It's almost March, folks, which means one thing: February, the worst month of the year, will be dead to us for 11 months. We've had to use a lot of snow-perbole to explain why the weather was so crappy, but the real answer has been right in front of us. That's right: Jesse James' memoir is causing the end of times. I really hope bad publicity doesn't help sales, because if it does that man is going to be a bestseller faster than Snooki. Who is also a bestseller. Diagnosis: genius. It must be genius hard at work, in the Snook's brain and in Jesse James' Nazi-loving skull—why else would people shell out hard-earned recession dollars for this stuff? Blech, I think I need some book therapy.
I might just wander away from books and play the Waiting for Godot video game, or scroll through Rashkolnikov's inbox, or take a listen to Hamlet's iPod (spoiler: it's not all Dashboard Confessional and The New Pornographers). I might even play Charlaine Harris' video game. Why aren't more novelists writing video games, anyway? It must be because all of the hot girls are in publishing.
Speaking of hot things, have you checked out the hot deals at Borders' liquidation sales? (Great segue, Laura!) They're almost as hot as this description of Henry Miller's last marriage. Which is to say, not hot at all. 20% is not a steep discount, folks. Although you could pick up these essential writings about writing, and take to heart these lessons in teaching writing. Then you too will be prepared to write Vonnegut's bio, or alternately, get rejected as nicely as Tim Burton. Just don't end up one of the top 10 pirated books.
Now that you're all caught up on the super important news of the week, ponder to yourselves if you can write across gender, and see what gender you write like. And for those of you school-goers and paper-writers, remember: always make your phone write your citations. This message has been brought to you by the letter L.