June 6th, 2007

Life imitates art


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This showed up in a stiff yellow mailing envelope, the way all my review books do – but inside is a picture of a nearly identical yellow mailing envelope. The color doesn’t quite match, but it was still a weird sight.

It’s a new thriller by someone named Lee Vance. “A high-powered investment banker who, when his wife is found murdered, becomes the prime suspect and finds himself on an increasingly dark and dangerous journey not only to prove his innocence, but to also bring his wife's killer to justice.” It’s published by Knopf, which has the rep for quality, so we’ll see.



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Poor, poor pitiful me

The New York Observor has an article called "My Book Deal Ruined My Life" in which authors complain about how little they make, how much weight they have gained sitting at their desks, how they don't ever leave the house, how lonely they are, and how, if they write biographies, they grow to loathe their subjects.

I'm guessing a lot of it was tongue-in-cheek. One would hope so when looking at this quote from Anna Holmes "When I have a low-five-figure advance, I call it, like, a small gift, I suppose," said Ms. Holmes. (Full disclosure: a low five-figure advance would be pretty common for most authors.)



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