Trapped under something heavy. Actually, several somethings.
I'm teaching two new classes this year and have taken on several new editing clients, four within a week of each other. I've got my eye on a sweet DSLR camera that goes off special at my local Costco the end of the month. And some of my pet political projects keep e-mailing me, asking for money. I keep obliging them because my future and the future of my children and grandchildren are very important, and I have definite ideas how that should be brought about. So I take on more work. And my students keep writing essays. And I neglect this blog because sleeping, eating, taking care of my home and family can't be put on "pause" and made to wait till later. Also, watching an occasional "Grimm" or "Supernatural" episode helps keep me sane. Judgers to the left.
I am working on a huge tirade on Young Adult / Teen / whatever they're calling fiction aimed at 11 to 18-year-olds this week, because this ball keeps rolling since the Joel Stein column appeared in the NY Times back in March. I'm not expecting you to read all 400+ comments, but some of them are a scream. I've read some of the of the supposedly "adult" authors touted by some of the commenters. Just because the protagonist is over 18 and has naughty sex with anything that moves doesn't make a novel, its story, its subject matter, or its author "mature." In fact, I've read some very "juvenile" fiction supposedly aimed at adult audiences. David Brin? Tom Clancy? E. L. James? Holy triple crap! So, Stein, talk to the hand.
And I'll be back with more on this later. I hope.
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