Button Tapper

Cartoon by Debbie Ridpath Ohi (via Inkygirl.com)

I’ve been thinking about applying for an MFA program, lately, as it would afford me time to write a real novel. Not just a 30-day NaNoWriMo marathon novel, which is all about quantity over quality, but a real, honest-to-goodness time-consuming, thoughtfully-penned novel.

That, quite frankly, is both exhilarating and totally terrifying.

Part of the terrifying aspect is that, like any application for school, you’re supposed to write up a succinct cover letter detailing any awesome aspects you bring to the table, which would convince them that you’d be an asset and a credit to the program. You’re supposed to sell yourself. They want to know about honors you’ve achieved, fellowships/grants/scholarships you’ve been granted, people you’ve impressed.

Sometimes, I wonder whom I’ve really impressed, or what I have to show for the past two years of freelancing work. I’m not saying it hasn’t been fun, but it hasn’t exactly added up to the kind of career I used to dream about when I was a starry-eyed creative writing major. Mostly because I haven’t been doing much creative writing.

Hence my desire to keep up with my haiku-a-day project, to do NaNoWriMo, to take on the 3-day Novel Writing Contest, etc.

So I have been asked to think about my goals, my dreams, my future—as these little questions are meant to prod you to write something about those types of things—and I am wondering where I really aim to go these days. Although I certainly enjoy writing about sex, and probably will always have an interest (some might say obsession) with this area, it’s not necessarily the area I want to specialize in forever. It’s just one of many interests, and it’s very easy to get pigeonholed when you write a sex column and run an erotica website.

I guess what I’m saying is that I’d like to be someone with a life outside the bedroom, to not be boxed into my boudoir, no matter how comfy it may be. Now the only question is where to go from here?

Moving beyond the
bedroom can be challenging;
I like a challenge

In case you haven’t noticed yet, there’s a new version of WordPress available. Upgrade your website now to avoid falling prey to obnoxious hackers!

Here’s a haiku to remind you. I call it “Be alert; the world needs more lerts”:

Obnoxious hackers
in yr base killing yr d00dz,
ruining yr site

Srsly.

This story is driving me nuts. Friday’s Gazette reports that Nelly Arcan’s money-hungry publishers are trying to hack into her computer to exploit the potential goldmine of unpublished work it houses. Various experts weigh in, throughout the piece, suggesting either that it’s the publisher’s right to do this or, more sanely, that it’s up to her family or any “literary heir” she may have named in her will.

But first things first: since when have publishers become so powerful? Show me the line in a writer’s contract that says their publisher owns the rights to any and all writing that author may have produced throughout her lifetime, and I’ll show you a line that needs to be stricken by a good lawyer. Especially when authors may move from one publisher to another, as Nelly Arcan did. The money-grubbing bastards at Éditions du Seuil should be slapped for their naked greed, suggesting that they will be publishing a posthumous novel by Arcan in 2010, and infringing upon her personal privacy rights by hacking into her computer. It’s disgusting.

It’s not clear from this article whether Arcan did have any sort of contract with Éditions du Seuil for this untitled “forthcoming” novel (Montreal publisher Coups de tête is slated to publish her final novel, Paradis clef en main, though it’s possible she may have had another contract with the French publisher), so to be fair, perhaps she had a two book deal (or more) with them that they are just trying to claim. But even so, it’s très gauche to be discussing business less than a month after Arcan took her own life.

Furthermore, the piece doesn’t make it clear what right, if any, the publisher would have to print an unfinished piece, over and above her family’s wishes. Jean Barbe, of Éditions Leméac, is quoted as saying that it’s up to the family to decide whether or not to allow the publication, and agrees that it is a question of greed to discuss the issue at this point in time. Nancy Morelli, on the other hand, suggests that it would actually be up to the literary executor, if any exists, because it’s really a question of intellectual property ownership.

Troublingly, Morelli says that there is no concern for the wishes of the deceased herself, if she has not named an executor. She asks, “Are we to respect the wishes of Franz Kafka, who said, ‘Destroy all my stuff’?”

In a word: Yes.

To me, this is not a question of intellectual property—which unquestionable belongs to the author, unless she has somehow signed this all-important right over to an immoral publisher—but of personal privacy. The thought of someone hacking into my computer to publish all of my private thoughts, random scribblings, bits and pieces that are half-baked or merely jotted down to jog my memory at a later date is truly troubling. Private items should be kept private, no matter how much they may allegedly add to the literary canon. Authors hold their work back for any number of reasons, and if they specifically state in their will that they want their unfinished works to be destroyed, this should be the final word.

This calls to mind the issues surrounding Lolita author Vladimir Nabokov’s final, unfinished work, The Original of Laura. At the time of his death, Nabokov’s wife and son were named the literary executors and instructed to burn the work. Wrestling with this, the work was put aside in a bank vault, but not destroyed. Nabokov’s son, Dmitri, finally decided to publish the book in 2008, and an excerpt is to be published in the December 2009 issue of Playboy. Is this what Vladimir would have wanted? Clearly not, as he instructed that his notes be burned. Is this going to boost Dmitri’s own profile as the “literary heir” of his famous father? Undoubtedly. Who gains, and who loses? And is it right to disrespect the wishes of the artist who created the work?

These are issues of personal privacy, and of trust. Perhaps it is silly to argue about whether or not someone who is no longer on this plane of existence would be upset by these betrayals and intrusions, but I wonder if we would feel the same way arguing over the same issues with regard to living authors. J.D. Salinger is still alive, but refuses to pen more stories for the world. This is totally his right, and anyone who attempts to publish his works without his permission will be reprimanded. Why shouldn’t the same be true of deceased authors? Do we have any more claim on their life’s work once they, as the gatekeepers, are out of the way? Should we not continue to respect their privacy by refusing to publish unfinished work, particularly work that is password-protected on a computer?

There is something very sinister to me about those who argue in favour of publishers’ rights, because it seems to me that these are the very people who would like us to believe that personal privacy is just a myth. If it is, then they have all the right in the world to trample our privacies, our rights and freedoms. And that simply will not stand. If an author must burn her own work in order to protect it from prying eyes, then clearly something in the publishing system is broken. I certainly would not want my own computer hacked into, my private writings published against my will, or my trusted friends and relatives to betray me. And if writing that into my will isn’t going to prevent those things from happening, then what the hell will?

I have been behind on my writing this week, and haven’t posted any of my daily haiku since October 12! Therefore, I will make-up with a MEGA HAIKU CATCH-UP post, right now. Five crazy haiku, coming atcha. In five… four… three…

Ugg Boots in action. The horror!

To begin, let’s start with my hatred for Ugg Boots. You know the ones I’m talking about. The ones that look like the type of hideously ugly slippers someone’s mom who has ceased to view herself as a human being shuffles around the house in? Those. Hate ‘em. Especially when worn by so-called “fashion conscious” university students, paired up with sleazy sweatpants. Try harder, damn you! You’re young and beautiful! Stop dressing like middle-aged bag ladies! Anyway, the haiku:

It’s that time of year:
Shoes turn to boots in the
shop windows. Fuck Uggs!

Seriously. When they’ve actually shortened the name of the company from “Ugly Boots” to “Uggs,” you should know it’s time to run screaming.

In keeping with the fashion theme, I recently purchased a pair of hot 80s-inspired earrings from my friend Mercedes La Rosa, who is selling her wares under the company name bijougraphie. I dig the name of the earrings I bought, too: Neuromantics. She informs me that they were inspired by listening to a lot of Duran Duran. So I wrote a little ode to her latest creative effort:

bijougraphie, c’est
trés jolie! Neuromantics
swaying on my lobes

You should definitely check them out if you’ve got holes in your ears or a neck to swing some chains on. She’s got an Etsy shop, or you can buy direct from her website.

Two down, three to go!

In personal news, it looks like my “V for Vixen” column is going to undergo some changes over at the Hour website. The paper just keeps shrinking, due to lean financial times and lack of advertising dollars, so my editors have asked me to pitch a shorter, half-sized version of my column. Since my 750 words will be scaled back to only 375, I’ve been thinking about different ideas that will fit into this more bite-sized format. Naturally, the dirty haiku came to mind, as did a Twitter-esque “sex in 140″ type of format. So while I’m pondering this issue, as well as potential new names for my column, I came up with a haiku on the subject:

Pro tips in fifty
words or less, give or take three-
hundred. Sexy slice.

Inspired by this “sexy slice” concept, here are my final two haiku, along with a link to an amusing “Twatif” video, originally posted on the Huffington Post:

Sweet lovin’ on the
hot-love highway, he rocks out
with rubber dildos

Tantalizing tease
Cum and gone in one-forty
Brave new world of sex

Gossip frontwoman Beth Ditto, on the cover of NME (photo via The Gossip on MySpace)

The Gossip are in town tomorrow night (October 13), and tickets are an unbelievable $20! I have no idea if any are actually still available, as the Admission.com website doesn’t seem to want to sell me any (stupid technology), but that doesn’t mean you can’t snag a few at the door (also for only $20).

Also important to note: The show has apparently been rescheduled from its original venue, Sala Rossa, and is now happening at Le National (1220 St-Catherine East) instead, to accommodate the overwhelming demand.

Um, duh! The Gossip are FRIGGIN’ HUGE, yo. Who the hell booked ‘em at teeny Sala Rossa to begin with, anyway?

At any rate, my birthday’s on Wednesday and I figure it’s as good a time as any to embrace my inner party animal, get out there and dance. Oh, and force my entourage to buy me early-birthday drinks, of course.

In honour of Beth Ditto’s amazing voice and fuck-you attitude, I offer you this tabloid-esque haiku:

The Gossip in town:
dimestore diamond in the rough
proclaims “Kiss my ass!”