Adam Renn Olenn

I am not what you’d call an ‘early adopter.’  I like the bugs to get worked out before jumping in.  And I admit to being openly disdainful of e-readers in general.  What’s the point?  What makes book so hard to use that you need a gadget?  I’m sick of looking at glowing screens anyway.  I’ll refute my objections in reverse order:

The Kindle doesn’t have a glowing screen.  It has paper.  Magic paper.  It feels like reading a book.  

Books aren’t hard to read.  But it’s mighty nice to be able to comfortably hold the thing in one hand.  That’s mostly a convenience, except for when the subway driver slams on the brakes just as you go to turn the page.  Then it’s a safety feature.  It’s also pretty handy when you need to stir tomato soup.

What won me over was the Kindle’s excellence at standard book stuff - readability, portability, reliability (I really hope I didn’t just jinx it…).  You can loan books to friends.  Soon you’ll be able to check out Kindle books from your public library.  And the dictionary is mighty handy.  One quantum leap over paper books is the access it gives one to other titles.  

I may only read one book at a time, but my wife was able to borrow it one evening and grab a book from the store - magically, through the air - and get to reading.  Happy wife = happy me.  And when she needs to run into a store, I can keep the kids entertained by reading them stories aloud.  Right now we’re wending our way through Aesop’s fables.  Brothers Grimm are next, that should be good for some nightmares.

When one considers the fact that Project Gutenberg has kajillions of classic title available for free, the Kindle starts to look pretty dern good.

So I, Adam Renn Olenn, e-reader disdainer, now have a Kindle.  And I’m wild about it.

riot2011frontlines:

Ambulance cars line the streets outside of St. Paul’s Hospital’s emergency triage centre for those injured on the night of June 15. Photo credit: Andrés Goñi

Tim,

Just because you can string an apologetic sentence together does not mean you are sorry. Perhaps I should make you aware of the consequences of your action. To you, it’s just an overturned car that you set on fire. To me, it’s walking into an overflowing ER and helping treat a girl with a severe asthma attack because she was exposed to the noxious, acrid smoke of a burning vehicle. To her, it was just a chance to be a part of a group cheering for her team. Little did she know that later on, we were thinking of sticking a breathing tube down her throat if her condition did not improve.

To you (yes, I am lumping you with all the douchebag rioters in the ER that night), it’s a chance to congregate in the ER waiting room, pounding on the triage window demanding to be seen for teargas exposure and cuts from looting and fighting, while posturing and bragging about how you kicked the crap out of somebody and smashed shit up. To me, it’s taking my time away from the little old quiet lady having chest pain or taking time away from the person you “shit-kicked” for trying to stop the looting.

To you, it’s just a fight. To me, it’s the ER social worker looking for a teddybear to console a 4 year old girl because she just witnessed her dad get a broken nose as he was trying to get his daughter out of the hotzone.

To you, it’s writing a letter saying “you will do whatever it takes to help clean the city.” To me, it’s walking home after a long shift and seeing all these people at 7:30 in the morning armed with garbage bags cleaning up YOUR mess and realizing that these people have more class in their pinky finger than you could ever muster in your whole life.

To me, it’s getting home to shower, only to have my elderly neighbour knock on my door and ask me if he should make an appointment to this doctor because he was experiencing shortness of breath which later turned to chest pain in the morning. He did not think about leaving his window open as he went to bed at 9 o’clock. The smoke from all the burning cars made it to our building, into his room and triggered his asthma, which then raised his heart rate, which then became a small heart attack. I asked him why he didn’t go to the ER, and he answered, “I turned on the tv this morning and saw the rioting, I did not want to be a burden.” To you, it’s just an overturned car that you set on fire.

Why am I blaming you for all this? Because you are the instigator. You ask people to leave your family, friends and co-workers alone?! I think they need to know how much of a colossal douche you are. Remember that your parents worked themselves to the bone so they can move to this country and give you your god-given right to flip cars over and set them on fire.

You, Tim Kwong, are a douchtard. Apology not accepted.

— from a E.R. nurse

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If you’re doing any freelance editorial work and are wondering what to charge, check the EFA’s new table of suggested rates.

I can’t gush emphatically enough to make you understand how awesome it is.  Some things you have to discover on your own.

So, watch this video introduction to Scrivener, and discover.

Author David Jauss discusses what writers mean by “flow” in this excerpt from his essay “What We Talk About When We Talk About Flow.” Read the entire essay in Jauss’s book  On Writing Fiction. 

It’s clear-eyed and unsentimental.  Serious craftspeople, please proceed.

The current work-in-progress has some knots to untangle, but as long as I’m making forward progress, I’m not gonna complain.

So without naming names, big thanks to the boys in blue out west.

You really oughta give this a spin.  It’ll put some funk in your Friday.  And if you’re writing (I’m lookin’ at you, Bill L), this will make your fingers fly.

http://www.myspace.com/oncleben

(ps, his name translates to “Ben the Soulful Uncle”)