Feeding the Beast

The other day, I sent a good friend of mine a book excerpt on The New Yorker's site that I was surprised they'd published. She and I got to talking about book excerpts in general, but also specifically on The New Yorker. Book excerpts, she told me, were a relatively easy way for publications to generate more content. "When The New Yorker was print-only, they never published book excerpts. Absolutely never. But I imagine now they have an editor whose job it is to work on book excerpts. Once they went partly digital, they had to, and not just because of Condé Nast. That's the problem with publishing online. You always need more content. You have to feed the beast."

There's a cartoon I saw years ago that I think about a lot. A surprising amount, honestly. I can't imagine many of you will have seen it. It's one of the old Raggedy Ann and Andy films, about a sad Blue Camel with wrinkly knees and a bunch of toy friends that need rescuing. It was made in 1977 and is more than a little weird, despite being a Raggedy Ann and Andy movie. Perhaps the most insane scene is the one with a character known as The Greedy.

The Greedy is a giant sentient taffy pit, an insatiable sweet-toothed glutton. He's gathered all the sweets in the world and gobbles them down relentlessly, but even with all the sweets in the world, he can never, never, never get enough. When Raggedy Ann, Andy, and the Camel accidentally fall into The Greedy, he tells them, "I can't stop eating and I'm never satisfied or happy inside." Then he sings his song, because of course the movie is a musical.

He's looking for a sweetheart, he tells them. The use of "sweetheart" is intentional: We want to believe it means he's looking for love, but of course we know that Raggedy Ann has a candy heart. After he tells his tale of woe, she feels sad for him. She wishes she could help, but they've got to go rescue their friends, and anyway she says, "I'm only a rag doll with a little candy heart." Then The Greedy becomes truly monstrous, trying to cut out and steal Raggedy Ann's candy heart so he can eat it. The trio escapes by burying him under a "taffy-lanche" of his own ooey gooey irresistible inescapable mess.

Right now I feel a bit like a little rag doll in a flimsy paper cup. How long can we go on feeding the insatiable Greedy, anyway? How much longer can we hold out until he finally gets his sticky fingers on our candy hearts?

I saw a newsletter whose author highlights the excessive word count as a point of pride. "It's like when someone tells you they love a place like Golden Corral or Buca di Beppo," I told someone. "They say, 'You get so much food!' But is it good? 'The portions are huge!' Yeah, but how does it taste? 'There's a slice of chocolate cake as big as your head!'" I don't want more. I want better. The internet feels like an endless buffet at a chain restaurant with not enough sneeze guards and everyone sticking their fingers in rather than using the tongs, which are bad enough.

Or maybe it's just the summer doldrums. Maybe it's a little burnout. Maybe you too?

Next week, I really am going to try to wrap up the Add Your story. It's the best part! Then I think I'll take everyone's advice and give myself a few weeks off in August in order to give my brain a break, and yours too. No one wants more to read or think about in August anyway. I'll still send something out each week because I like having the habit and the consistency, but it will be small, like some photos or important links, or something from the archives. I'll put the specifics in the little housekeeping section of next week's newsletter, since it's the last one of July, so you'll know what's coming. God, where has the summer gone? The Greedy is relentless.

Until next Wednesday.

Lx