With all the closures due to the coronavirus pandemic, we have lost physical access to libraries as well as chain and local bookstores. Our access may be diminished, but our need for entertainment—or if we can’t be entertained, at least some kind of distraction—has wildly increased.
In light of the stay-at-home orders that most of the world is currently following, authors have brought literary salons––places to explore ideas, share stories, and gain insight into the writing process––to Instagram. By allowing us into their writing spaces, these authors are giving us a rare, uncensored look into their lives. Sharing these spaces allows us to refill our creative wells through conversation and a shared love of books and writing.
During the summer of 2016, the United Nations declared internet access a human right. While quality content and accessibility are both taking big strides toward an educated global populace, there is one major problem with video essays on sites like YouTube and Vimeo.
Often referred to as “fidget-spinner poetry” due to its brevity and its targeting of younger audiences, Instapoetry is frequently dismissed and even insulted by critics. But does Instapoetry have anything to offer—especially for us quick-scrolling younger generations?
With the popularity and proliferation of digital devices like the iPhone and iPad, audiobooks and their close cousin, the podcast, have become uniquely convenient for those multitaskers looking to fill extra time during their commute or workout. This does bring up the question of whether or not this practice of listening rather than reading is a legitimate method of comprehension.
Imagine you are listening to an audiobook. The story takes place in the South, and you’re immersed in a scene of intense action. Suddenly, you hear the voice actor say “you all,” rather than the “y’all” you have been hearing up until this point. You pause, and suddenly you’re not thinking about the story. You’re removed from the world you spent the past half hour in, and now you’re thinking about the actor, maybe picturing them in front of a microphone, watching them as they make the fatal mistake. It takes you a few moments, and maybe a quick rewind, to get back into the story. How do publishers avoid these mishaps in an audiobook recording?