Instead of starting with a blank page, poet Austin Kleon grabs a newspaper and a permanent marker and eliminates the words he doesn’t need.—NPR’s Morning Edition
Meg and I spent a good bit of the weekend going over the first pass of Newspaper Blackout. “First pass” is the author’s first chance to see the book all typeset and designed and actually looking like it will when it’s printed as a book. It looks really, really great. There are a few changes still, but it’s so incredibly close to being ready.
There were only 18 of these babies made: one is hanging on the wall in my library, sixteen are in a flat file waiting to be sold in the distant future, and one could belong to you.
All you have to do is leave a nice comment below, or tweet with the hashtag #newspaperblackout some time in the next week before next Monday, Oct. 26th, Midnight CT. I’ll pick the winner at random.
The giveaway is now closed. Congrats to the winner, Matt Wilson, and thanks to everyone who entered! More contests to come.
The mat makes for a lot of nice whitespace around the poem.
Meg and I hung our (more extensive) collection of blackout prints in our library last weekend:
Would love to see more pics from y’all when you get your prints—where did you decide to hang them? E-mail me, tweet with the tag #newspaperblackout, or post in the comments.
Found this file on my hard drive: it’s a sped-up video of me flipping through the binder that contains every single blackout poem that went in the book.
A poet in Texas is blacking out words in order to write. Instead of starting with a blank page, Austin Kleon grabs the New York Times and a permanent marker and eliminates the words he doesn’t need. — NPR’s Morning Edition
Sort of like Michelangelo carving away the marble that imprisoned what he saw within.—Cleveland Plain Dealer
One can imagine taking up blackout poetry on their daily bus commute in place of sudoku or the crossword puzzle.— Toronto’s National Post
Some of the results are hilarious, some are profound and even unsettling, but they are never bland or boring.—The Ephemerist
Part “writing with constrictions,” part happy accident, part found art, part design challenge...the collection...gives a well rounded and consistent view into a guy most of us would want to buy a beer. —Radio Exile