Brian Evenson now the judge of every single fiction contest in America

I have nothing against Brian Evenson, but he’s quite a prolific judge of experimental fiction competitions. There should be term limits on these positions. Next year, I'd like to elect Wayne Koestenbaum.

Evensonian Fiction Contests, a partial list:
Opium 7 line contest
Caketrain Chapbook Competition
Noemi Press Chapbook Competition
FC2 fiction contest (one of the judges)
Diagram Innovative $5 Fiction Contest

Writers: They're Just Like Us!

I read The Last Novel yesterday and the day before yesterday, and very much liked it.

There's something really comforting in reading about other writers saying and doing stuff that is either mean or dumb (or, your know, smart or insightful).

It's sort of like that spread in celebrity magazines where we see Heath Ledger picking his nose and Kate Hudson making out with that dude with girl hair in the produce aisle.

Also, it is very depressing to recognize that I have a spot in my brain for Heath Ledger, and can find out loads of information at him with but a few key strokes, but nobody will tell me if they've recently spotted David Markson wandering the streets of New York City.

Let's start a magazine. We'll put Wayne on the first cover, of course. In the red turtleneck, even more of course. We'll invade writers' privacy and elevate them to the level of, say, an Owen Wilson or a Miley Cyrus.

We'll take gentle stalking to the next level.

I can't stop changing my wallpaper

I change my computer's wallpaper at least twice a week. Some notable guests have included Wayne Koestenbaum in that cute red turtleneck, and The Only Gay in the Village from Little Britain.

Right now it is this man who looks like rotisserie chicken. Seriously, he looks edible.

Strangely-Shaped Books

I think it is good how the last three books we have read have been interestingly shaped and sized.

Eeeee Eee Eeee: small and squareish, with text that doesn't claustrophobically fill up the whole page so that there are fields of white space around it. Hotel Theory bigger and square, double-fonted, columned. And Frances Johnson so cute and teensy, so it can snuggle in your pocket. All childrens books should be this size, I think.

It is a good sign when a book is strangely-shaped. I am only going to buy oddly-sized-and-shaped books from now on. I think that if something is an odd size and shape it is necessarily good.

I got a copy of Baudelaire's Poems in Prose today--it is beautiful: square, and hard-covered, with a man's face etched into the front cover, and with smooth, thick, white paper. I am in love with it.

Objects, absence, authors

Objects

My phone stopped working, and I have a loaner for the next five days. It is oh-so-very early 90s: bulky, square alarm-clock-numbers in the display. It is an exact replica of the phone owned by the individual who previously held my position at work.

My hand on it looks like hers. I remember things now, like how she ate hot cereal in the morning and took time when she needed it. Is she my Nancy? Maybe not: I remember her eating raisins with gusto, when, clearly, they are repulsive.

Absence

One of the things Kathy and I will be doing in the next few days is attending a workshop at which I will learn how to position things under headlines. No further comment.

Authors

We need to write to Don DeLillo and Miranda July. I want to start:

Dear Don DeLillo,

Does the very thought of having a society devoted to studying your work cause a pleasurable sensation in your special place?

Dear Miranda July,

Have you ever slept with any movie stars? Which ones? Details, please.

Technically, we should be writing to Stacey Levine this week, but because we're going to interview her, I think we should discuss the questions on Saturday. And plus also too, she gets the two questions Wayne could not answer.

I'm so insecure: He was just in Berlin

Dear Venom Literari--

Sorry for my delay in responding. I was in Berlin.

Questions #1 and #2 stump me. [Question #1: Why do people clap in movie theaters? Do they think the actors can hear them? Question #2: Why do old ladies make orgasmic noises while whale watching?]

Question #3: "Convolute" (or: "Konvolut") is the word Walter Benjamin used for the subdivisions in his Arcades Project. I take "Konvolut" to be a synonym for "dossier," which was Joseph Cornell's word for his files. I think that, in German, "Konvolut" also means "faggot" (as in a bundle of kindling). If I were to picture a Konvolut: it looks like the cone of cheap paper used for wrapping (or sustaining) cotton candy.

Question #4: I just finished reading David Markson's The Last Novel. I love his work. It's full of hotel (wo)men: he seems to suggest that all true artists are hotel women at heart.

Yours truly,
Wayne

[Sarah]: Sigh. I just love that Wayne Koestenbaum. And looks like we have our next book.

Did we go too far?

Encouraged by the query at the end of Wayne Koestenbaum's letter to us, we decided to write to him and let him know how our discussion went. Penned beautifully by Megan, the letter was a synopsis of our meeting and also contained a request for a book recommendation.

Wayne has not written back; whereas, the last time we wrote him, he wrote back in, like, 10 minutes. I am in the throes of caffeine withdrawal right now, which makes me think nobody likes me, but in the case of Wayne, I am afraid it might be true.

My impulse is to bombard him with more letters and drive him away permanently. I wish it mattered to him how hot we all are.

Hotel Theory Meeting Minutes

The minutes of our last meeting, at which we sort of discussed Wayne Koestenbaum's Hotel Theory, are as follows:

1. Within minutes of our arrival at *Disappointing Mystery Location*, Venom Literati (playing the part of the Hotel Women for the evening) realized our obvious mistake: we had not met at a hotel. We vowed to pretend for the remainder of the evening that we were actually at the "W" Hotel downtown. We had also forgotten to dress up like Hotel Women, although Sarah did wear a hotel-womanly ring.

It didn't matter, because clearly we were not at the "W." No, no: we were at *Disappointing Mystery Location*. Our waitress was haggard and rude about having to dry off rained-on tables. While she dried the tables, she kept looking angrily skyward although there was not a cloud in sight. Missy and Megan grumbled loudly about her in the background, as they are wont to do whenever they are together.

Also we could not discuss Hotel Theory at *Disappointing Mystery Location* because the table of social workers adjacent to us were screaming about social work. They were all drinking Diet Coke at a bar, which disgusted us. We did manage to read several of our favorite passages aloud, however, including a reading by the two Meg(h)ans as Lana and Liberace, and Sarah as narrator.

Megan/Lana: I'd like to commemorate [Mr. Lousa], but I don't know where.

Meghan/Liberace: Why not Dolores Presbyterian Church?

Megan/Lana: I don't think Mr. Lousa worshipped anywhere. And I doubt his mourners could fill Dolores Presbyterian. Anyway, Hotel Women's more appropriate. Poolside?

Meghan/Liberace: That could be awkward.

Megan/Lana: It's where I met him.

Meghan/Liberace: You were fond of him?

Megan/Lana: Once you see someone half-dressed

Sarah: said Lana.

Megan/Lana: You take it personally if someone knocks him off.

Meghan/Liberace: Would people attending Mr. Lousa's poolside memorial be allowed to swim?

Megan/Lana: I'll request that everyone wear swimsuits.

We also had a deep and grumpy conversation about why people clap in movie theaters and why old ladies make orgasmic noises while whale watching. We would have to ask Wayne about this. We would also have to ask him what a "convolute" is. Sarah meant to look up convolutes, but looked up the recipe for vodka gimlets instead.

Missy, Jen, and Megan devoured red meat with their hands in front of the repulsed vegetarians. Abby confessed to eating a tuna sandwhich the day before that was still rebelling against her stomach. Sarah and Abby chugged their gimlets and we retired from *Disappointing Mystery Location* in a huff.

2. We returned to Sarah and Abby's deck and drank champagne out of plastic glasses with animals on them. We deserved champagne because we decided are about to become famous, due to yesterday's mention on Soft Skull Press's website.

All of the animal glasses were also labeled with the noise each animal would make, ie: baa, oink, etc. Then there was "Giraffe," which just said "Giraffe." Abby showed us the giraffe noise she does for her wiggle worms, which involves sticking out your tongue really far and making a constipated, "mleh"-like sound, repeatedly. It was good that we were not at the "W."

3. Venom Literati unanimously decided that if we had to make out with one character in Hotel Theory, it would definitely be Jane Bowles. Megan would also make out with Liberace, to see what it would be like, although she did not disclose this at the time.

4. Here are some select quotes from the evening, in no particular order:

"Is rehab cheaper than rent? What about prison? Prison would be AWESOME: you could hang out and write all day and get REALLY buff."

"I always wanted to be a church custodian."

"We cuddle: you just want to go to sleep." (New VL motto?)

"Just think of all the pussy I could've had in those ten years..." (Abby, regarding upcoming anniversary with Sarah.)

"Last week at Stargaze I played pool against a woman in a 'seasonal sweater' with puffy-painted autumn leaves. I also played against her two breasts, which she kept lifting toward her face to speak to. "

"You can't just throw charisma around willy-nilly."

"It was originally Revenge--not Return--of the Jedi. I know. I got the newsletter."

"Why does baby Helena get the last word? Where is Kathy? Kathy would know."

"Move the mouse to watch the lesbian-eyes!"

5. We missed Kathy. Kathy's absence was why we were not on task in discussing the book. We chalked it up to our de-evolution into Hotel Women. We smoked tons and tons of cigarettes.

6. We discussed the bright and famous future of Venom Literati. First, underestimating ourselves, we thought: podcast. Then we decided Venom Literati will be on Oprah someday soon--no, wait--we will take over Oprah's slot. But we will begin with a public access show on Chicago's WTTW. (All of our authors would DEFINITELY fly in to be on the show.)

The set will be as follows: the set will be the Zacopane (dingy Polish dive bar in Logan Square that smells like pee). The first show will feature Tao Lin jumping madly up and down on a motheaten couch, screaming: "I LOVE KATHY! I LOVE KATHY!" There will be a pool table in the background.

We will also give our audience amazing prizes, just like Oprah does. We will run into the audience screaming: "We've got Hotel Theory! Everyone gets a free copy of Hotel Theory, AND cigarettes, AND a warm can of Old Style!!!" The audience will go wild. Or maybe Wayne Koestenbaum should have this honor. That would be awesome.

There will be a segment in which we give "lesbian-eyes" to the audience to determine who is a real lesbian. It will go on for way too long.

7. We discussed our favorite Today Show segments, which I can't remember--someone please refresh me.

8. We ran out of cigarettes. We were drunk. We had to have cigarettes to keep going. We gave up. We slept well, dreaming of Wayne.

*Gulp* He wrote back!

Check out Wayne Koestenbaum's response. I think I have a crush on him now.

Here's Wayne:

Dear Venom--

I think I'll abstain from an actual real-time visit to the sacred space of your blog, but I am totally DELIGHTED by your attentions.

Sorry to have not given Cheryl Crane her due. I wrote both columns at the same time.

Thanks for avoiding articles in your letter. Isn't avoidance fun?

Yours truly,
Wayne

Me again:

I would like to point out that he did not mention the Apartment People doppelganger at all, leading me to believe that it was totally him.

The Hotel Women Gently Stalk Wayne Koestenbaum

Dear Wayne Koestenbaum,

Whoa--Hotel Theory--whoa--we are waaaay smarter now, Wayne. We have also all devolved into Hotel Women.

You're invited to come to our meeting at which we will discuss it. We will ask you questions, like: Which column did you write first? Or was it all higgledy-piggledy?

Liberace will be at meeting, too. Or if he is not, there will be blowup doll in his likeness. Also, there will be vats of suntan oil we can rub on his ass in unison.

Missy was disappointed that Cheryl was lame in book. In real life Cheryl stabbed that guy named Johnny Stompanato with kitchen knife, which actually makes her awesome.

Megan is certain that you were her agent at Apartment People in Chicago when she first moved here. You tried to rip her off with studio by lake for like 900 bucks per month. You were wearing that same pinstriped suit and smartypants glasses you're wearing in your Hotel Theory photo. She thought you were lying about your name being Wayne. We still believe you may be lying about it.

Come to our meeting to prove you're not.

Your friends,

Venom Literati

Is it possible to be a hotel woman in today's day and age?

Guess what, my sweet bitches? It's time to write another letter, this time to our soon-to-be new-best-friend Wayne Kostenbaum.

I will start. Also, I will make a rule: You may not use any articles (a, an, the), like in Hotel Women.

Dear Wayne Kostenbaum,

Which column did you write first? Or was it all higgledy-piggledy?

Halfbreed Literature

Whoa, thank the Lord, and Wayne Koestenbaum, for Hotel Theory.

I hate all the fiction I've been reading lately. Which is probably why I like Hotel Theory: it isn't quite fiction. It is a halfbreed: fiction meets essay meets, in some places, prose poem. Yes, I am using the derogatory term "halfbreed" on purpose. Everyone in VL had problems finding the book; either people went to bookstores that allegedly had it, but then the salespeople couldn't find it, or the store didn't have it, period.

I think it's funny and also depressing that we're so attached to genre that we can't imagine something that doesn't fit neatly in "fiction" or "nonfiction." That people who work in bookstores can't locate a book that isn't one thing or the other. I like to think that a halfbreed like Hotel Theory sneakily evades computer systems that want to categorize it, but more likely it's the computer system ignoring the halfbreed--people won't buy it, so why do we need to know where it is?

If I had a bookstore, there would be a section called "Halfbreed," and it would include all my favorite writers--like Diane Williams and Gertrude Stein and Calvino and Harry Mathews and Thomas Bernhard and Ben Marcus and Anne Carson and Nathalie Stephens and Mary Caponegro and Thalia Field. Or maybe my whole store would be called "Halfbreed." It would probably go under in about two weeks.

I complain all the time about the problem I have reading things lately. Reading makes me depressed and claustrophobic. I thought I had a problem reading because I was jealous of people who had books out, or of people who were brilliant.

But I discovered this morning, reading Hotel Theory without a lick of depression--with a feeling opposite claustrophobia, like my mind was opening up--that really I just want to read books that do more. For there to be more books out there that do more than make themselves marketable and readable--books that are capable of housing the whole world in all its forms.

I want books that are messier, that look new on the page, that make you question what they are. That don't fulfill my expectations of what a "novel," a "poem," a "story," an "essay" or a "play" is.

I want, I want, I want.

From now on, I want everyone to call me "Dipsy"

Surf thread: Wayne Koestenbaum, Hotel Theory, Liberace, Soundies.

Brain thread: I like the simple way we named things in the past (movies, talkies, walky-talky, soundie, etc.) A soundie was the precursor to the music video; people made them in the 40s. What good sense. It is a recording of sound...what shall we call it? A soundie? Of course. Very good. Give the precursor to the branding department a raise.

Also, I like the way that British people do that nickname for everyday things thing (like brecky or telly), and how it doesn't sound cutesy or irritating, but somehow more sophisticated, sort of like really fancy rich people can have ridiculous nicknames like Lumpy or Poopy and use them in their professional and social lives and everyone's all like, "Oh yes, Poopy Smith--she's a dear," instead of being like, "Her name is Poopy?"

The whole word-combination kick we're on kind of creeps me out. Magalog. Magablog. And my least favorite Internet word of all: vlog. Shudder. What if blogs were called siteys instead? (It's like they're miniature websites--but accessible.) Would that name change alter the way people who post, post? Would my mom have a sitey?