Rob Walker's Blog, page 3
December 10, 2010
Pie-shaped Container + Story by Thumbscribes
Thumbscribes Story Number Two.
[This is the second of two stories created for Significant Objects by participants in Thumbscribes, a collaborative-writing platform. Thumbscribes is auctioning this object , and will give proceeds to a charity or nonprofit of its choosing.]
I had a friend who once gifted a SPAM jigsaw puzzle. It's the kind of gift that lets a person know how you feel. It says, "You're a compressed mystery meat conundrum and I don't mind getting my hands dirty." My gifts rarely speak so candidly.
My mother doesn't eat sweets anymore. The doctors told her they were killing her. It used to always be so easy to buy her presents. Cakes, pies, cupcakes. I'd just go to the nearest bakery and choose the most delicious-looking thing. Now when I see her for holidays, we share a silence of sweets. And so, the absence of sweetness in my gifts pained me. It threatened to sour our family time, for the memory of sweetness is the sweetest of all things, until custom and overuse curdles it. And then I found this. A void encased in a prison of pastry: a metaphor for life. A savory joke.
At first glance, memories of Katie's plum-colored face, wheezing, struggling for air as she convulsed on the floor with her hands on her throat, filled my mind. Diabetic shock: overbearing sweetness can be so bitterly destructive at times. After her attack she would often remind me that stressed spelled backwards is desserts. In fact, she went so far as to divide the whole world into people who like desserts, and Maoists. After a few glasses of wine she would sometimes shout with righteous indignation, "Let them eat cake." Being in the people-who-liked-sweets category was inherently better than being in the Maoists' camp. That said, I was still a little hesitant about how she would respond to my most recent purchase.
As I was about to give her the present, the New Yorkers arrived like a bumper commercial during the cliffhanger of my gift-giving moment. The dogs raced to the door as my mother rushed gushing to meet my brother and his girlfriend. "Baby Cakes, all the way from the East Village," Serena exclaimed. "Baby Cakes indeed," I thought gleefully as my mother reluctantly refused the sugar-coated gift. Keith insisted she try one, saying the cakes were sugar-free and made with Agave. I looked up startled as I watched my mother slowly bite into the forbidden; that of which we had for so long not spoken. I rushed over, chastising my brother for his ignorance. "Mom can't eat ANY sweets. It makes no difference if it's extracted from cactus or corn." She seemed fine, although visibly unhappy that I'd robbed her of her pleasure. That was when I decided not to give her the pie-shaped container.
Written collaboratively by Thumbscribes users Alex Rendon, Carly, Chris, Jacqueline, lickicon, and Rafael. For a breakdown, view the story on Thumbscribes, and click "view details."
December 8, 2010
Decorative Egg-shaped Object
Thumbscribes Story Number One.
[This is the first of two stories created for Significant Objects by participants in Thumbscribes, a collaborative-writing platform. Thumbscribes is auctioning this object here, and will give proceeds to a charity or nonprofit of its choosing.]
I was born on 11/11 at 11:11 and there is nothing extraordinary about my life. We live in an ordered universe where patterns and co-incidences are bound to arise. The Chinese egg was different. I first saw it at my psychoanalyst's office above The Ear Inn. It was planted by him, of course. A strict Freudian, he believes that there are no accidents, and when he can, he makes sure of it. Placed on the bookshelf just over his right shoulder, in my eyeline. I struggled not to laugh. A maternal figure, on an egg, of all things. Obvious, even for him. His polished scalp comically mirrored the shape of the object. I began to wonder of the similarities between the human brain and an egg, specifically of the hidden being inside one's mind, yet to form, but when it does — turns into an animal independent of the body. Then it hit me.
Square across my face. In the throes of such a metaphysical quandary, I didn't see that egg coming. "You must free yourself of all that Oedipal guilt," said Dr. Ljunggren in his thick Swedish accent as the oval object bounced off my cheek. My child's failure-to-thrive syndrome was no fault of mine. I stood up, albeit a little shaken, walked over to where the ornament had landed and picked it up. The Doctor was prone to have these dramatic outbursts and I was becoming well-versed. I replaced the offending object and returned to the chaise lounge and reclined. My gaze was drawn back to the ceramic egg while I proceeded to answer Ljunggren's questions about my week, developing relationships, occasional instances of distress and other nuances. I traced the egg's decorative embellishments, following golden outlines across its painted surface while I spoke. Ljunggren, the unrivaled master of the uncanny, was getting increasingly agitated that I had not reacted to or acknowledged the egg incident. I was wrong to have confided in him about my reoccurring deja vu with the egg. He was part of the collusion. I felt uncomfortably strange and oddly comforted.
"It's just that the Geisha looks so well fed Doc," I said with a quiver in my voice, as I gawked at her pasty white complexion. Ljunggren raised his right eyebrow and stated: "And brimming with innocence and purity," as he stroked his pointy goatee. I began to feel a slight swell occurring on my face. Ljunggren and the elephant in the room were suddenly completely transparent. He needed my neurosis about the egg as much as he needed a reason to get up in the morning. "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar," I said, walking on egg shells out the room. "And an egg is just an egg," Ljunggren wisecracked.
Written collaboratively by Thumbscribes users : Alex Rendon, Chris, Goldcat, Jacqueline, lickicon, and Rafael. For a breakdown, view the story on Thumbscribes, and click "view details."
Decorative Egg-shaped Object + Story by Thumbscribes
Thumbscribes Story Number One.
[This is the first of two stories created for Significant Objects by participants in Thumbscribes, a collaborative-writing platform. Thumbscribes is auctioning this object here, and will give proceeds to a charity or nonprofit of its choosing.]
I was born on 11/11 at 11:11 and there is nothing extraordinary about my life. We live in an ordered universe where patterns and co-incidences are bound to arise. The Chinese egg was different. I first saw it at my psychoanalyst's office above The Ear Inn. It was planted by him, of course. A strict Freudian, he believes that there are no accidents, and when he can, he makes sure of it. Placed on the bookshelf just over his right shoulder, in my eyeline. I struggled not to laugh. A maternal figure, on an egg, of all things. Obvious, even for him. His polished scalp comically mirrored the shape of the object. I began to wonder of the similarities between the human brain and an egg, specifically of the hidden being inside one's mind, yet to form, but when it does — turns into an animal independent of the body. Then it hit me.
Square across my face. In the throes of such a metaphysical quandary, I didn't see that egg coming. "You must free yourself of all that Oedipal guilt," said Dr. Ljunggren in his thick Swedish accent as the oval object bounced off my cheek. My child's failure-to-thrive syndrome was no fault of mine. I stood up, albeit a little shaken, walked over to where the ornament had landed and picked it up. The Doctor was prone to have these dramatic outbursts and I was becoming well-versed. I replaced the offending object and returned to the chaise lounge and reclined. My gaze was drawn back to the ceramic egg while I proceeded to answer Ljunggren's questions about my week, developing relationships, occasional instances of distress and other nuances. I traced the egg's decorative embellishments, following golden outlines across its painted surface while I spoke. Ljunggren, the unrivaled master of the uncanny, was getting increasingly agitated that I had not reacted to or acknowledged the egg incident. I was wrong to have confided in him about my reoccurring deja vu with the egg. He was part of the collusion. I felt uncomfortably strange and oddly comforted.
"It's just that the Geisha looks so well fed Doc," I said with a quiver in my voice, as I gawked at her pasty white complexion. Ljunggren raised his right eyebrow and stated: "And brimming with innocence and purity," as he stroked his pointy goatee. I began to feel a slight swell occurring on my face. Ljunggren and the elephant in the room were suddenly completely transparent. He needed my neurosis about the egg as much as he needed a reason to get up in the morning. "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar," I said, walking on egg shells out the room. "And an egg is just an egg," Ljunggren wisecracked.
Written collaboratively by Thumbscribes users : Alex Rendon, Chris, Goldcat, Jacqueline, lickicon, and Rafael. For a breakdown, view the story on Thumbscribes, and click "view details."
December 7, 2010
Two objects, two stories — and a dozen writer contributions
Readers, as you know, the initial Significant Objects experiment hewed to the strict scientific standards necessary to demonstrate our initial hypothesis: that narrative, even 100% invented narrative, can add measurable value to formerly valueless things.
When our project unexpectedly turned into a popular ongoing object-fiction concern, we embraced collaborations and experimentation to keep the mix of objects, and fictional forms, fresh and compelling: Underwater New York, Fictionaut, Electric Literature, and Litquake are just a few examples of esteemed literary entities with which we have teamed up.
So we were intrigued at the possibility of working with an interesting new service called Thumbscribes. Describing itself as "a platform for collaborative authorship," Thumbscribes is designed to make it easy for its far-flung membership to work together to write "haiku, poems, short stories, flash fiction, novellas, exquisite corpse and songs, real time or asynchronously with your computer, tablet, cell phone, IM and even twitter." Stories and other words "are created and passed between Thumbscribe authors who collaborate by adding a new chapter or section to the work until it's completed." Users create private works and invite a handful of friends to pitch -—or they can open a creation to the world.
Co-founder Jacqueline Bosnjak adds:
The collaborative approach utilizes the genius of countless individuals and draws inspiration from every contributor. Thumbscribes recently launched a featured collaborative short story with Electric Literature and writer Aimee Bender in which 100 people collaborated on a story. "It was just fun to click on the link a short time after it started and see all these people online adding to it! Like watching a plant unfurl, a very very strange plant." says Aimee Bender [also a Significant Objects contributor, of course — ed.] of the experience.
Thumbscribes was devised by Idealogue, an award-winning digital studio founded by Bosnjak and Mark Beukes, and best known for such campaigns as Adicolor films for Adidas; Diesel Flash Fiction, featuring such writers as Jonathan Ames and A.M. Homes; and the Sundance-selected Little Minx Exquisite Corpse, a distributive narrative based on the surrealist parlor game, created for Ridley Scott & Associates.
Significant Objects is about to enter an eight months-long publishing hiatus while we work feverishly on our forthcoming book. But before we go, we couldn't resist giving the Thumbscribes team a couple of objects, to see what sort of collaboratively written Significance might emerge. We will publish the two resulting stories — each of which ended up being written by groups of six writer-collaborators — this week: one tomorrow, and one on Friday.
December 5, 2010
Significant Tweets for Week Ending 2010-12-05
Rosemary Williams documents everything she owns, in "Belongings." http://tumblr.com/xr4yw2dkd #
"Tongue" bookmark: http://tumblr.com/xr4yvjvdq #
Claim: "Amazon's amateur book-reviewing becomes vicious free-for-all." http://tumblr.com/xr4yv6do2 #
A book that's intentionally "physically hard to read." http://tumblr.com/xr4wusmsw #
Book staircase: http://tumblr.com/xr4sla6dy #
Limited edition beer bottles covered in a 12-part detective series label: http://tumblr.com/xr4skgb2y #
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November 30, 2010
Author Updates
IN THIS UPDATE: Ben Greenman, Ben Katchor, J. Robert Lennon, Matthew Sharpe.
1) Ben Greenman published a new collection, Celebrity Chekhov (Harper Perennial), which takes the short fiction of Anton Chekhov, removes the characters, and inserts contemporary celebrities. It has been called "nothing short of brilliant," which may or may not be true, but may be true.
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2) Ben Katchor will participate in a roundtable discussion on "The Art of the Graphic Novel" with Lynda Barry, Hillary Chute, Christopher Couch and Francoise Mouly on Dec. 5th at 2:30 pm at The Philoctetes Center, 247 East 82nd Street, 3rd Floor, New York, NY 10028. Katchor will also be reading at Comics Plate, a performance/screening event on Dec. 13th at The Wild Project, 195 East 3rd Street, New York, NY 10009.
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3) J. Robert Lennon has new stories in Weird Tales and Electric Literature, due out shortly.
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4) Matthew Sharpe will read from his relatively new novel, You Were Wrong, this Thursday and Sunday. Read an excerpt from the novel at Swink.
Thursday, December 2, 6:00 p.m.
Reading at Labyrinth Books
122 Nassau St., Princeton, NJ
Sunday, December 5, 3:00 p.m.
Reading at Sunny's Bar
253 Conover St.
Brooklyn, NY 11231
More tour information here.
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MORE NEWS: For updates about the Significant Objects project and forthcoming (Fall 2011) collection, visit the archive and subscribe via RSS. For Author Updates, visit the archive and subscribe via RSS. Also: Check out the Significant Objects Bookstore!
November 28, 2010
Significant Tweets for Week Ending 2010-11-28
Intel commissions futuristic stories for internal planning; "unique literary project" – Boing Boing http://t.co/M8lllTY #
Photographer Hong Hao's "My Things" project, arranging 20 years of accumulation. http://tumblr.com/xr4rfg7d0 #
Our friend Kate Bingaman-Burt draws Oprah's "favorite things" for 2010. http://tumblr.com/xr4rfe7cz #
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Author Updates
IN THIS UPDATE: Jason Grote, Terese Svoboda, Teddy Blanks.
1) Jason Grote will be presenting a lecture based on his Hilobrow series of Silver Age comic book double-entendres at Adult Ed in Union Hall in Brooklyn on December 7. View the original series of posts here.
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2) Terese Svoboda recently read from Pirate Talk or Mermalade with Diane Wakowski at the "Other Words" conference in St. Augustine. "Angelface" and "The Financier" at Brooklyn Rail. "How Big a Boat" in JMWW.
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3) Teddy Blanks is working on a solo album. The movie he scored, Tiny Furniture, has been released by IFC Films to glowing reviews and a better-than-expected box office. The soundtrack is available as a free download here. There's an interview with Blanks about the movie's poster design here.
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MORE NEWS: For updates about the Significant Objects project and forthcoming (Fall 2011) collection, visit the archive and subscribe via RSS. For Author Updates, visit the archive and subscribe via RSS. Also: Check out the Significant Objects Bookstore!
November 26, 2010
Significant Objects Meme (25)
Rob Walker's Unconsumption tumblr recently mentioned PASS THE BATON, a Japanese on- and offline retail concept that updates the thrift store experience by adding — yes, you guessed it! — meaningful narrative to castoff items.
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For more evidence of the Significant Objects Meme, click here.
MORE NEWS: For updates about the Significant Objects project and forthcoming collection, visit the archive and subscribe via RSS. For Author Updates, visit the archive and subscribe via RSS. Also: Check out the Significant Objects Bookstore!
November 25, 2010
Happy Thanksgiving!
… from your friends at Significant Objects.
