Okay, I ballsed this up. I originally wrote the piece called 'Random Thoughts' and included these two addition thoughts which I decided to delete before I posed the article. However, stupidly, I forgot that I'd already set the article to post itself. Hence, there are two posts called 'Random thoughts'. These two additional thoughts were just me being self-pitiful, and I apologise that they were published. It's true that I'm getting a little jaded by the web but this has been true for a very long time. I probably don't mean half of what I say here but I'll keep them to show that I can be a monumental prat.
• I’ve decided to stop leaving comments on other people’s blogs. Not out of any personal malice on my part but it’s bad enough leaving comments on a blog and it going completely ignored by the blog owner who can’t even be bothered to say, ‘Thanks for the comment.’ But, on four or five occasions now, I’ve written comments that the blogger just hasn’t bothered to publish. And they weren’t short comments. They were lengthy but positive comments that had taken time and effort to write. I’m not sure why this happens. I guess you can’t peer into another person’s heart and figure out their motives. Whatever their reason, they’ve accomplished one goal. They have one less reader and there’s now more cynicism in the world.
• On the subject of cynicism and comments, I’m also considering closing the comments on this blog. It’s becoming evident that few people ever wants to leave any feedback and the only comments that do arrive tend to be SPAM. Again, I find that my general faith in the world increases. Other than my Frank Lampard post which is very popular in Nigeria, most of my traffic comes from people looking for 'Warrington Prostitutes' or '3D Porn'. And here I was thinking there might be some intelligent beings on the other end of this blog; scientific types, studying DNA or the universe, who might enjoy what I do. I’m beginning to think my audience consists of penis stranglers clutching their Nintendo 3DS in the vague hope they’ll find something fleshy and peaked popping out of this blog to satisfy their sick bastard urges. Thoughts like that are the stuff of dark dreams that usually end up with me closing the blog entirely and focussing my efforts elsewhere… I don't feel that bad yet but some days this whole enterprise feels very wasteful.
Showing posts with label Frank Lampard. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Frank Lampard. Show all posts
Tuesday, 4 June 2013
Sunday, 2 June 2013
Frankie’s Magic Bollocks: The Lampard Effect in Publishing
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The blood boils. It sizzles in the veins and steams from the ears.
No, not the situation in Syria or the government’s austerity plans. I’ve been reading about Frank Lampard’s new children’s book, Frankie’s Magic Football.
What kind of hellish state are we in when these swine can appear in a quality newspaper publicising a book with such crass indifference to the poison-tipped spikes they are driving into the foreheads of struggling writers everywhere? I don’t know what’s more insulting: that these celebrities don’t seem to care that they’ve not written their own books or that these shallow bastards actually think that skills elsewhere should transfer effortlessly into having some skill with a pen.
Isn’t there some law in the land we can invoke demanding that the ‘author’ of a book must have written at least 51% of the words or drawn 51% of the illustrations? Because otherwise, how can we judge them or call them an author? We don’t accept horsemeat instead of beef so why should we accept this literary horsemeat posing as Grade A Rowling or Pullman? He might have had a few meetings with his ghost writer to hammer out a few ideas but let’s cut the bullshit: the only significant contribution Frank Lampard will make to this book is by allowing his name to be used. It’s marketing scam. It’s a publicity wheeze. It’s a sick indictment of our celebrity-obsessed culture. For make no mistake, it's not the grim-faced tyrants that will destroy us as a free society but the smiling celebrities who, in a very slick and clever way, make us think less and consume more. That they're selling their names to children worries me in the same way I've always been suspicious of McDonald's clown.
Perhaps I overstate my case but there is a generally ignorant and indifferent section of the public who will buy into this type of onerous deal, not thinking what it does to the publishing industry. Because that is the bottom line: if it makes money, publishers will invest more into other celebrities having fiction ghosted under their name. How long before Beckham has a novel out? Jordan’s done it with some success though, between her breasts and fingernails, I don’t see how she could have got within five feet of a keyboard.
Publishers will argue, of course, that the money they make from these celebrity deals will be reinvested into new authors. Perhaps that’s true. Perhaps that’s one possible future where writers live like parasites feeding around the anus of some greater unthinking host. But I wish quality newspapers would expose the lie instead of treating their readers like fools. They shouldn’t bow to the celebrity, give them an easy time when they should be ashamed to be in the room without asking hard questions about these odious little books. Make them feel the shame that they should feel for passing themselves off as an author. If I ran onto the pitch at Stamford Bridge and tried to dribble around Frank Lampard only to fall flat on my face, he’d rightly laugh at me. Then I’d be escorted from the ground with a lifetime ban and the media calling me a fool and a lout. Except for the bit where I get chased by overweight men in luminous jackets, how is that any different with what Lampard is doing here?
Yet, of course, it doesn’t matter what I say. In fact, people tend to disagree with me for picking on dear Frank. They say that the man has a right to make a living, that he's an intelligent business man, that the book might be good, and aren’t I just a bitter under-published writer with an axe to grind. And, of course they are right. It is sour grapes and some jealousy. But what’s wrong with that? I love words and laud people who write well. The high horse I’m currently riding is called Righteous Indignation. It might not be the favourite in the field but he’s a stubborn plodder.
I also find it remarkable that anybody could consider my defence of literary talent objectionable. I don’t support Chelsea but I’d be the first to admit that Lampard is one of the finest footballers of his generation who deserved every penny he’s earned from his skills. However, I reserve the right to criticise him, along with any other celebrity, who dabbles in publishing merely to make a few quid off the back of their name.
As to Lampard’s book: does it even matter if it is good? My point is let the true author of the book take the credit, do the interviews, and become a household name. I am interested to learn about them, not to read yet another tedious retelling of how Frank’s scored a disallowed goal at the World Cup. Tell me about the illustrator too. I admire their talent but I’d be surprised if both author and illustrator don’t feel some deep resentment that somebody else takes much of the credit for their work. I want the ghost writer to earn the royalties and have an advance as large any Lampard received.
Simply, what’s wrong with wanting to give credit to the person whose talents have created the book? Anything else is simply pandering to the people who believe that marketing, spin, hype, and branding are more important than depth, quality, passion, and individual talent.
This was rewritten from the comments I wrote as ‘UncleZippy’ beneath yesterday’s Lampard story over at The Guardian. You will probably disagree with most of this, as some people over there also disagreed. I don’t give a damn because I know that I’m right.
Click me[/caption]The blood boils. It sizzles in the veins and steams from the ears.
No, not the situation in Syria or the government’s austerity plans. I’ve been reading about Frank Lampard’s new children’s book, Frankie’s Magic Football.
What kind of hellish state are we in when these swine can appear in a quality newspaper publicising a book with such crass indifference to the poison-tipped spikes they are driving into the foreheads of struggling writers everywhere? I don’t know what’s more insulting: that these celebrities don’t seem to care that they’ve not written their own books or that these shallow bastards actually think that skills elsewhere should transfer effortlessly into having some skill with a pen.
Isn’t there some law in the land we can invoke demanding that the ‘author’ of a book must have written at least 51% of the words or drawn 51% of the illustrations? Because otherwise, how can we judge them or call them an author? We don’t accept horsemeat instead of beef so why should we accept this literary horsemeat posing as Grade A Rowling or Pullman? He might have had a few meetings with his ghost writer to hammer out a few ideas but let’s cut the bullshit: the only significant contribution Frank Lampard will make to this book is by allowing his name to be used. It’s marketing scam. It’s a publicity wheeze. It’s a sick indictment of our celebrity-obsessed culture. For make no mistake, it's not the grim-faced tyrants that will destroy us as a free society but the smiling celebrities who, in a very slick and clever way, make us think less and consume more. That they're selling their names to children worries me in the same way I've always been suspicious of McDonald's clown.
Perhaps I overstate my case but there is a generally ignorant and indifferent section of the public who will buy into this type of onerous deal, not thinking what it does to the publishing industry. Because that is the bottom line: if it makes money, publishers will invest more into other celebrities having fiction ghosted under their name. How long before Beckham has a novel out? Jordan’s done it with some success though, between her breasts and fingernails, I don’t see how she could have got within five feet of a keyboard.
Publishers will argue, of course, that the money they make from these celebrity deals will be reinvested into new authors. Perhaps that’s true. Perhaps that’s one possible future where writers live like parasites feeding around the anus of some greater unthinking host. But I wish quality newspapers would expose the lie instead of treating their readers like fools. They shouldn’t bow to the celebrity, give them an easy time when they should be ashamed to be in the room without asking hard questions about these odious little books. Make them feel the shame that they should feel for passing themselves off as an author. If I ran onto the pitch at Stamford Bridge and tried to dribble around Frank Lampard only to fall flat on my face, he’d rightly laugh at me. Then I’d be escorted from the ground with a lifetime ban and the media calling me a fool and a lout. Except for the bit where I get chased by overweight men in luminous jackets, how is that any different with what Lampard is doing here?
Yet, of course, it doesn’t matter what I say. In fact, people tend to disagree with me for picking on dear Frank. They say that the man has a right to make a living, that he's an intelligent business man, that the book might be good, and aren’t I just a bitter under-published writer with an axe to grind. And, of course they are right. It is sour grapes and some jealousy. But what’s wrong with that? I love words and laud people who write well. The high horse I’m currently riding is called Righteous Indignation. It might not be the favourite in the field but he’s a stubborn plodder.
I also find it remarkable that anybody could consider my defence of literary talent objectionable. I don’t support Chelsea but I’d be the first to admit that Lampard is one of the finest footballers of his generation who deserved every penny he’s earned from his skills. However, I reserve the right to criticise him, along with any other celebrity, who dabbles in publishing merely to make a few quid off the back of their name.
As to Lampard’s book: does it even matter if it is good? My point is let the true author of the book take the credit, do the interviews, and become a household name. I am interested to learn about them, not to read yet another tedious retelling of how Frank’s scored a disallowed goal at the World Cup. Tell me about the illustrator too. I admire their talent but I’d be surprised if both author and illustrator don’t feel some deep resentment that somebody else takes much of the credit for their work. I want the ghost writer to earn the royalties and have an advance as large any Lampard received.
Simply, what’s wrong with wanting to give credit to the person whose talents have created the book? Anything else is simply pandering to the people who believe that marketing, spin, hype, and branding are more important than depth, quality, passion, and individual talent.
This was rewritten from the comments I wrote as ‘UncleZippy’ beneath yesterday’s Lampard story over at The Guardian. You will probably disagree with most of this, as some people over there also disagreed. I don’t give a damn because I know that I’m right.
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