the slack daily

Say Goodnight, Gracie.

In the late 70s, George Burns starred in Oh God and Oh God, Book II. The movies were in a constant loop on cable a summer later. My brother Jeremy and I watched them over and over (and over and over) until we could recite them from memory. One day, my mom had had enough.

It wasn't that we were spending our summer inside, planted on a scratchy wool cushions of the sofa and slurping back Pepsi Lights, but that George Burns was so much more than what we were seeing.

That evening she took us out for our favorite candy (chocolate covered raisins for me, something gummy-ike for Jer, I think) and then we crowded around the glow of the TV for the "Burns and Allen Show." During commerical breaks Mom told us about  Gracie Allen and George Burns rose through the ranks of vaudeville, then radio, then television.

It was in black and white and it looked old even on our new TV, but I remember being so awed at the fact that something that was written so long ago could still make me laugh and Gracie Allen was probably the first truly funny woman I had ever seen.   

Later that year, our 4th grade teacher at Ben Franklin School (Mrs. Keen?) taught us how to write formal letters. The assignment was to pick people you looked up to, and ask them for an autographed picture. She would take care of sending the letters off.

The year was 1982, and most kids chose to write the cast of Star Wars.

My mom told me that Gracie Allen died before I was born, so I chose to write to George Burns.

Over the next few months, letters would come back in care of Ben Franklin School. Autographed photos of Mark Hamill and Harrison Ford and Carrie Fisher. And then one day, an envelope came for me.

I forgot about the letter until yesterday, when a package arrived on my doorstep from SlackMom. 

 

Dear Nina

Thank you for the nice letter. I'm just sorry I couldn't get around to answering it sooner. I'm very honored that you chose me. I thought a letter would be nicer than a picture.

It's nice to know that today, kids still look up to someone. It's a nice feeling. I had my heroes when I was young. Abe Lincoln. Thomas Jefferson. I knew Jefferson personally. That's a joke.

I'm not really that old. I'm older. Anyway, sweetie, stay happy and healthy.

Love

George Burns

 

He sent it from Hollywood Center Studios Which is not far from where I spend my days writing comedy now.

Thank you, Mr. Burns. And goodnight, Gracie.*

*Lizzie McGuire won a Gracie Allen Award for comedy in 2003. How cool is that?

While Watching "Switched at Birth."

Will: So, wait. When were they switched?

Me: At birth.

Will: Do they ever say that?

Me: It’s called “Switched at Birth.”

You Old Softie: A Closer Look at Erectile Dysfunction Ads.

Note: This post initially was published a couple of years ago on the comedy blog Pointless Banter, which Bobby Finstock sold for a tube sock full of lube.

 

I am constantly assaulted by images that the Almighty Cock is King.  One Pizza Delivery Guy can turn a couple of lesbians straight. When coupled with a business degree, a suit and a smattering of greed, it can turn the American economy on its ear (I didn’t see anyone who possessed a vagina testifying in front of Congress about the Wall Street Bailout Bill, although I did see a bunch of pussies who didn’t want to give up their private jets.) 

The penis: what can’t it do?

Here’s one thing it can’t do: get or maintain an erection as it gets older. That’s okay, though, the drug companies have come to your rescue! 

It’s just their advertising that’s a wee bit confusing. Here’s a look at the advertising campaigns from some of the, erm, big ones.

 

Viagra

I love Elvis.  Elvis – even fat Elvis sweating gravy in that white polyester jumpsuit – is manly. And if Viagra was around when the King was alive, I bet he’d take it.  Add in the idea that Lisa Marie’s “Church” probably wanted a slice of that Fat Elvis money cake and we’ve got Viva Viagra!

Now there’s that guy, you all know him: he’s constantly bragging about the chick he’s banging. She’s always a Playmate, a Supermodel, or lives in Canada.  But do guys hang out and jam about how they’re going home to bang the wife? According to Viva Viagra, they do.

A longtime blog reader once confessed to me that he didn’t get all that excited about the thought of having sex with his wife. I told him that she probably wasn’t doing the dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy over his old, saggy Nutcracker either.

 

Rock Hard Weekend

Rock Hard is one of the “natural” performance enhancers, promising to get it up and keep it up for 72 hours straight.  Guys, I’m going to let you in on a little secret here: there are precious few women that want to have sex for 72 hours in a row. Even a couple of hours and it feels like you’ve been humping Velcro. Yeah, I know Sting has Tantric sex which lasts for days with his wife Trudie Styler, but he’s also filthy rich and probably pays people to crap for him. The rest of us like to shower and walk the dog and catch the Real Housewives Marathon.

Rock Hard Weekend works the party route with the “Rock Hard Red Carpet.” (I was hoping that meant an entire lineup of redheads, but alas, I’m the only one that crass.)  The Hollywood shindig is staffed (ahem) with an assortment of skankalicious babes paid to hang out and let you think you have a shot at nailing them. Hot chicks to shill product is nothing new. What I don’t get are the famous dudes that show up to pimp the product. Isn’t that advertising that you can no longer get and keep it up?

(I’m also a client!)

 

Cialis

Every Cialis ad ends the same way: An older couple. Taking baths. Outside. In separate tubs.  I’ve been on a few nice vacations in my life, but I’ve never been somewhere where they dragged a claw foot tub into the wilderness so I could clean myself. Where are the native people holding the water buckets? Where are the towels? What abut shoes? The thought of myself at age 70 trying to get my saggy ass out of a slippery tub and walking barefoot and butt naked through the wilderness makes me want to break a hip now and get it over with. Not to mention that the only thing I want to do after a bath is nap. I’m already an old person.

 

Levitra

The current Levitra ads say “See Our Ad in This Old House.”  Well, that’s the problem. The problem isn’t that you can’t get it up because you’re older. You can’t get it up because you’re a woman. 

 

Enzyte

Enzyte is another “natural” male enhancer. But instead of using rock stars and skanky babes, they use…Santa.

Maybe there’s some sort of Secret Santa Fetish that I was previously unaware of, but I’m pretty sure that no one wants to sit on Santa Boner’s lap. Especially when he’s Bob from Accounting. 

 

Don’t get me wrong: I support the Penis Economy. I look forward to the day that my husband and I have old people sex. But these drugs sell themselves. Dump the ad agencies and use that money you were spending there for something really important. Like developing a cure for cancer. Or jetpacks.

 

Men of a Certain Twitter.

I've been vocal about my thoughts regarding how Hollywood - writers, specifically - have been slow to investigate new technologies.  While all of these new technologies and tools can be opportunities for new ways to tell stories, they can also be a way to take the temperature of an audience - sometimes one that you weren't even aware that you had.

I'm always shocked at who follows me on Twitter. Right before Christmas, I was absolutel delighted to discover this in my inbox:

 

It made me reconsider posting about Daisy's flatulence and the nasty rash on my ankle from my air cast.

Last night I was watching Men of a Certain Age, a show that I season pass. I realize I'm not the target audience, but I love Andre Braugher, Scott Bakula, and it's nice to see Raymond finally gettin' some. The writing is good, and although I find their female to be a bit one-dimensional (except for Owen's wife, Melissa), I appreciate the fact that they're creating entertainment for a demographic that has a tendency to be forgotten.  And while I'm not in that demographic, I appreciate good storytelling.

But I'm also a smartass. Last night, I posted this after the show:

 

A few moments later, this showed up in my mentions column:

That's Mike Royce, Co-Creator & Executive Producer of Men Of a Certain Age.

I exlained that I liked last night's episode, that I was being a smartass, but that I fet the women were a little one-dimensional. However, I also said that I understand that the show is MEN of a Certain Age, and that the TV process is a bit like a hot dog factory: there's a lot of pieces that go into creating the perfect all-beef frank.  I've spent plenty of years in the TV Writing Mines not to know this.

 

 

When I was working on MTV's Savage County, I had a few vocal detractors on Twitter, but instead of getting offended or huffy, I pressed them to discover what could I have done better? That's what makes me a better writer, a better creator, and in the end creates more fans.

If I found out that Mike Royce was on Twitter and didn't respond to anyone, I wouldn't think much of it. And yes, it's easy to respond to fans of your work. The fact that he chose to engage with someone who was being a smartass by not being a smartass is a classy move, and one that I hope that all creators - not just TV - will take advantage of.

 

Men of a Certain Age airs Mondays at 10/9c on TNT.

Mike Royce on Twitter.

Me on Twitter.

 

 

Why I'll Die in the Zombie Apocalypse But That's Okay Because Chances Are You'll Already Be a Zombie By Then, Too.

So last night was the premiere of the much-anticipated Walking Dead, which began with a law enforcement official shooting a little zombie girl holding a stuffed bunny*.

Will: They don't waste any time, do they?

Me: She was a zombie, it's what you do.

I will have to turn in my Nerd Card when I admit that I haven't read the graphic novel. Not by choice, it's just that usually when I remember things I want to buy/read/see I am nowhere near a place to buy/read/see them. When I heard that Walking Dead was going to be made into a series I decided I wouldn't read the source material, but go back afterwards and see if there was anything I missed. I'm a completist that way. (You can give me my Nerd Card back now.)

Watching disaster movies (which while they skew horror, you could argue that they're easily disaster movies as well) always make me wonder how I'd react in the same scenario. I realized that while Will and I had discussed our wishes for what happens to us after we die or have to go on life support (Will has said he wants the plug pulled as soon as his pants go out of fashion), but we hadn't discussed what happens after we become undead.

I told Will that I would be upset if he didn't shoot me when I became a zombie. Unless I was a hot zombie, because then I'd want him to first take photo to show everyone what a hot zombie I made. Then he could shoot me. Never turn down a decent photo op.

But if we didn't end up zombies, what then?

But it's moments like these that I am reminded of a not-so-long-ago project of mine called the Post-Apocalyptic Workout, in which I was documenting my prep work for the Zombie Apocalypse.

Everyone always imagines themselves the hero but let's face it, most of us aren't. Most of us are just the hangers-on looking for someone to tell us what to do and then arguing when they tell us what we don't want to hear.  Like how I shouldn't go back for me dog.

This is why I'm going to die during the Zombie Apocalypse: I'm going back for my dog.

Will and I have a joke that's not really a joke but we say it in that ha-ha way which means this is serious but we're going to pretend it's not that we can both walk, so saving Daisy is our number one priority in any situation. Daisy is not Lassie. She will not pull you out of the well and call you an ambulance and mix you a drink at the end of a long day.

No, Daisy is the con artist of dogs, making you feel like you are the most important thing in her world at any given time. Daisy hates cats and dogs and squirrels, but Daisy does one thing better than any other animal on the planet, and that is that she LOVES YOU AND ONLY YOU.

In our ragtag group of survivors, when people would be going on about their parents and their kids and their wounded (listen, if zombies movies have taught me anything, it's that you gotta shoot the  wounded), I will wave that all off and say dasvidaniya, suckers I'm not leaving my dog who won't protect us from the zombies and in fact probably draw the zombies to us because her penchant for butt chewing sounds like Darth Vader attached to a Hoover vaccum so you'd better go on without us.

In summation: The Walking Dead is awesome and when my inevitable zombiefying happens in the apocalypse**, please do me a favor and take me down in one shot.

 

*The only moment of cringe-worthiness for me was when Mr. Law Enforcement Official co-opted a horse to ride into the city. I knew it wasn't going to end well. And it didn't. (Although you could argue that it ended well for the zombies.)

You asshole! I screamed at the TV while Will reminded me that it wasn't a real horse.

**This means IF I AM ACTUALLY A ZOMBIE. Not if I tell you I feel like a zombie or if I'm just sleepy. I have to be eating actual human*** brains.

***Clarified because I have been know to eat non-human brains.

Are Bravo's the Real Housewives of Orange County the Worst People in the History of the Universe?

Note: This post initially was published last year on the comedy blog Pointless Banter, which Bobby Finstock sold or abandoned or traded for "gently used" copies of Swank from the Sam Kinison estate on eBay.

Are Bravo's the Real Housewives of Orange County the Worst People in the History of the Universe?

I have a confession to make.  Now you need to understand that I’ve been blogging for twelve years. There’s precious little that embarrasses me. My life is the virtual open book, each humiliating moment mined for as much material as I can possibly wring out of it.

But what I’m about to tell you may perhaps be the most mortifying words I’ve ever committed to the screen:

I watch The Real Housewives of Orange County.

 
A Crayola box of bankruptcy, divorce and foreclosure.

I don’t watch them because I harbor some burning desire to move south and set up shop in a gated McMansion Community, or because I yearn for expensive chain restaurants, lopsided bolt-on boob jobs and a leatherette tan. 

Sure, they have huge (probably mortgaged to the hilt) houses, they drive expensive (probably leased with an inch of their life) cars, they have huge bling (probably charged on a maxed-out credit card) on their fingers.

But they’re terrible human beings. The housewives gossip. They backstab. They’re mean to their husbands and overindulge their children. I understand that hot can make up for crazy. And obnoxious. And even dumb. But I have a difficult time figuring out how any of them became housewives in the first place. 

I watch The Real Housewives because it’s the chick’s version of Tool Academy: one hour out of my week where I am certain to feel morally superior.

They’re the worst people in the history of people, Will said to me one evening.

Which got me to thinking:  how do they rack up to some of the worst people in the History of the Universe?

 

Hitler: Those of you born in the 1990s may know Hitler as the head of the bad guys in Call of Duty. (Or as a recent commentator on Oscar Fashion on this very blog.)  I know him ‘cause he wiped out a good portion of my mom’s family during World War II (and made it impossible for me to complain about anything as a kid. No matter how much you think anything sucks, you can’t compete with Hitler.)

During the course of World War II, Hitler slaughtered nearly 12 million people in concentration camps, mostly Jews, but also Russians, Gypsies, Homosexuals…anyone that didn’t fit into his German Nationalist World View.

The Real Housewives of Orange County: The Housewives exercise a reign of terror over their section of Orange County, casting a critical eye at anything that doesn’t fit into their Miracle Whip worldview. A recent (and let’s face it, probably free) meal at one of the nicest restaurants in Napa Valley had housewife Tamra Barney complaining

Where is an Olive Garden when you need one?!

During the course of a single Bravo television season, repeated viewings of The Real Housewives of Orange County will kill twelve million brain cells.

Who’s Worse? Hitler.

C’mon, he’s Hitler.

 

Joseph Fritzl: In April of 2008, it was discovered that the Austrian man had kept his daughter prisoner in the basement for 24 years, fathering seven of her children. 

  Even Yandy doesn't sell a "Sexy Joseph Fritzl" costume.

The Housewives:   The Housewives have each produced their own demon spawn (minus this season’s new addition, Gretchen Rossi), but instead of locking them in their million-dollar-tract-house basements, they’ve released them into the world.  Overindulged, over-entitled, underemployed - who has time to work when you’ve got to do beer bongs with your bikini-clad mom and her fake-titted friends at Lake Havasu?

Joe Francis will pay you to put your shirt back on.

In short, they’re the reason the rest of the world hates us.

Who’s Worse: The Housewives.

Fritzl is a monster, but it’s not his kids’ fault that their dad is insane. The Housewives are raising their demon spawn and releasing them into the world.

 

Simon Cowell: The American Idol judge is responsible for also foisting America’s Got Talent and Celebrity Duets onto the public, creating a safe haven for washed-up celebrities and reality star wannabes everywhere.
 

Cowell’s best known for his biting criticism on Idol, usually starting with “I don’t want to be rude, but…”  I don’t mean to be rude, but the guy is a douchebag. Of course, this is not news. But he may have single-handedly created the douchebag economy, as well as a platform to celebrate the least talented among us.

The Housewives: Celebrating the least talented among us is what the Housewives are all about. Never has so much been done with so little.

Housewife Lynne could teach Simon about rock-hard pecs!

Who’s Worse: I’m gonna go with a tie.

Mr. Peabody & his Boy WTF?

About a thousand and a half years ago, I wrote (with my then writing-partner brother) on a show called Romeo!

I am not excited. The show was called Romeo!

That's Romeo-Exclamation-Point. I'm not a fan of the mandatory use of punctuation in show titles. It's a little desperate. As in see, no, it's a really new and exciting show and you can tell people there's an exclamation point or we used that question mark because we're not sure that it's actually going to happen even though we know it already did I'm looking at you Bethenny Getting Married?(!)

Romeo! was...an experience.

Paging @DoctorCoop

I'm a huge fan of the Showtime show "Nurse Jackie." The writing is smart, the performances are brilliant (Merritt Wever deserves twelve Emmys a year for her portrayal of nursing student Zoey) and they practically glide over the tightrope betwixt comedy/drama.

Last night's episode revealed the Doctor Cooper (played by Peter Facinelli) is on Twitter: @DoctorCoop.

While it was handled a bit ham-handed in the episode "I AM ON TWITTER! I AM TWEETING THIS!" (excuse the paraphrasing) I applaud the efforts of the Nurse Jackie team and Showtime for leaping into the pool of transmedia entertainment.

The super-smartypants Gennefer Snowfield said, I'm not convinced a half hour sitcom need be an immersive transmedia experience. I actually agree. However, if you're going to dip your toe in the water to get the temperature, I think that knowing something about the water is in order.

My criticism stems from the fact that I want these types of transmedia initiatives to succeed. This is a huge part of what I do now, so I want there to continue to be a growing market to extend the narrative through whatever platforms make sense.

A little background: from August - November 2009, I played over 11 different characters for two different shows (Valemont had nine Twitter accounts, Woke Up Dead had two.) I spoke about the experience and how to use Twitter for characters in my talk at the 140 Conference "How I Became a Zombie on Twitter."

Here are the things that "ping" me about @DoctorCoop.

Discovering the account:

I understand that the whole "I AM ON TWITTER! I AM TWEETING THIS!" was the result of a note (or the thought) that part of your audience may not know what Twitter is. That's okay. Remember that in consuming entertainment, we have a choice.

You cannot force your viewers to learn what Twitter is. You cannot force your viewers to care. But trust that your viewers are smart, and those who will want to participate, will. You don't need to bash them over the head with it. Discovery is part of the fun for people who want to truly engage.

Staying True to Characters:

You've set up an antagonistic relationship between Jackie & Dr. Cooper. Jackie knows that he's Tweeting. Why would he be tweeting under his full name, with a photo of himself?

Jackie would get him fired in a heartbeat. If Twitter is going to play a part in the show's storyline (Dr. Cooper gets clipped for talking about patients, co-workers, etc.) this could be interesting.

But if I AM TWEETING is going to be ignored in your show from now on, then give Dr. Cooper the brains (that he supposedly has) and let him be a little more discreet. Change his photo. Morph his name. Give him a little plausible deniability. 

The Devil is in the Details:

Timelines: Look at this tweet from today. I'm in PST, so this was posted around 7am PST today, Tuesday, March 30.

The "cys fib" episode took place yesterday (Monday, March 29.) Is Dr. Cooper confused? Is he still at work? Jackie has already gone home, so she was there yesterday.  (Not to mention this tweet on March 28th, referring to Hair tickets that weren't given out until the episode on March 29.) Keep yourself grounded in what time it really is (and on EST, since that's where Dr. Cooper lives) and where you are at that moment.

Apps: Doctor Cooper tweeted from his cell phone yesterday. But if you look at the above, it shows that he's using a tool called "CoTweet." CoTweet's slogan is "How Business Does Twitter." Which reminds us that we are not following @DocCooper but a business. There are fabulous Twitter apps out there that make it easy to track multiple accounts - Seesmic (which I used to manage my 11 accounts), Tweetdeck, Tweetie to name a few. A quick adjustment and we're right back in the thick of it.

In Summary:

The fact is that we all know @DoctorCoop isn't real. The question is this: Do you want a "One Twit Wonder" or do you want to hook an audience that is active and engaged? If it's the latter, you have to respect their savvy. After the newness wears off, they'll notice these things (if they haven't already.)

I believe (and in my experience from the shows I've worked on) the way to blur the lines between fantasy and reality means keeping it grounded in not only our reality but the one that the Nurse Jackie world has created. I've written television. I know how difficult it is to get a vision across that isn't a watered-down version of what began on the page. Nurse Jackie is truly a great show, and I applaud their (and Showtime's) efforts for making the leap onto Twitter.

But you have worked hard to create these stories. Make sure that you serve them wherever they are.

The writing doesn't stop just because it's on the Internet.

Note: I also have thoughts on your Facebook page. But I've worked for free enough today. :)

If you'd like to hear more, you can find me here.

Things I Learned From Superbowl Ads.

1. I shouldn't abort my child because one day she may have the chance to become a GoDaddy Girl.

2. The Lilly Ledbetter Act now extends to personal hygiene products! Men now get the opportunity to buy smelly products they don't need. FINALLY, equal opportunity! You've come a long way, baby.

3. Costumers on commercials have a secret stash of slight-used tidy-whiteys. (I can only hope they receive hazard pay.)

4. What was missing was the Robert Blake/OJ Simpson crossover ad where they meet at the Sbarro in the mall food court after being dragged shopping by their overbearing wives.

5. Mrs. Tebow might reassess her position on the right to choose if she was forced to sit in First Class with an E*Trade baby.

Winners? Anyone who got paid to create that violent, misogynistic, and most importantly UNFUNNY piece of crap. Viva mediocrity!

Also a winner? Willie Ames, who did a fabulous job singing at the halftime show. I think he's proved to Hollywood that he's finally ready for the way-overdue Pirate Movie 2.

Losers? All of us who didn't fast-forward through the commercials. I like my misogynists classy. (Looking at you, Don Draper.)

You can find the rest of my Livetweets from the Superbowl here. And while you're at it, check out Caissie St. Onge, Tom Scharpling, Paul F. Tompkins and Sara Benincasa.

Square Pegs, aka New Media & the WGA.

(For first-time readers: I've written for TV, Web, Mobile platforms and been a member of the WGAw since 2000. You can read more about my background and work experience here.)

This afternoon I attended the WGAw/MEF panel "Content Creation for Mobile Devices."  There were some incredibly informed people on the first panel*, including Ryan Stoner of Omelet LA and Steven Hein of FOX.

While it was clear that the panelists all were not only knowledgeable but also successful in their fields, I wondered about the audience. The panel was open only to WGAw and WGA Caucus members; the 75-person venue was sold out, and there was an "overflow room" which housed another fifty or so members.  We all know that digital content creation - whether used as a tool to further extend conventional TV and film narratives, or as a primary distribution method - is where we're all headed. I applaud the WGA for recognizing this and attempting to create a forum for its members to learn more about storytelling on different platforms.

However, what was shocking to me is the lack of participation on those platforms.

Prior to attending the panel, I searched twitter for "mobile" and "WGA." I saw one hit - one of the panel members, Steven Hein. I arrived a few minutes early and had the opportunity to speak with Steven and told him that if there wasn't an agreed-upon hashtag for the conference, I'd be using #WGAmob.

As we all took our seats, we were told by WGA's New Media Project Manager Tamara Krinsky to use the hashtag #MEFWGA (I was impressed they were on top of it!), and we were encouraged to ask questions using this hashtag on Twitter.

Again, the panel was incredibly informative, and I imagine if I hadn't already worked on New Media projects like Woke Up Dead and Valemont that I would have learned more. But what shocked me was that, in the 100+ person audience, there appeared to only be 3-5 of us on Twitter. As I followed the #MEFWGA hashtag, I realized that it was...pretty much just me.

We were at a panel discussing creating content for mobile devices. While not solely mobile, Twitter is a popular mobile application. And yet...no one used it. Which got me to wondering if anyone used it?

How can one expect to create content for platforms we know nothing about?

I discussed this briefly with Miss Krinksy, who said that she thought people needed a reason to use platforms. And I don't disagree. At the inaugural Transmedia-LA meeting, we discussed how there seems to be a rush to tick off boxes on transmedia projects. (Don't know what transmedia storytelling is? Click here.)

However, if we expect to create for those platforms, shouldn't we understand what they're capable of? Social media isn't just media. It's SOCIAL.  You don't tell the same stories at a job interview that you do at a cocktail party. Each nugget of social interaction is governed by sometimes specific, sometimes general rules. 

The first time I had dinner at the Hotel Bel Air, I was terrified that I would use the wrong fork or speak too loudly or pronounce my entree incorrectly even though I had taken seven years of French. I wasn't comfortable with the social rules, so I listened, I watched, and I "got it" by the time dessert was served. (In fact, I became so comfortable that the second time I had dinner at the Hotel Bel Air, I passed out in the restaurant's plush bathroom. Back medication and martinis don't mix, kids.)

Platforms live and breathe the same way. Blogging is different that SMS messaging is different than Twitter is different than Facebook is different than email is different than voicemail  I don't know, if as the brilliant and forward-thinking Jan Libby mused, that people are expecting to "wing it" when it comes to these options, or if they're afraid of the technology.

As a writer, I'm attempting to take advantage of the unique properties of each platform** to create, as my boss and mentor Brent Friedman*** likes to say, "universes worthy of devotion..." You don't need a WGA card to tell stories across these platforms. (See Jay Bushman's CtHalloween, or my husband's 3 Tweet Stories.)

Writers would do themselves a huge favor by learning about these platforms, at the very least becoming an observer if not an active participant. It's not difficult, but it is different.

And if we want to write in New Media, we have to be prepared to experience and embrace the part that's "New."

*I did not stay for the second panel.
**You can see my talk at the 140# conference "How I Became a Zombie on Twitter" (on the benefit of Twitter for characters) here.
***He may have been quoting someone else. Not that you're not a smartypants, Brent!