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Literary Arts
Barry Gifford's Do the Blind Dream?
Bay Area writer Barry Gifford has long straddled the line between literature and cinema, writing screenplays as well as fiction that others have turned into film. He's perhaps best known for his association with filmmaker David Lynch. Lynch turned Gifford's characters Sailor and Lulu into the 1990 Palme D'Or winner Wild at Heart. Seven years later the two co-wrote the heavily underrated Lost Highway. More
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Literary Arts
Veterans of S.F.'s Edinburgh Castle pub make a mean gin and tonic. Now they're on tap to become the city's newest independent publishers
Alan Black makes it all sound so easy. Maybe it is. In his thirteen years at the famed Edinburgh Castle, http://www.castlenews.com , Black has given a leg up to many writers and performers and is now ready to add "publisher" to his long list of credentials. No doubt his natural charm and wicked wit have also helped to knit together a group of people ready and willing to help out when called upon. More
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Literary Arts
How the hell do you win a literary contest? All sorts of tips and tricks are out there if you know where to look. Crossing your fingers doesn't hurt, either.
I recently received a letter notifying me that the first chapter of my memoir-in-progress has been selected as a finalist for the New Letters Literary Award in creative nonfiction, a prestigious international writing competition. More
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Literary Arts
Michelle Tea and Laurenn McCubbin's Rent Girl
Michelle Tea makes me nervous. I've often thought that if we were friends I would be constantly shouting things like, "Be careful! That sounds dangerous! Are you sure that's a good idea?" More
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Literary Arts
Zinefest 2004 is about as D.I.Y. as you can get. It's so alternative, the organizers don't even count how many people show up.
The zine is the literary arm of D.I.Y. culture. Zines can be works of art, elaborately presented with limited-edition, silk-screened and hand-embroidered covers, or they might be little rants about the opera-singing neighbor downstairs, all Xeroxed into chapbooks during a three-a.m. visit to Kinko's. More
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Literary Arts
David Mitchell's Cloud Atlas
"Spent the fortnight gone in the music room," writes Robert Frobisher, a disinherited composer, to his lover in England, "reworking my year's fragments into a 'sextet for overlapping soloists': piano, clarinet, 'cello, flute, oboe, and violin, each in its own language of key, scale, and color. In the first set, each solo is interrupted by its successor; in the second, each interruption is recontinued, in order. Revolutionary or gimmicky? Shan't know until it's finished, and by then it'll be too late." More
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Literary Arts
Once a whimsical Berkeley lit mag devoted to dogs, The Bark is now cutting more mainstream teeth on service journalism, publishing a book, and spawning a litter of imitators.
Somewhere between Dog Fancy and Harper's there was a void, and Claudia Kawczynska and Cameron Woo found a way to fill it. Devoted dog lovers, the couple started The Bark, a quarterly magazine based in Berkeley that in seven years has grown from the newsletter of an offleash advocacy group into a circulation of 75,000. More
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Literary Arts
Cintra Wilson's Colors Insulting to Nature
Did you ever wear inch-thick pancake makeup and hot pants to the mall when you were twelve because you thought it made you look grown up and sophisticated? Are you still bitter that no talent scout ever discovered you and made you an instant star in the way you most certainly deserved? Cintra Wilson feels your pain. More
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Literary Arts
poem
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Literary Arts
San Francisco's annual lit festival has gotten big, fast. Now a week long, it's filled with sponsors, panels, booze, music, film, and, oh yeah, lots of author readings.
A good friend of mine has on his refrigerator door cartoonist Ted Rall's classic "Everybody's Happy Nowadays," in which young, healthy, cheerful, culturally sensitive San Franciscans browbeat a skeptic until he caves in and says, yes, he also loves The City. Stories about San Francisco's Litquake festival in the local press often remind me of the Rall cartoon, with breathless writers on the verge of exhorting us, too, to say it: "We're literary! We're literary! We're splendidly literary!" More
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