Carnival! Carnival! Carnival!
I'm considering holding, in addition to the regular features, a one-day "Trash NEW YORKER Carnival" on this blog next week, as a way to begin weakening the stranglehold that rag holds over the minds of demi-puppets throughout the land, and by extension, over American letters. The "NEW YORKER story" is still taken as the model by wannabe lit journals. The dream of the million workshop grads out there is still to get a story placed in the mag. Which is silly when you recognize that:
A.) The NEW YORKER story hasn't advanced in sixty years.
B.) Only a select group of well-connected writers are ever allowed to publish fiction in the publication's pages.
C.) Those who are published by them must conform to the anal "NEW YORKER style"-- which means the writer has few rights and little freedom.
Which I guess doesn't matter to most slavish demi-puppets anyway.
(Among the planned features: "The Worst NEW YORKER Fiction Writer of All Time!" Suggestions welcomed.)
The ULA: Breaking the Chains.