Welcome to Inkville

Professor Bummer's Tenure Track

I have a new nickname. Or deejay name. Or maybe it’s a superhero name: “Professor Bummer.” The moniker was bestowed on me by Matt Fraction, writer of the comic books Iron Man and Casanova, at the comic creators panel, a part of the University of Oregon’s “Understanding Superheroes” academic conference that ran a week ago on campus in conjunction with the Jordan Schnitzer Museum of Art’s exhibition Faster Than a Speeding Bullet: The Art of the Superhero. The conference sported panels with names like "Being and Super-Beings: Existentialism, Temporality, and Eschatology." (Yes, really.)

In fact, I have written previously about the exhibition and conference for local media.

Fraction appeared with fellow Oregonian comic writers Kurt Busiek (Trinity, The Avengers, Astro City) and Gail Simone (Wonder Woman, The All-New Atom, Birds of Prey). In the panel’s wrap-up Q-and-A, I asked the creators what it’s like writing for these sprawling, decades-old mega-storylines, considering that the DC and Marvel Universes have been rolling along since the 1930s and 40s, respectively. I may have asked it a bit bluntly, I’ll allow, as I phrased it along the lines of “…considering that you could stop writing for comics at any time, take a break of 20 or 30 years, and come back to find the same story had been told in your absence?”

Fraction’s response: “I’ve ever thought of my work in such Sisyphian terms. Thanks, Professor Bummer.”

That kind of wit was on display through the whole thing. Prof. Ben Saunders of the UO English department, conference organizer and guest curator of the exhibition, opened the panel with, “I apologize for the less than ideal angle some of you may have of our esteemed guests.”

Busiek: “Head on?”

As often happens when comics geeks and academics gather in real or virtual spaces, much of the chit-chat revolved around the agony and ecstasy of comic book continuity, the sprawling web of interconnected stories that compose a shared fictional universe, the violations of which give fanboys ample opportunity to praise or lambaste creators.

“I think continuity is the devil,” Fraction asserted, his usual timid, reticent self. He went on to explain that, so long as characters and story scenarios operate in a basically consistent manner, he’s happy with his writing.

Busiek, who along with Mark Waid represents perhaps the largest walking repository of superhero continuity lore in the industry, countered with a quote his mis-attributed to John Donne, but which actually belongs to Ralph Waldo Emerson: “A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds.”

(Coincidentally, Saunders specializes in Donne and Shakespeare. Reckon he was gritting his teeth.)

“I personally get continuity fatigue,” added Simone.

Hello Dear

Today a friend asked me to go to coffee.  He's facing some difficult choices in his relationship, and told me he wanted someone objective to talk to. The episode, oddly enough, added an extra layer of meaning to a weirdly contemplative spam message I received this week in my Gmail inbox:

It was kind of a surprise, actually, as I kind of thought the whole point of Gmail was its spectacular spam-blockers. 

But what really struck me about this e-mail was its poignancy.  Spam messages usually try to lure their suckers in by way of lust, or greed, or envy.  This one is more insidious; it preys upon a desire for companionship, for the need for a “long lasting relationship.”  Yes, Miss Joy does proceed to offer photos, the features of which can be invented in the heads of her panting readers, but she also wonders, in writing, whether “you are interested in knowing more about me.”

The content of this phishing attempt speaks to our national alienation, our disconnect, our discontent.  The whole thing is sort of sad.

Oh, and by the way, Yahoo!’s Babelfish translator helpfully informs me that Miss Joy’s auto-postscript is an Italian advertisement for the e-mail program’s increased graphics functionality.  Too bad the spammer didn’t include a photo: I imagine an earnest-looking Neapolitan beauty with soft, pleading eyes: “I am ready to invest in a relationship with you.”

Ciao, Signorina Joy.   Hope you find what you’re looking for.  Just so long as it’s not my social security and credit card numbers.

Little Writers

Yesterday while I was cleaning the kitchen, my wife was in the next room watching the 1994 film version of Little Women. In one scene, the narrator and protagonist, Jo March, as played by Winona Ryder, has moved from Massachusetts to New York City, and wants to describe to her family back home what her new friend Professor Bhaer is like. Because the story unfolds during Reconstruction, Jo is limited in her writing efforts to… wait for it… pen and paper.

Allowing my mind to wander as I scrubbed the pan from the morning’s bacon, I conjectured how differently such a scene might unfold if it took place this year. Jo wouldn’t be limited to writing about the prof, to help her family gain an appreciation of his personality; she’d have multiple technological means to support her. Not only could our 2009 Jo chat with Marm March and the girls on the phone, she could upload a short video about her pal, or refer them to the man’s profiles on MySpace or Facebook or LinkedIn. Or heck, Friendster if the good professor is old skool. If Jo wanted to effect a meeting, of sorts, Second Life would be waiting. And of course, Jo could always blog about her buddy.

Two writers I know personally, both of whom I respect and admire, each recently penned an essay gently denouncing social media and networking for writers. Blogs are too easy, too informal, and frankly, full of crap, argues one essay. Twitter’s seductive micro-blogging format saps artistic creativity, argues the other. And so I, the official Luddite of my family, find myself cast as a reluctant Don Quixote championing the virtues of such tech applications, my windmill the common gripe that real writers write real essays, real books, with, I don’t know, a quill pen or something.

So what’s my point, aside from needlessly needling my colleagues?

The Butcher, the Baker, the Candlestick Maker, and the Writer who gets it all down on paper

After writing all day and then writing all night, I can’t believe I’m about to write just a wee bit more for the blog.  But Inkville needs its mayor.  (And, for that matter, its village idiot.)

I’m midway through my second week in two new part-time jobs, having finally chucked the ol’ desk jockeying, hopefully for good.  The first is the position of Publisher of Eugene Magazine, a glossy lifestyle quarterly for which I’ve been writing freelance for a few years now.  For some horrid, self-loathing reason, I decided to jump on the bandwagon just two weeks before we go to press on the Winter 2008-09 issue, so I’ve basically been behind the 8-ball from the get-go.

Fortuitously, my genial bosses Steve and Lanny have assembled a fantastic staff who are patiently guiding my transition, chief among them my colleague Vanessa, the mag’s Editor.  The magazine offices are delightfully devoid of the red tape and niceties that characterize university environment.  Until my office is ready, I’ve been parking my laptop a few feet from the Janus-like ad sales staff: honey-tongued and smooth on the phone with a client, foul-mouthed and raucous as soon as the receiver hits the cradle.

My second position is Web Content Editor for the University of Oregon’s Office of Admissions, my old stomping grounds, where my boss is my close friend Holly, an inventive thinker and creative leader.  One of the most exciting vistas of this new job will be experimenting with social media, recruiting kids where the kids already live.  The job also allows me to edit such lovely student quotes as “It's just the two of us working with bacteriorhodopsin, a protein that converts light energy into chemical energy.”  Well, of course it is.

So far, my new lifestyle is glorious and hectic and frightening in all the best ways, not the least of which is hoofing it across Eugene during lunchtime, with a laptop tucked under my arm.  I’m enrolled in parallel crash courses in two completely different careers, and honestly, I’m having the time of my life.

More to come.  I hope.

Epistle from Portland

My article "A Bright, Wonderful Future" which appeard last May as a Eugene Weekly cover story about the use of Second Life in the higher-ed classroom, has won an award from the Oregon chapter of the Society of Professional Journalists.  This article grew out of a University of Oregon writing workshop I took in winter 2007, taught by the fantastic narrative nonfiction writer Edward Humes, Pulitzer Prize-winning author of Monkey Girl and School of Dreams.

I’ll have to wait until late May to learn what the award is, which of the many SPJ categories it’s in, and at what level it’s placed (1st place, 2nd, etc).  Now I just have to decide whether I can take time off from writing my grad school terminal project, to drive to Portland for the awards banquet. 

Also, my diamond shoes are too tight.