This is a cute puppy, isn’t it? It’s apparently visiting one of our neighbors. I was first alerted to its presence when Kodi started barking madly; I came down and found the pup actually in my living room. Apparently it nudged open my garage door and decided to come in. This didn’t please Kodi very much; she cornered the dog until I got there. I let the pup out of the house and then it wandered about outside for a while before its people came and got it. Except for a little canine breaking and entering, there was no harm done, and the dog was friendly all the way through — didn’t appear to challenge Kodi or anything (which was good because Akitas don’t take kindly to that). Even so, it added a little bit of excitement to the day. Yes, this is life in rural America.

The nominees for the 2007 Academy Awards are out, and now I’m putting on my film industry observer hat and telling you who has a chance at which awards.

Some initial thoughts: This is another low-grossing year for the Oscars, since aside from The Departed, none of the Best Picture nominees has cleared $100 million. However, it’s not the total commercial embarrassment last year’s slate was — only two of this year’s Best Picture nominees have been outgrossed by a Best Documentary nominee instead of all of them. It’s progress! Artistically it’s a fine year; there’s not a single embarrassment among the major categories, which is always a nice thing when it happens.

There are three big stories out of this slate of nominees. The first is Dreamgirls getting the door slammed on it for Best Picture and Best Director, which I think is an event that’s probably going to leave a mark on voting for the categories it is nominated in. The second is that Little Miss Sunshine has become 2006′s little picture that could; whether it wins any Oscars is another question, but for now everyone involved with it looks great. The third is: Dude, it’s Scorsese’s year. The field is positioned just right for Scorsese to finally pick up the hardware, especially since Dreamgirls is out of the (best) picture. But that doesn’t mean it’s going to be a cakewalk for The Departed.

And now, to my early pics in the major categories.

Best Picture: Babel, The Departed, Letters from Iwo Jima, Little Miss Sunshine, The Queen

Little Miss Sunshine gets the ax first, because its directors were not nominated in that category, and it’s been nearly 20 years since a film won Best Picture without at least a corresponding Director nomination (that would be Driving Miss Daisy). Also, it’s a comedy, and the last outright comedy to win was Annie Hall, 30 years ago. Good day, Sunshine. After that, though, it gets murky. I suspect The Queen will be next to go, because Helen Mirren is the prohibitive front runner for Best Actress, and I suspect voters will think that’s enough. Letters from Iwo Jima is more proof Clint Eastwood can do no wrong; when was the last time an American director guided a foreign language film to a Best Picture nomination? (answer: never.)

But while I’m not counting Iwo out, I also feel like the real race is between The Departed and Babel. Babel scored the Golden Globe for Best Picture (Drama), which raises its profile and may be enough to make it the putative front runner. It’s also one of those serious, multi-threaded films of the sort that’s done well recently (see: Crash). On the other hand, The Departed is a damn fine Scorsese film, and the “Scorsese’s due” drumbeat is beginning to thump pretty loudly. For the moment, I think Babel is out in front, and that there’s going to be a split Best Picture/Director decision like there was last year. But if the Scorsese drumbeat gets out of hand, look out.
Early pick: Babel

Best Director: Clint Eastwood (Iwo), Paul Greengrass (United 93), Stephen Frears (The Queen), Alejandro González Iñárritu (Babel), Martin Scorsese (The Departed)

I am absolutely delighted that Paul Greengrass has gotten a director nod, because his work on United 93 is so good that you hardly know it’s there, which was exactly what the film needed. I think he had the toughest directing gig of the year and nailed it; if there was any justice he’d be one of the top two contenders for the Oscar. But he’s not; his film wasn’t nominated for Best Picture, and there’s not nearly enough buzz. The nomination will have to be enough.

As for the rest, well. Look: Scorsese’s due. Everyone knows it. And what’s more, this year the stars are lining up for him. Frears isn’t a serious threat because The Queen is not a serious contender for Best Picture. Eastwood already has two directing Oscars and (I suspect) would probably tell people to vote for Scorsese anyway, because what does he need a third for? And Alejandro González Iñárritu, good as he is, doesn’t have the constituency Scorsese has. The final tip toward Scorsese this year is that unlike in 1980 and 1990, he’s not going to get hosed by a neophyte actor-turned-director sucking votes from the Actor’s branch of the Academy. If Scorsese doesn’t win, I will buy a hat and eat it.
Early pick: Scorsese

Best Actor: Leonardo DiCaprio (Blood Diamond), Ryan Gosling (Half Nelson), Peter O’Toole (Venus), Will Smith (The Pursuit of Happyness), Forest Whitaker (The Last King of Scotland)

Congratulations Ryan Gosling! Your asking price per film just went up half a million. Enjoy it, because you’re not getting this Oscar. For Will Smith, this nomination is the acknowledgment that he’s taken Tom Hanks’ old position as America’s Everyman; he’s going to get a Best Actor Oscar one day, just not today. Leonardo DiCaprio might have had a better chance if the nomination were for The Departed rather than Blood Diamond, I think. He’s also in the “gonna win one day, just not today” camp.

It comes down to Forest Whitaker and Peter O’Toole. God knows, Peter O’Toole deserves an Oscar for his body of work if nothing else — but, as it happens, he was given an Oscar for his body of work last year, so what he has to do is hope enough voters work through their screeners of Venus and feel like giving him a proper send-off. Otherwise, it’s all Whitaker, because he’s in one of those outsized historical roles Academy voters seem to love, and his buzz at the moment is simply great.
Early pick: Whitaker

Best Actress: Penelope Cruz (Volver), Judi Dench (Notes on a Scandal), Helen Mirren (The Queen), Meryl Streep (The Devil Wears Prada), Kate Winslet (Little Children).

First off the boat: Judi Dench, who must nevertheless be tickled that she continues to get nominated for terrific performances almost no one outside of LA and New York has seen. Next out, Streep, who by this time — this is, what? Her 13th nomination? — must also view the whole nomination thing with some amused weariness. I wouldn’t be able to choose between Cruz and Winslet as to who has a better chance, but I think the good news here (for me, anyway) is that I won’t have to, since I’m having a hard time imagining a world where Helen Mirren doesn’t walk off with the Oscar. She’s playing the Queen, for God’s sake. I don’t think Oscar voters will be able to help themselves, if only because everyone in the world is itching to see what happens the next time Mirren actually has an audience with the woman she’s playing. Talk about your cosmically awkward moments. That’s worth a gold statuette to see, isn’t it?
Early pick: Mirren

Best Supporting Actor: Alan Arkin (Little Miss Sunshine), Jackie Earle Haley (Little Children), Djimon Hounsou (Blood Diamond), Eddie Murphy (Dreamgirls), Mark Wahlberg (The Departed)

Bet Haley’s happy this morning. He gets the role of the nominee Entertainment Tonight follows through his preparations on Oscar Day. He also has no chance at the Oscar. I’m happy that Wahlberg gets a nod; he’s a solid actor whose transformation from the Marky Mark days is finally and absolutely complete. I don’t suspect he’s in the running. Neither is Hounsou, although this nomination serves to acknowledge Hounsou generally classes up the films he’s in (hell, he was the best thing about The Island). I think this one comes down to a battle between Eddie Murphy and Alan Arkin, and both nominations have compelling narratives; for Murphy it’s the first time he’s got critical love of any real sort, and for Arkin this would be a nice capstone on a long and generally well-regarded career. At the moment, I think being the old guy gives Arkin the edge, but if there’s outrage that Dreamgirls wasn’t nominated for either Best Picture or Best Director, that might toss enough compensatory votes Murphy’s way to get him over the top. We’ll have to see how this plays out.
Early pick: Arkin

Best Supporting Actress: Adriana Barraza (Babel), Cate Blanchett (Notes on a Scandal), Abagail Breslin (Little Miss Sunshine), Jennifer Hudson (Dreamgirls), Rinko Kikuchi (Babel).

Look, this is a walk for Jennifer Hudson. I’m not even going to pretend anyone else has a chance in this category; maybe Blanchett, if someone was going off sheer name recognition alone. But, seriously. Is there anyone in the world who doesn’t think this is Hudson’s award? Anyone? Bueller?
Early pick: Hudson

Other thoughts and picks: Happy Feet for Best Animated Film, Pan’s Labyrinth for Best Foreign Language Film, and An Inconvenient Truth for Best Documentary (although Jesus Camp has an outside shot). I suspect that Borat actually has a good chance at winning the Adapted Screenplay award over The Departed because the Academy might want to give something to Sacha Baron Cohen, and this is the only way to do it. The best overall category this year, incidentally, is Best Original Screenplay, which features Babel, Iwo, Sunshine, Labyrinth and Queen. I suspect Sunshine might pull this one out, but really, I have no confidence. They’re all serious contenders.

Your thoughts?

Another of those “posting here now so I can refer people to it later” posts:

Perhaps since I give out a whole bunch of largely unsolicited writing advice, I am often asked by readers if I would look at the unpublished story/novel/screenplay/poem they’re working on and give them some feedback or advice. Indeed, perhaps you yourself have been thinking of asking me this very same thing. I have two things to say to this sort of request:

1. I’m really flattered that you would think of asking me to critique your work and would trust me to give you valuable feedback. Thank you.

2. No.

And now, all the reasons why I won’t read your unpublished work, presented in no particular order.

Reason #1: I don’t have the time. As of right this very moment, here are the things I am committed to writing: One novel, a second edition of a non-fiction book (which requires substantial revision and rewriting), a novella, a novelette, several short stories, five blog entries every day of the week, several informational pieces for a book on Ohio, a magazine article on Elvis Presley and other ongoing work for corporate clients. All of this work has to be done because I’m contractually obliged to do it and it pays my bills.

On top of this I write daily for this Web site, which does not pay bills but which over time has become incredibly important to my career (and to my sanity). On top of that, I need to read at least a couple of books a week for an interview series I do with authors, occasionally read one with an eye toward giving a blurb, and check out yet a few others to discuss here on the Whatever (pimping writers! Yay!). On top of that, I have a family which would like to see me from time to time, not to mention friends who I would also enjoy socializing with. On top of all of this, I’d like a little time for my own non-work-related recreation. And on top of that, I’d like to eat and sleep.

Now, over time the details of what I’m doing will change. What is unlikely to change is the volume of what I’m doing. That has remained constant pretty much for the last decade and seems unlikely to decrease any time soon, for which I am fantastically and appropriately grateful. But it means that I don’t have time to read your work, because critically evaluating work in a way that’s going to be useful to the author takes a fair amount of time, and it’s time I don’t have. I understand that from your point of view it may seem like it should be a trivial thing to slip in a little bit of reading and evaluation. But over on this side of things, there’s no time. There’s just not.

(How do I have time to write all this, then? Well, I’m writing it once. Saves me from having to write it over and over again.)

Related to the time thing:

Reason #2: I’d rather look like a dick by saying no than look like a dick by saying yes and then not following through. Several months ago and against my better judgment I agreed to look at someone’s manuscript for them and offer them an opinion on it. And I still haven’t gotten to it. Why not? Because ultimately it’s the last priority in my day: I have paid work, I have to respond to clients and editors, I spend time with family, I write on this site, I sometimes travel on business, and so on and so forth. All of this fills up my days, and at the end of the day I’m tired and I just want to watch the goddamn Daily Show and then go to sleep. I don’t want to give this fellow a half-assed evaluation, so I keep postponing getting to the manuscript until I have time to give it the time it deserves, and that time just never manages to get here. I’m being a total dick to this guy because he’s been patiently waiting for me to deliver on what I said I would do and I’m just not doing it.

I’m telling you this for two reasons. The first is that a little self-induced public shaming is just the spur I need to actually get this manuscript read. But more relevant point here is that when I say “no” to you, at least you’re not left dangling for months and months like I’ve made this poor fellow dangle, waiting to hear back from me. Your disappointment is brief and over, not long and lingering and continual. And of course, I’d also personally prefer not to disappoint people on a daily, continuing basis.

Reason #3: You’re not paying me. This sounds like me being a snide jerk, but there’s actual truth to this. Here’s the thing: I get paid pretty well for what I do. When people ask me to read their work, they’re usually not including a consulting fee; they’re expecting I’ll read the work for free. Thing is, giving people a useful critical evaluation is work; in effect they’re asking me to work for free. And, well. Generally speaking, I don’t do that. It makes my mortgage company nervous. And since my schedule is pretty packed (as noted above), any evaluation I do takes place in time I usually allot to paying work. So not only am I not making money doing this evaluation, there’s also a reasonably good chance this evaluation is taking up time I could be using to make money. And there’s the mortgage people getting nervous again.

Now, let’s be clear, here: When people ask me to read their stuff, it’s not like I fly into a rage at their insensitivity and appalling willingness to take food from the mouth of my darling child; that’s just silly. No one who asks me to read their work is saying I ought to prioritize them over actual work; they know they’re asking me for a favor. What I’m saying is that all things being equal, whenever possible I’m going to fill up work time with paid work. If someone wanted me to read their stuff and was also willing to pay my corporate consulting fee, I might be willing to make time, and bump something lesser-paying down the work ladder. But I don’t suspect many people are willing to pay my consulting fee — nor should they, as there are lots of wonderfully competent editors who would be delighted to give feedback at far more reasonable rates — so generally it’s going to be people asking me to do work for free. I’m not likely to do that.

Reason #4: Some people don’t really want feedback, and if they do, they don’t want feedback from me. This works on two levels. First, to be blunt, there are a lot of people who, when they say, “I’d love feedback,” actually mean “I want a hug.” Yes, most people say they really do want honest feedback, but you know what? A lot of them are lying (or, alternately, don’t know themselves well enough). How do I know which of these you are? Well, in fact, I don’t, unless I actually know you in real life, which in nearly every case I do not.

This matters because, to put it mildly, I’m not a hugger when it comes to critiquing work. I’m not intentionally rude, but I’m not going to bother sparing your feelings or sugar-coating what I think you’re doing wrong. In my experience this is hard enough for people to take if they genuinely want criticism; when they don’t actually want criticism — when in fact what they want is some sort of bland positive affirmation of their work or ego validation — it’s like being whacked in the face with a shovel full of red-hot coals. I think a lot of folks ask me for critiques because generally speaking I present myself as a nice and reasonable guy, and so they feel safe asking me for feedback. For certain values of “safe,” this is wildly incorrect; I don’t think it’s either nice or reasonable to tell people their work is good when it’s not. This has surprised people in the past. Over time I’ve decided it’s usually not worth the hassle.

Reason #5: I don’t want to enable you not finishing your work. Lots of people ask me to read the first few chapters or a section of something and offer feedback on it. As a philosophical matter, I think offering critiques on incomplete work is a terrible thing to do to a writer, because what all-too-frequently happens is that writer goes back and keeps rubbing and buffing the same three chapters (or 10 pages, or scene, or whatever) for months and years, and what you end up with is a highly polished useless piece of writing — useless because it’s incomplete. Also, the critique is useless because it’s only about a part of the work, and who knows how all that fits in with the rest? It’s like giving someone a handful of cherries and asking them how they like your cherry pie.

For God’s sake, if you’re going to hand your work over for critique, finish the damn thing first. Even if it’s broke, you can fix it. But you can’t fix a fragment. All you can do is fiddle with it, and in fiddling avoid finishing it. I don’t encourage this; even with friends, I don’t read things that aren’t finished.

Reason #6: I don’t know you. Why does this matter? Well, simple. As noted in reason #4, I don’t know if you really want feedback or just a pat on the head. I don’t how you respond to criticism. I don’t know if you’re mentally balanced, and whether a less-than-stellar evaluation from me will turn you into a pet-stalking psychotic. I don’t know whether, should I ever critique something of yours and then write something vaguely similar, you’ll go and try to sue me for stealing your story idea (you’d lose the case, but it would still cost me time and court fees). There are so many things I don’t know about you, they could fill a book.

Now, I’m absolutely sure that, in fact, you’re an entirely sane, calm, reasonable person. Most everybody is. But you know what? I actually have had someone online go genuinely and certifiably crazy on me. They seemed nice and normal and sane, and then suddenly they weren’t, and then there were police involved. Don’t worry, it was a while ago, everything’s fine, and it didn’t involve a work critique in any event. However, strictly as a matter of prudence, it’s best that I don’t read your work.

Realize, of course, that the converse of this is also true: You don’t know me, and while I’m sure I come across as reasonably sane and decent, you never do know, do you? Maybe I will steal your ideas. Maybe I will be needlessly cruel toward your work because I’m a little weasel of man who needs to feel big by dumping on you. Maybe I am just that big of a twit. You just don’t know. Maybe this is my way of protecting you from me. Flee! Flee!

So, those are the reasons why I won’t read your unpublished work. I sincerely hope you understand.