking his way. He had to think fast. He knew he could take out one of them easily (although he’d never been in a fight, he’d read countless SAS training manuals and the like as research, and assumed the knowledge carried), but there were bound to be countless others behind, and he didn’t want to give them a chance to catch up.
Luckily, a hotdog vendor happened to be plying trade nearby. Regretting that he hadn’t the time to talk to the small-business owner and explain that it was for a just cause and that he was actually quite famous, and time to autograph a copy of his latest book and watch the man’s eyes brim with gratitude, the writer of non-stop action coaster novels grabbed hold of the wheeled hotdog stand and started running it directly at the deadly ninja assassin.
The majority of pinko literati ninja assassin folk employed by publishing companies are vegetarian, and the writer of non-stop action coaster novels, being an experienced author, knew this well. This one in particular was a vegan, and probably a communist. At the sight of a small truck laden with meat heading his way he leapt clear, screaming and trying to brush mostly imaginary hotdog juice from his black shirt.
Carried forward by momentum, the writer of non-stop action coaster novels barreled past the writhing assassin and down the stairs into the subway, riding the cart right through the ticket barriers and leaping clear just before it stacked and showered dozens of fortunate commuters with wholesome meat-products. And just as the train pulled in, too! The writer of non-stop action coaster novels jumped on, and thanked his lucky stars that he was living under a government that made the trains run on time.
His trained writer’s eye scanned the subway carriage, swiftly carrying informative descriptions back to his brain in small, easy-to-digest chunks. He filed the various passengers in their correct boxes: work commuter; single mother; shifty looking guy with sinister eye patch; work commuter – wait! That single mother’s pram was completely covered. She could be hiding anything!
Wary that The Conspiracy may have an agent on the train, he sat down opposite the most attractive woman he could find. Her otherwise wholesome face had been marred by one of those piercing things, but he figured that just meant she was plucky, like the morgue girl in NCIS.
“I don’t want you to be alarmed,” he said quietly, “as many people have been known to lose their cool in situations like this. For instance, to start tearing their clothes off and things like that. But I am duty bound to inform you that you are sitting opposite a renouned writer of non-stop actioncoaster novels.”
“Really,” said the woman. “That’s fascinating.”
“Please, try and control yourself. I can give you an autograph and possibly let you touch me later, but right now I’m in a spot of bother. Listen carefully: I want you to turn around slowly and take a look at the woman with the pram. Can you see her?”
“I think you misunderstood me,” said the woman, who hadn’t turned around. “I was being sarcastic.”
The writer of non-stop actioncoaster novels had no time to work out what this bizarre comment meant – he figured out later that she must have been delirious with the shock of meeting him – because at that moment the train screeched to a sudden halt, knocking half of the passengers to the ground.
“Nobody move!” yelled the man with the eye patch, revealing an AK-47.
The eyepatch guy, thought the writer of non-stop actioncoaster novels, that was going to be my second guess!
...and so on for a few hundred pages, and then it sells millions and I become rich. Easy!
“So,” said the successful writer of non-stop action coaster novels, “what do you think?”
“Well,” said the high-up and important publishing executive, “I do like that it was an unending thrill ride of excitement and adventure. I was glued to my seat whilst simultaneously feeling like I was going to be thrown out of it. At any rate, the person who summarised it for me said they were. And it scored very highly in our scientific tests for unputdownability.”
“That’s good news,” said the writer of non-stop action coaster novels. “Perhaps you would like to shower me with millions of dollars?”
“I would indeed,” said the high-up and important publishing executive, reaching below his desk, “but I’m afraid there is the small matter of you inadvertently stumbling across the GRAND CONSPIRACY to which I am a party.
“And now,” (with this he pulled out from behind his desk a sword) “you must die!”
“Oh no,” said the writer of non-stop action coaster novels, “I should have known that a member of the elitist left-wing literati such as yourself would be in on such a plot!”
“There’s no point in fighting, writer of non-stop action coaster novels! We control EVERYTHING!” With a manic laugh he leveled his sword, which was in fact an 18th century sword/gun hybrid, and pulled the trigger.
With preternatural reflexes honed by a lifetime of writing the phrase “preternatural reflexes”, the writer of non-stop action coaster novels somersaulted through the office window in a spectacular shower of glass, avoiding the enraged executive’s blast by mere millimetres, to find himself hanging 18 storeys above the city streets on parade day, suspended only by the curtain he had preternaturally grabbed hold of on his way out.
“Come back here, you pixel stained technopeasant wench!” roared the high-up and powerful publishing executive, flecks of spittle forming at the corners of his mouth.
The writer of non-stop action coaster novels knew he had only seconds or less to think of something. The swordgun wielding maniac was closing fast, and the curtain was tearing ring by ring from its railing. “It’s time,” said the writer of non-stop action coaster novels, “to take it to the limit.”
“You’ll never take it to the limit, writer of non-stop action coaster novels!” spat the executive as the curtain finally snapped and the writer of non-stop action coaster novels launched himself skillfully outwards into the air with a kick of his feet. Using the curtain as a makeshift parachute to slow and direct his fall, he skillfully evaded the executive’s bullets and steered himself toward a large balloon float on the streets below. One of the executive’s shots pierced the balloon, causing it to deflate and providing the wily writer with perfect cover. The high-up and important publishing executive howled in frustration and pounded on the button that would release Big Publishing’s elite squad of highly trained ninja assassins and slush-pile readers.
The writer of non-stop action coaster novels landed, cat like, on the ground, quickly made his way into the crowd and started blending in, taking advantage of the fact that, despite being a highly successful writer of non-stop action coaster novels, he looked much like a normal human being (only more rugged and exciting, obviously). His mind was racing. So, it turned out that his source on this novel was sane after all. He had had his doubts before, especially since the source was a professor of geobeefography, which was not nearly as respected a field as, say, symbology. But this afternoon proved that it was all true. All of it! Even the bits that had no logical connection to what he’d seen must surely soon fall into place. Once he was clear of his current danger (he assumed correctly that Big Publishing, like all major corporations, kept some sort of paramilitary retinue on staff and that they would currently be tracking him) he would have to find the professor again and warn him. He headed for the subway.
Suddenly, just before he reached the subway, one of Big Publishing’s assassin squad cartwheeled out in front of him, blocking his way. He had to think fast. He knew he could take out one of them easily (although he’d never been in a fight, he’d read countless SAS training manuals and the like as research, and assumed the knowledge carried), but there were bound to be countless others behind, and he didn’t want to give them a chance to catch up.
Luckily, a hotdog vendor happened to be plying trade nearby. Regretting that he hadn’t the time to talk to the small-business owner and explain that it was for a just cause and that he was actually quite famous, and time to autograph a copy of his latest book and watch the man’s eyes brim with gratitude, the writer of non-stop action coaster novels grabbed hold of the wheeled hotdog stand and started running it directly at the deadly ninja assassin.
The majority of pinko literati ninja assassin folk employed by publishing companies are vegetarian, and the writer of non-stop action coaster novels, being an experienced author, knew this well. This one in particular was a vegan, and probably a communist. At the sight of a small truck laden with meat heading his way he leapt clear, screaming and trying to brush mostly imaginary hotdog juice from his black shirt.
Carried forward by momentum, the writer of non-stop action coaster novels barreled past the writhing assassin and down the stairs into the subway, riding the cart right through the ticket barriers and leaping clear just before it stacked and showered dozens of fortunate commuters with wholesome meat-products. And just as the train pulled in, too! The writer of non-stop action coaster novels jumped on, and thanked his lucky stars that he was living under a government that made the trains run on time.
His trained writer’s eye scanned the subway carriage, swiftly carrying informative descriptions back to his brain in small, easy-to-digest chunks. He filed the various passengers in their correct boxes: work commuter; single mother; shifty looking guy with sinister eye patch; work commuter – wait! That single mother’s pram was completely covered. She could be hiding anything!
Wary that The Conspiracy may have an agent on the train, he sat down opposite the most attractive woman he could find. Her otherwise wholesome face had been marred by one of those piercing things, but he figured that just meant she was plucky, like the morgue girl in NCIS.
“I don’t want you to be alarmed,” he said quietly, “as many people have been known to lose their cool in situations like this. For instance, to start tearing their clothes off and things like that. But I am duty bound to inform you that you are sitting opposite a renouned writer of non-stop actioncoaster novels.”
“Really,” said the woman. “That’s fascinating.”
“Please, try and control yourself. I can give you an autograph and possibly let you touch me later, but right now I’m in a spot of bother. Listen carefully: I want you to turn around slowly and take a look at the woman with the pram. Can you see her?”
“I think you misunderstood me,” said the woman, who hadn’t turned around. “I was being sarcastic.”
The writer of non-stop actioncoaster novels had no time to work out what this bizarre comment meant – he figured out later that she must have been delirious with the shock of meeting him – because at that moment the train screeched to a sudden halt, knocking half of the passengers to the ground.
“Nobody move!” yelled the man with the eye patch, revealing an AK-47.
The eyepatch guy, thought the writer of non-stop actioncoaster novels, that was going to be my second guess!
...and so on for a few hundred pages, and then it sells millions and I become rich. Easy!
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no subject
Date: 2007-08-28 05:52 am (UTC)Can I metaquote some of this?
no subject
Date: 2007-08-28 12:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-28 01:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-28 02:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-29 02:33 pm (UTC)Gah.
no subject
Date: 2007-08-28 02:26 pm (UTC)As such, I should credit the phrase "pixel-stained technopeasant wench" to its original source:
http://community.livejournal.com/sfwa/10039.html
...such an angry man...
And though many have used it, I think few authors have truly embodied the phrase "take it to the limit" to the degree L.H. Franzibald has:
http://tsots.pbwiki.com/Introduction+Page
Here from metaquotes...
Date: 2007-08-28 03:06 pm (UTC)Re: Here from metaquotes...
Date: 2007-08-29 02:38 pm (UTC)Re: Here from metaquotes...
Date: 2007-08-29 08:40 pm (UTC)Re: Also here from metaquotes
Date: 2007-08-29 02:51 pm (UTC)"Quick!" said the conservatively dressed art historian he had arranged to meet earlier, who acted all straight-laced but you know she'd just be a demon in the sack, really, if only you could get her to undo her hair and take off those glasses, "my zeppelin is parked out back!"
"These people's lack of respect for art sickens me," said the writer of non-stop action coaster novels as he quickly cut free the smudged section of the painting with his pen-knife, then clobbered the nearest russian kung-fu expert with a Mattise. "Let's get out of here."
The conservatively dressed but pretty art historian opened up one of the Gallery's numerous secret passages and they ran full pelt past all of the art fragments the Gallery had kept under wraps, including the Mona Lisa's eyebrows and several works from Andy Warhol's long covered-up expressionist period. But emerging from the exterior of the gallery, they realised that getting to the zeppelin was not going to be as easy as they thought...