In the NYT today, an article about a few writers who are going to be living and writing in a box:
On Saturday night, in front of 200 onlookers, [three novelists], ensconced in neighboring pods, embarked on a variation of the spectator sports made familiar by reality television. Ms. Stone, Ranbir Sidhu and Grant Bailie are the participants in “Novel: A Living Installation” at the Flux Factory, an artists’ collective in Long Island City. The goal is for each to complete a novel by June 4. The purpose is to consider the private and public aspects of writing.
Whose purpose? I guess the installation artists’. If you are confused about what would motivate writers to do this:
Mr. Bailie, 43… received some fine reviews for his first novel, “Cloud 8,” published in 2002, but earns a living as a security supervisor for an office complex and mall in downtown Cleveland. Mr. Bailie, who paid for his plane ticket to New York, also has a wife and two children from a previous marriage, so his writing time is limited.
Right. Like I’m supposed to believe these writers are doing this for the writing time it allows. Not for the publicity (I’ve never heard of any of them). Or the money that’s bound to follow. I hope Mr. Bailie will be allowed to send out his child support checks from the box.
I’m not actually oposed to experiments like this one. I just think stunts like these, or even similar ones, like NANOWRIMO, rarely produce decent works.