In the Paris of the late 19th century, the courtesan was “an essential part of the pecking order,” writes Heather Hartley at the Tin House blog.
American Short Fiction's managing editor Jess Stoner is reading local newspapers from one state a week and reporting on the big headlines in a better attempt to understand America. As she puts it, "Not to snark, not to make fun of people from unincorporated towns who write letters to the editor, but to share with you a more complicated, less yell-y look at where we are, with the hopes of better understanding where we might be headed." The first state is Alabama.
Politico reporter Kendra Marr was forced to resign her position this week after New York Times writer Susan Stellin alerted Marr's editors to similarities between her transportation policy story published Sept. 26 and Marr's story published Oct. 10. An investigation by Politico into Marr's work found seven instances of likely plagiarism. Regret the Error points out that Politico should call Marr's stories what they are: serious plagiarism.
What happens when a writer inserts a ghost or monster into a story? At Berfrois, Alexander Stachniak argues that much of our current literature about the uncanny fails to help writers looking to answer this question. (Related: Steve Himmer on his monstrous Mary Poppins dreams.)
What is the greatest crime in literary history? Depending on who you ask, it was probably the burning of Byron's memoirs. Shortly after his death, three of Byron's closest friends, along with a few attorneys representing family interests, decided that the memoirs were too scandalous to publish and thus tossed them bit by bit into a fireplace. They claim to have been acting in his best interest, and, as Byron himself said, "There is no instinct like that of the heart."