Pet Advice

This entry by , via is a must-read for pet owners: What a terrible product! This has got to be one of the worst veterinary products to come along in a long time.

Open Letter to Salon.com

I wrote this to Salon a week ago, I’m posting it today in response to an entry made about a Garrison Keillor piece in Salon.

Walter Thompson
Manager, Salon Premium

Dear Mr. Thompson:

I’m sorry to say I won’t be renewing my Salon subscription in January.

I used to love Salon, but it has become the digital equivalent of the Jerry Springer Show: all opinion, all the time, very little of it informed. The editorial standard now seems to be how many letters a given piece will generate. And I have to tell you, every time I read the letters section I want to take a shower afterward. I don’t know what it takes to exclude a letter from your pages, short of a death threat, but your “Editor’s Choice” designation is merely an abdication of editorial responsibility.

If it was possible to support just the AP feed, War Room, Heather Havrilesky, Joe Conason, Patrick Smith, and maybe one or two others like them, I would. I can’t justify underwriting the self-indulgent auto-eroticism of Garrison Keillor; the always-angry, always self-absorbed Debra J. Dickerson (who appears to be the love child of Ayelet Waldman and Anne Lamott), and Cary Tennis, who is quite possibly the last person on Earth from whom I’d seek advice.

I’m troubled that you’ve turned Salon into a blogger collective, in which opinion pieces, rather than reporting, now dominate the pages (including “news” stories in which the news is merely the hook upon which the writer hangs his or her disquisition). I’m troubled that so much of the content seems designed to pump up the volume on the letters page, rather than inform readers or unpack a complex issue. I’m troubled that so many pieces spotlight the trivial difficulties of relatively privileged people.

I’ve been watching Salon drift toward the precipice all year, and if it isn’t there yet, I don’t want to watch it slide over the edge.

Best Wishes,

Bob Howe

The Year in Review

Hello my little forest friends. Anyone who reads this journal knows that I’ve been posting infrequently. The truth is, I’ve been missing out on the interactive part of the LJ experience; I haven’t taken much time to read my friends’ journals, much less comment on them. Mostly I’ve been using the journal for writing news (also infrequent), which strikes me as the digital equivalent of those horrible Christmas form letters.

You know the ones I mean: they’re usually from families with young kids who don’t have the time to write individual letters to all their friends, so they mail out a press release (folded awkwardly into a Christmas card) about their doings, their kids’ doings, and their pets’ doings. The letters often come off as boastful and condescending: not only do I have a fabulous life, home, boat, child, dog, but I have far too many friends to write to them individually.

I hate those letters. Or I used to.

I have far more sympathy for the letter writers than I used to—even the ones who own boats—because whatever else those letters say, they’re also saying, “I’ve neglected my friends and I feel guilty about it.” Mea Culpa.

This past year all my friends, on LJ and off, have probably been saying, “What the hell is up with Bob? He doesn’t call, he doesn’t write, and all my letters are returned, marked Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore.”

Well, I didn’t buy a boat. Part of the reason I’ve been incommunicado, as many of you know, is that I’ve been working long hours at an absorbing, demanding and very satisfying job. I’m also in a serious relationship for the first time in a while, with the spheniscidaephile (pictured here presiding over her Christmas dinnertable). To say that I’ve been struggling to find the balance among work and life and relationships is a vast, drafty understatement. Even when I’ve had the time, a rare commodity these past nine months, I haven’t had the energy to keep up with my friends. For that I’m sorry.

I’m not one for resolutions, New Year’s or otherwise, but I’m going to try and make 2007 the year my friends say “What the hell is up with Bob? He’s at the door again. Doesn’t he have a life?!”

So you’ll be hearing from me. Consider yourself warned.

So this is pretty gratifying: my novelette, “Do Neanderthals Know?” published in the December 2005 issue of Analog Science Fiction and Fact, made the preliminary ballot for the Nebula Award. What this means is that ten of my fellow science fiction and fantasy writers found the story compelling enough to recommend it for the award. I’ve read half of the other works on the ballot in that category, and they are good, so it’s pretty flattering to be included in their company.

Also in December, my short story, “Life Sentences,” was reprinted in issue nine of Aeon Speculative Fiction, edited by the fabulous Marti McKenna and Bridget McKenna.

All in all a pretty good way to close out the year.

Hot Air

Best Day for Radio Since the LZ-129 Docked at Lakehurst: on Saturday, October 14, I will be appearing on Hour of the Wolf, hosted by Jim Freund, on WBAI 99.5 FM, from 5 to 7 a.m.

Hour of the Wolf’s format will be music, conversation with Jim about speculative fiction, and a reading by the show’s guest (that would be me).

If you’re not in WBAI’s broadcast range (the New York metropolitan area), you can listen to the show on the web.