You may -- just may -- be aware that I pretty much idolize Joseph Boyden.
Is idolize even the right word?
Like, I want to write like him and hang out with him and... yeah, idolize is probably the right word.
Anyway, last week in Maclean's he and his wife Amanda Boyden wrote about life on the Gulf Coast in the midst of the oil spill. You can read that story here.
I was struck by how the story is written; overall, fairly straight-forward and sort of journalistic. But, every once in awhile, there is an image described in such a simple way that it sticks with you. This is the graph that left me with shivers:
The crated birds, both oiled and newly cleaned, object with grunts closer to moose than to what one might expect from birds, their cries guttural and low-registered. It’s the chorus effect that proves so haunting.
In other news, if you haven't read this Rolling Stone story, where have you been? I love it. And wish I could use "shit" and "fuck" more often in my writing. Without blushing.
Last of all, also from magazine world, The Walrus tells us tawdry tales of sexiness in the publishing business. Well, actually, Stacey May Fowles is riffing off this Globe and Mail column. I'm not sure any of this makes publishing different from (insert industry or career path here), though it does sound sort of Mad Men-ish, no?
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