Learn to insult like Shakespeare, thou beslubbering, fen-sucked wagtail. You artless, boil-brained, apple-john. You pribbling, tardy-gaited, bladder. I could go on.

There’s also an app for that.

First things first: happy Bloomsday!

Shakespeare pickup lines.

The rejection letter of the future? Silence, according to literary agent Nathan Bransford.

Great works of literature retitled SEO-style to boost website traffic. See also: book titles, if they were written today, via.

Vampires are out. Minotaurs are in. (heh heh)

7 rants taken out of context from Gordon Lish’s Collected Fictions.

Aaaand introducing the perpetual storytelling apparatus: Read more »

Last night, I saw Edith Grossman, writer, translator, and critic, speak in conversation with Mary Ann Caws. The talk was fascinating–it was on the occasion of Grossman’s recent book “Why Translation Matters,” a collection of essays on the practice of literary translation. (Grossman has translated “Don Quixote,” many of Gabriel García Márquez’s works, and much more.)

The most interesting conversation of the evening came from a question posed by Kamy Wicoff, author and founder of the website SheWrites.

Wicoff talked about being stumped at how works have many lives–many iterations–in translation, while the original work in the original language doesn’t get revisited or updated for contemporary readers in that original language. Jane Austen will never be translated into contemporary English while there is probably a new Spanish edition every generation.

I think Wicoff has a great point. And one that I can’t quite wrap my head around.

I think it’s awful strange that non-English readers may have a better sense of Shakespeare than I do. They read translated versions that may be written in a contemporary version of their language, one that doesn’t sound foreign to them. I, on the other hand, read Shakespeare in Early Modern English, which means that as a high schooler, it was like reading a foreign language. Perhaps international readers can have a greater appreciation of Shakespeare than I can.

What does it mean that literary works (and plays, and poems, and memoirs for that matter) are resuscitated and revised and revisited only in translation while they only have one form, one life, in their original language? Should we be updating Old English texts into Modern English?

So proclaims The Guardian‘s Jonathan Jones, which seems odd to me. Seriously? I’m trying to think of counterexamples, but I’m coming up with nothing. There’s the theory that Shakespeare’s plays may have been actually composed by a group of people, but as that’s only a theory, I’d be interested in hearing some better-documented examples of group-made art.

In his article “Not everyone can be an artist,” Jones takes a look at the rise of interactive and democratized artwork in the digital age. He says:

Some forms of interactivity are obviously good for art, as they are good for society. The more democratically ideas and information are shared, the more accessible art will be. [...] So democracy is great – except when it shapes the actual work of art. I do not believe a great work of art has ever been created by communal consensus, let alone by multiple editors. There will never be a wiki-masterpiece. This is because art, if it has any value at all, is the product of deep and often rationally incommunicable perceptions, and to try and explain or share those perceptions in a communally created artwork will negotiate and re-edit them to banality.

Participatory art is a denial of talent. It panders to a cosy lie, that everyone is equally able to create worthwhile art. What chance have we of nurturing those rare wonders in our midst, the born artists, if we claim this infantile right to put on a badge that says “artist”?

I think it’s a little premature to begin making claims about how true crowdsourced artwork will fail, as this new art from is only in its infancy (See also: “Why the Internet will fail” article from 1995–d’oh). Neil Gaiman and the BBC’s crowdsourced Twitter audiobook last fall wasn’t an enormous success in turning out a high-quality piece of literature, but it’s helped to kindle the recent interest in crowdsourced art; I imagine Gaiman and the BBC’s project will be only one of many large-scale collaborative art projects we’ll be seeing in the coming months/years. And maybe someone will come along soon and find a way to make crowdsourced art a bit more palatable.

Wild predictions aside, I think Jones has some valid points, and also some invalid ones. Read more »

For its newest book, Simon & Schuster has acquired the true life story of a…cat.

A breakdown of common problems found in debut novels.

Some tips on overcoming creative block, via kottke.

Edward who? Werewolves are so hot right now.

“Famous Quotes from Shakespeare Altered to Describe My Everyday Life.” Some choice quotes:

What’s in a name? That which we call a rose leaves a nasty stain on corduroy. A good bleach. O happy dagger!

That her veggie and her hot dog are touching the young lady doth protest too much.

Liking right now: Rejection Digest, a sort of happy afterlife for otherwise rejected stories.

Also liking right now: FictionDaily, which links to new works of fiction every day in three different categories (long/short/genre). Via The Millions.

Aaaand because it’s Wednesday and you need a pick-me-up, here is George Orwell’s 1984 as a Brazilian puppet show: Read more »

Ernest Hemingway's 1918 passport photo

Passport photos of famous artists, via The Rumpus.

Was Shakespeare actually a woman?

Over at The Millions, a book pirate bares all.

Literary cartography, via Silliman’s Blog.

The top 20 most annoying book reviewer cliches, and how to use them all in one meaningless review, via Eimear Ryan.

Is there such a thing as a “typical” New Yorker short story?

Dictionaries have been banned from southern California schools after a parent’s complaint over a “sexually graphic” definition.

Is it possible to accurately rank writing programs?

And to get you through the hump day, here is a video of Ninja Turtles stealing pizzas: Read more »

I examine his square face.  He stands with a single arm outstretched, reaching out for something ever-changing.  With his vacant eyes and through gritted teeth he inquires, “Meep?”

I am of course talking about The Lit Drift Robot who resides about a third of the way down our home page.  If you’re a regular reader, you know that Robot just wants to learn how to love.  “Meep?” he calls!  “Meep?” he asks.  “Meep?” he pleads.  Though the word is unfamiliar to me, judging from his body language and the context of his statement, I can only assume meep to mean “Will you teach me? Will you take me under your wing? Is there hope for me?”

Rather than assume that I interpreted Robot’s statement correctly, I looked up the word meep online.  According to Urban Dictionary, meep is a word of many meanings ranging from “an exclamation akin to ‘ouch’ or ‘uh oh’” to an exclamation that “can be used for any purpose whatsoever” or “sums up everything.”  Its origins are believed to be of The Muppet Show’s Beaker.

Though a versatile word indeed, meep is not as commonly used as… let’s say, blurgh. Unlike the more flexible meep, blurgh has a negative connotation and is often used to express frustration or disdain.  There is no real instance in which you can use the word in a positive manner.  What’s craziest is that when you hear the word blurgh, there’s almost no question as to what it means.  It’s not even really necessary to be a fan of 30 Rock to have a full understanding of its definition and application.

How is it that made-up words are sometimes so much more expressive than the real ones? Read more »