Like most people, I expected a three day weekend break from F5ing Facebook, Twitter, and Google Reader. I woke up this morning (I am an uncool depressive non-insomniac), ate some eggs, opened my laptop and discovered all bets were off. This, posted at 1:53am. This, about 4:30am. This, 9:30am. Comments, of course, and probably more to come (along with whatever I've missed so far besides.)

I had a few reactions. In no particular order:

1. I don't concur with Jason's list, but I could probably write one myself. I read things that others enjoy, but just aren't for me. I tend to think along the lines of individual pieces rather than writers. But given enough time and background reading, I could do it.  

2. This overall discussion picks at a theorem that is generally accepted by the indielit cafeteria (sorry if the caf analogy bugs, but I have found it useful for a while): Nothing good comes from negativity, and I will therefore refrain. This theorem works well in two very important areas. It keeps the caf supportive in a larger world that is usually uncaring, and it prevents the caf from imploding in a has-happened-elsewhere-on-the-Internet-countless-times slambook disaster. Let me repeat: These dynamics are very important, and the theorem supports them.

2a. Does the theorem work as scientific law, though? No. Without Jason's post, I might have assumed that he enjoys Brian Evenson's work. (Somehow, Lydia Davis didn't surprise me. As for the others, coin toss.) I now know more about Jason's tastes in literature than I did, hell, twelve hours ago. I'm not convinced that's a negative. Nor do I think opening dialogue about and around the theorem is a negative. I wish such things were discussed more often. I think NOT questioning them is part of what makes the caf overwhelming and ridiculous sometimes. Let me repeat: Not questioning = overwhelming and ridiculous.

3. Here's the other enormous problem with the theorem: It allows one to assume that omission equals disapproval, in an environment where omission is a regular and frequently non-motivated occurrence. I can't even begin to count how many stories, books, litmags I've really enjoyed that never got online airtime from me. Truly. But reading my 100% non-pimping prattle from the back half of 2010, according to the theorem, you'd think I hated everything I read. Even now, I often refrain from sharing something because so much of my social media audience is in the same cafeteria, and sees the exact same accolades. Under the weight of so much enthusiasm, as with anything else, we bend and get uncomfortable.

3a. That doesn't mean I thought The Thing I Didn't Share sucked. But because of the theorem we all live under, you may assume I thought it did.

4. There's multifaceting going on. Can we please acknowledge that? Pretending there's no offline world for a minute, we have: the writer, the Internet persona (subsets: Facebooker, Tweeter), the (self) marketer. That's even before you consider The Body of Work. Another, slightly shakier, theorem: If you like one facet, you must like them all. I think that theorem needs to go away first, honestly. And this is one area where I take slight issue with Jason's post — in a couple of cases, it muddles this a little. 

5. As that third link above makes clear, what transpired today was lopsided. I'd like to see more dissection of favorable reviews of writers' work. As long as dissection of personas remains off the table (and that is a tremendous qualifier, I know), I think the caf could take that significant step forward.

Roy Kesey at Recommended Reading. I admit, I enjoy how everyone agonizes over having to choose one literary journal. Also: Rumpus Book Club interview with Kesey here.

J. Robert Lennon's self-help titles.

MFA Mondays at Jessie's, starting here.

"I've been to a few readings that have merited a 40 minute (or longer) reading, primarily because the author actually knew how to read, which is to say they modulated their voice periodically, sped up and slowed down, paused, and generally didn't sound like a fucking robot."

Elizabeth Browne on women, rejection, and the VIDA numbers.

I need a writing staycation.

Vermin on the Mount interviews with Bonnie ZoBell, Heather Fowler.

I suck at platform games, so I'm suspicious of how decent I am at The Great Gatsby.

Mud Luscious Press is, as always, up to interesting things.

Janet Potter on Patton Oswalt's Zombie Spaceship Wasteland.

"These young short story writers cannot stop inserting music and lyrics into scenes."

List of Independent Alternatives to Closed Borders Bookstores. Some of the mileages are terrifying.

Why some SFF crosses over, and some doesn't. (via)

Lisa Romeo on reading Jay-Z.

USC faculty on workshopping.

Recognize the guy in this picture? (Answer.)

I've been reading a lot and playing video games almost, but not quite, a lot. Last week I had a notebook that I was using for everything, but this week I can't find it. It's a problem. There are things in that notebook which are necessary for this week to function properly. I lose things often, because I can't get away from the idea that different objects are very important at different times. The notebook will turn up. It's not like it left the house.

I thought I needed to Luddite myself, and I did for a couple of days. By this afternoon, it was obvious that isn't the answer. My brain has caught up. Time to think of a new trick.

Tonight I had to drive someplace in town. Sometimes when I start the car, one of the radio bands doesn't work. My usual solution is to turn the car off and back on again. Since I didn't figure things out right away, I ended up killing the engine at a stop sign next to a quiet, still-snowy hill. The interior lights and the headlights went off, the heat vents stopped roaring, and for a minute my car was a completely different place — a dark couch in a moonlit living room. It didn't fix the radio. That came back later.

According to the eye testing I had done last month, the lower quadrant of my right optic nerve is already hosed. I try to notice it sometimes, the damage, and I never succeed. As far as I can tell, it's the same as it's always been. By the way, Andrea Bocelli had glaucoma from birth, and lost his vision when he got hit in the face with a soccer ball at age 12. There are a lot of people on the Internet who wonder if he is really blind. I like the idea of Andrea Bocelli pulling a fast one on all of us. 

Lag is when there is considerable time lapse between doing something in a video game, and seeing it actually happen on the screen. It can usually be attributed to some delay or fallibility out of immediate control — the Internet service provider, the router, the inadequate PC setup. There was a lot of lag today. I need more RAM. I always need more RAM.

I wrote about diners today. Would have been worse than not writing at all, except that an AC/DC tribute band popped up for a minute or two.  A little hope, that.

I ate a candy bar about two hours ago. I hate to admit: I feel better.

It'd be nice if tomorrow was the day.

(This entry is a day late because I got home, dumped the contents of my luggage in the washing machine, fell asleep for 12 hours, and woke up with a bad cold. This entry may also seem like it's full of flat affect. Nothing could be further from the truth.)

I waited for my train at Penn for a while. The family next to me was going to Manassas on a different train. They had three little girls who rode scooters all over the waiting area. I'm paranoid about my right ankle because I've broken it twice already, and they were cutting it sooo close with their sharp, speedy turns. 

Schools in the DC area had two hour delays on Wednesday. There was a misty rain. Adorable!

I was going to collect buttons only from places that rejected my work this year, but strolling-the-aisles daze set in and I completely forgot about my plan. Which is too bad, because some of those buttons were really cool.

I saw someone at a distance that I hadn't seen in twenty years. The last time we spoke, he'd been dispatched by a girl to ask if I was going out with someone. If I'd had a closer opportunity, I would've said hello and then said "Still not."

Each year, I go to a panel about very short fiction. Each year, there is less comprehension distance between the panelists and the audience. In Chicago, in 2009, there were blank stares. This year, there weren't.  I am looking forward to seeing what happens when we're all back in Chicago next year.

Vodka tonics are made with 7-Up if you don't ask the bartender to do otherwise. I didn't ask the bartender to do otherwise. Many, many times.

Here is a letter of reference: Lauren Becker is a great AWP roommate because she's not an inconsiderate slob, she doesn't mind talking about stuff both important and stupid until 5:30 in the morning, and she can get a supercool hotel to surrender its entire supply of Oreo cookies and organic green tea in the space of thirty seconds. A+++, would room with her again.

I made a run through the Bookfair floor on Saturday to pick up the stuff I knew I wanted, I dumped it all in a box, and shipped it home. I missed a few things. The box is currently in Laurel, MD. I figure I'll see it around Easter time.

My writing life is quiet. Most of my pubs in 2010 were during the front half of the year, which is a decade ago in Internet years. I overheard lots of conversations that I couldn't have, and didn't want to have because I suck at that kind of conversation anyway. It was oddly liberating, but I know I need to get moving again on my work. A couple of people also told me that, point blank. I am grateful to those people. I miss what I do in order to make sense of things. Even better/worse, I need it.

If you're reading this because you're looking for your name, it's important that you slow down and read this paragraph. I was so happy to see you, you have no idea. You were clever and funny and cared about a lot of the same things I do, we all do. You also had great taste in clothes, music, books, TV, and food. You are an awesome writer — but of course, I already knew that. Thanks for everything, and I'll see you next year. Hopefully I'll talk to you in the meantime, though. I would like that a lot, because there is never enough time at AWP. That is what makes the other 360 days of the year tough.

One last story. By Sunday morning, I was done. Five days is a long time to be in what amounts to one frame of mind, no matter how much I looked forward to it all year. I wanted to get on my train and drink many bottles of water and finish the article in Vanity Fair that I'd started, like, five days before. And maybe sleep…no, definitely sleep. So I was in line for the Acela and there were many many blue and white tote bags and many many cute little scarves and many many conversations about narrative and dialogue and submitting theses. After a few minutes I realized that the guy right behind me was also having an animated Writer Conversation with another guy. Their Writer Conversation was about the differences between writing screenplays and writing fiction. I was too tired to be interested in any way and I stood there thinking c'mon, c'mon, open the gate even more than I already had been. Then the guy behind me said: "I have four novels…only one of them did well." The other guy: "What's it called?" "Happy Baby." That's right, folks…you now know someone who silently wished Stephen Elliott would shut up.

Some less damning and more excellent AWP wrapups:  Ryan Bradley's, Laura Ellen Scott's, Rebekah Silverman's, Sal Pane's, Mel Bosworth's, Tim Jones-Yelvington's via Big Other, Scott Garson's, Roxane Gay's, Artifice's, xTx's, Jamie Iredell's, J. Bradley's, Molly Gaudry's, Brandi Wells's, Jesus Angel Garcia's via EL, Doug Paul Case's, Fiction Writers Review's, Kate Zambreno's, Amy Holman's, Amelia Gray's, Ariana Reines's, Tayari Jones's, Lindsay Hunter's, Elizabeth Browne's, Leslie Pietrzyk's, and Lauren Becker's.