Before I ever opened an account on WordPress.com, before I ever dreamed of this crazy thing called “blogging,” I read Jen Lancaster‘s blog, Jennsylvania. She is a published memoirst (is that the noun?) and I’ve loved her long time.
In addition to being irreverent and self-deprecating and a walking, talking representation of all that is still good about Lacoste shirts, Tretorn canvas sneakers, and madras plaid shorts, Jen always puts forth insightful comments about what it means to be a writer, about what is involved in the business side of writing, and she often cuts through the BS surrounding the Publishing World.
So I stand corrected. My teeth gnashing of the other day (soft/sweet cheeses, was it only yesterday?!) about Snooki’s book deal, and how I believed it meant I should stock up on water and canned goods, seems to have been ill-conceived. Jen has a marvelous post today about what Snooki’s budding career *really* means: who will [probably] write it, what it means for literacy, what it means for publishing.
Jen makes, as usual, a well thought out, reasoned point.
I shall reverse my earlier opinion about Snooki and her book deal. However, I will state here and now — in a direct shot to the spirit of Banned Book Week, which I never thought I’d repudiate — that no one who shares my last name will neither purchase nor read said book. [I’d be thrilled if no one watched that crummy show, but I think that ship has sailed.]
In honor of the memory of my Grandmother, whose Mass is tomorrow, I will steadfastly declare that elegance and class matter. And I can’t believe this book will endorse either. So neither will I endorse it.
But note to Simon and Schuster: I know at least two writers who’ve got novels ready to go. They need an agent and a little TLC. Not to be confused with SPF or T&A.