LyX is a wonderful writing program. It’s easy to use and produces beautifully typeset output. More importantly, though, it lets an author focus on the content and structure of his writing; rather than the formatting. It isn’t so easy to customize, though, which limits its usefulness in a big way. What if you need to create a new layout or take advantage of one of the thousands of specialized LaTeX styles? How, exactly, do you go about doing that?
That’s why this article was written. Recently, I was asked to help with a National Institutes of Health (NIH) R21 grant proposal. After some talk amongst the different investigators, it was decided that we would use LaTeX and LyX to draft it. Unfortunately, we hit a rather substantial hurdle early in the process: LyX doesn’t have an NIH grant template.
After additional debate, we decided to proceed with LyX anyway. But in the process, I found myself saddled with an additional job. In addition to responsibilities as research flunky and copy editor, I was tasked with creating a LyX and LaTeX template for our NIH grant. This article will summarize the steps I took and describe how to create a custom template using an available style on CTAN.
Note: All of the files in this tutorial can downloaded here (.zip).
The publishing industry is in trouble. Sales of both books and newspapers are down, and even enormous powerhouses like the New York Times have found it necessary to address the once unthinkable. While it would make a better story to have a villain who can be nobly engaged and defeated, the fall and demise of the publishing industry can overwhelmingly be attributed to one factor: technology. Or more specifically, to the changes in behavior and habits that technology and the internet have brought with them.
It is, thus, ironic that many publishers are looking toward technology to solve their financial ills. And they don’t lack for places to turn: online search schemes, electronically disseminated e-books, subscription based web-pages are but a few examples. However, Amazon is preparing what may might actually be a savior to the beleaguered industry, electronically delivered content on the iPhone and Kindle.
Yet, at the same time that iPhone and Kindle provide access to new markets for publishers to peddle their existing wares, they also bode poorly for the future of the publishing powerhouses. The rise of the Kindle and the technology/distribution system it represents also holds the potential to irreversibly damage the relationship between publishers their most valuable asset: authors.
Here’s the problem, it’s very hard to make a living as a writer. I know, I tried. You have to be incredibly good at communicating and even better at self promotion. To actually be successful requires that you rise above the competition, and there’s a lot of it. Literally tens of thousands of people complete the “Great American Novel” each year, and any author who wants a break is competing with all of them. The goal? Land a contract with a publishing house. It’s their role as gatekeeper which has made traditional publishers the guardians of fame, fortune and success.
Electronic books in general, and Amazon in specific, have the potential to radically change this arrangement. Sure, Amazon is providing new markets for established publishers, but they also open those same opportunities to new authors. This creates an interesting conflict: in many ways, self-publishing through Amazon CreateSpace or alternative services like Scribd.com is a better deal than pursuing a traditional book contract. Self-publishers control the intellectual property rights to their work and make more money per-sale. Further, using Amazon’s services provides instant access to the eco-system and to the Kindle. And other technologies: email, blogs, and social networks have eroded the value of marketing and other support services that publishers have traditionally provided.
This might be a good time to ask, “Is this a good outcome?” After all, isn’t it better to have a larger selection and more new authors to choose from? Diversity and competition favor consumers and readers.
But let’s be honest, diversity of content isn’t really a problem. Whatever your interest, religion, or politics; you can find something to read which fills it. Are you a raging, America hating radical? Well, don’t worry, there are web-sites that have you covered. Ditto for closet-philosophers, back-seat mathematicians, and basement engineers.
In fact, the internet has made it absurdly easy for anyone to become a celebrity and propagate ideas, even unintentionally. Want to be a broadcaster? All you need is a camcorder and an abundance of free time. YouTube provides the rest. But unfortunately, just because you can find something doesn’t mean that it is worth anything. Writing is no different.
If publishing only served as a vehicle for content creation, then its death would hardly be a tragedy. In many ways, it might even be desirable as Amazon and others are positioned to provide the same services more efficiently and cheaply. But such a view overlooks another role that publishing houses have served: that of collaborative facilitator. Contrary to some opinions, a good book is not solely the product of a single mind, but may include the input and advice of many. So while some support services, like advertising and illustration may be available to self-publishers, the critical insights of experienced editors often are not; and they are essential. Some of the most promising fiction squandered its potential because the author was given far too much creative freedom.
There is a secondary point that is also important to consider, while publishers have served as fastidious gatekeepers; once you have passed through their gate, it was possible to make a decent living. That dynamic changes radically in the internet’s decentralized marketplace. Instead of convincing one person of your worth, it is instead necessary to convince hundreds of thousands, if not millions. So while the potential to earn more money is present, it is more difficult to actually do so. Worse, every other self-published author is rigorously competing for the attention of the reading public, which further amplifies the noise. And just because more options are present does not mean that people will spend more on books or spend more time reading. Very few have had breakthrough successes through self-publishing, and those that have are not necessarily exemplars of literary quality.
So, what’s the net result? Even fewer live the dream of the American novelist. While they might make some money, it is unlikely any will be able to quit the day job to pursue writing full time. In such a distributed market, no one ever really arrives. Many people make a little bit of money, but no one makes a lot of money. Those that are best served by Amazon’s publishing model already have an established and trusted brand. A fantastic example of the rich getting richer and the poor getting nothing.
This is a bad thing for writers and most especially for new authors. The changes in the marketplace might even mean that writing evolves into a supplement of other careers, rather than a career in its own right. Wouldn’t it be terrible if the William Shakespeare of the next generation were trapped in dead-end job with the fear that s/he would never be able to make a livelihood via her/his writing? The destruction of the publishing business might mean just that. More but not necessarily better, which means that dark times might await both publishers and authors.
Writing anything - whether it be a book, or a short story or an angry letter to your boss - is substantially more than starting from the first idea moment of inspiration and continuing to the final draft. Rather, writing involves a fair number of idea fragments, fleeting moments of inspiration, and a tremendous number of dead ends.
It is incredibly unfortunate that most writing software, however, is geared to organizing and structuring the document after most of the hard work has already happened. It simply assumed that most of the planning and layout has already happened and the author is ready to string words together. Unfortunately, this assumption overlooks one important truth: ideas are best defined as they are expressed. Thus, it's usually about the time that the a writer sits down to compose the draft, that the document's true structure becomes apparent. In my own case, this often leads to a flurry of reorganization. And it’s during the restructuring that the real battle begins.
When in full creative passion, I am typically working with three or four different programs all at the same time: OneNote is open so that I can access my ideas, Word is there to start collecting the somewhat finished text, and I'll also probably be using a MindMapper so that I can see a visual representation of the document structure. The tools are separate and don't communicate with one another. Thus, a change made in one place needs to be made everywhere. And all too often, that I end up fighting the word-processor and the notetaker, and the mind mapper. It is tremendously frustrating to battle the tools of your adopted trade. Luckily, I am not alone in my frustration.
In the past everal years, a number of programs have become available that leave the linear model of writing behind. On the Mac platform, one such tool looms above the others: Scrivener. Central to Scrivener's function are two important metaphors: that of the outline and that of the corkboard. And it works really, really well. There are just a few minor problems. First: Scrivener is only available for Mac and Scrivener's lead developer has made it clear that there won't be versions for other platforms. Second: Scrivener was really designed with creative writing in mind. Thus, while it can be used for long and complicated documents, this is a slightly less than straightforward process. Last, to create said fancy documents, Scrivener requires the raw use of a markup language (and all of the associated headaches that come with it).
The document processor, LyX, however, excels in many areas where Scrivener falls short. It is built upon the mature and robust underpinnings of LaTeX, the typesetting language of choice in the science and engineering. And more importantly, it is easy to use (where LaTeX most decidedly is not). But it fails in the same way as Microsoft Word and other word processors, it is a linear writing tool and doesn’t offer a great deal of work-flow flexibility. That is where LyX-Outline comes in.
LyX-Outline is a marriage between Scrivener's organizational tools and LyX's typesetting tools.
What can you say about a Neal Stephenson novel? Really. The man is a bit like J.R.R. Tolkien, he feels the need to go out and re-invent the wheel simply because he can. As a result, no amount of critical analysis, commentary, or old fashioned smack is really able to do his work justice. If you want to experience a Stephenson novel, you just have to go read it.
So it is with Anathem, a book about a place which isn’t Earth and a time that isn’t now. Though it certainly feels like both. Anathem is s a big book which contains big ideas: the observations of classical philosophers, rules of logic, and ultimately a polycosmic theory of connected reality. You know, light reading. It’s also a brilliant though extremely frustrating piece which simply defies any attempt at summary. The first third is spent drowning in detail, the middle third in quiet contemplation, and the last third in monumental disillusion.
In addition to nouns, verbs, and adjectives; there are other tools which supplement the writer's arsenal. some writers, this is a moleskin notebook and ballpoint pen. For others, writing is synonymous with the usage of computer word processors, such as Microsoft Word. What is a given, however, is that the choice is intensely personal. If you ask ten different writers, "What is the perfect tool?" Expect ten different answers.
For those who create software, however, this is big problem. Programs can't be customized to the individual whims of every writer. (A more diverse or idiosyncratic group does not exist.) It is necessary to select a cross section of features that meet the needs of most people. Unfortunately, however, this has resulted in some serious compromises and an emphasis on the technical process of writing, often to the exclusion of the creative process.
When dealing with creative types, I've always felt like there were two separate camps: the artists and the artisans. Artists are those people out on the fringe -- experimenters, big thinkers, creatives. Many amongst these types would probably say, "Fine art exists to do new things. Ya know, push the boundaries."
Then there are the artisans. Compared to the artists, this group is probably a bit dull. Because, someone has to do the actual work. Illustrators, soundtrack composers, advertising and design people, and writers. While creative, an artisan is usually much more concerned about craft than about launching cultural revolution. Moreover, the output is usually subservient to some larger purpose: sale a product, tell a story, whatever.
And while it might not be completely fair, I think it is safe to say that these two groups don't like one another very much. Artists look down their noses at artisans. Artisans aren't really creating art, after all.
And I've met more than a few artisans which feel like artists have thoroughly wrecked fine art. The pretentious, latte drinking, beret wearing snobs! Who do they think they are, creating sloppy work and calling it "experimental." I mean, what do you really get for that experimentation? Art so bizarre that few people recognize it as such. What is the point of art which no one understands?
In the fight between high and low art, I'm partial to the cause of the artisans; particularly in literature. If there is one area where craftsmanship really matters, it's wordsmithing. Any three year old can finger paint, not every three year old can sling a coherent sentence. This is probably why I don't really like "literary" or "experimental" fiction. It's hard to read, it's weird. If it were difficult for a reason or a purpose, that would be one thing. But most often it's weird simply for the sake of being strange. The odd plotting techniques, dialogue, or structure most often gets in the way of the story rather than aiding it. You can keep your polycosmic perspectives and dimensional dialogue. I just want read a good story which is competently written.
This is why I am grateful for "genre fiction." Like great artisans everywhere, the goal isn't about doing something new, but creating something enjoyable. A solid piece of work rather than a striking new piece of art. Artisans don't bog down in the style while trying to be innovative. Rather, they focus on the story first and then revel it in its delivery. I find this approach to be so much more satisfying. A good story drags you in and compels you to turn the pages. Then you can relish the language. When both come together, that's brilliant literature.
Which brings me to the point: high literature stopped trying to tell stories quite some time ago. After all, storytelling is so old hat. It isn't new, it isn't experimental, it isn't exciting. And while they were trying to invent a new art, high literature stopped being literature. Which is probably why it's dying. It's ironic that when art comes before craftsmanship that both suffer. But any artisan know this, which is why they keep good company: da Vinci, Shakespeare, Michaelangelo, Rembrandt, and most other great "artists" were artisans (craftsmen) first. They weren't artists till some 20th century scholar got around to calling them such.
One of the best parts of having a blog is the ability to speak directly to and interact with readers. This is true even on such a small and under-read blog as Apolitically Incorrect. In the past few weeks, I have received a number of fascinating e-mails from readers who took some issues with an essay that I published, entitled "Eragon Shadeslayer: Sociopath." In this essay, I looked at how the principal hero of the Inheritance Cycle, by Christopher Paolini, had progressed from a hero archetype toward something else: a dangerous sociopath.
As might be expected, this particular topic proved to be somewhat controversial and generated a surprising amount of e-mail. My opinion on one of Eragon's actions in particular, the murder of a young soldier who was begging for his life, evoked some particularly strong responses. While some of the correspondence was hostile, more often the letters were extremely thoughtful and asked all kinds of excellently difficult questions. While there were various writers, nearly every letter raised at least two common questions which I would like to try and give an answer to. First, why am I so hard on Christopher Paolini's notions of good and evil? Second, why should we attempt to cling to moral absolutes and high minded ideals in an amoral and relative world?
With the introduction of Samba, we have taken another step towards computer backup, sharing and sync bliss. And while a Samba share greatly improves life by providing shared access to files, it is only a small part of effectively sharing and syncing. In this article, I will introduce another major pillar of the setup: Subversion. I will also explain how to configure your home server to act as a central subversion store which can be accessed from any computer in the house. A separate article will describe why you should care and how you can effectively leverage Subversion’s power. This article builds on steps taken in Part 1 of this series where we have already downloaded and installed the software needed for a functional Subversion setup. In this article, we will take a look at how to configure it.
Anyone who has worked on a major project knows the panic of losing their work. It happens for reasons that are too numerous to count; even to the most organized, disciplined and obsessive. A hard drive goes bad, the work doesn’t get saved or it might accidently be overwritten in a careless moment. While some of these setbacks are inevitable frustrations of the Wordsmith, they don’t have to be. In this, the first of a two articles, we will look at one solution that can greatly simplify a writer’s life: Subversion.
On a summer day sometime in 2000, I was walking through a small street market with a friend. This little market was located in the thriving community of La Pintana, a suburb of Santiago, Chile. Open air markets are one thing that is uniquely Chilean and Santiago has several that are utterly charming in their extraordinary weirdness. You can find hand statues, hand carved from stone; beautiful bags knitted and woven from local sheep or alpaca hair; fine horse tack made by local artisans and miscellaneous knick-knacks which can only be justified as “cultural.”
This open-air market, however, was neither charming nor amazing. The atmosphere largely consisted of tin homes, cardboard hangouts, the normal array of Chilean gang-bangers (quaintly referred to as patos malos – literally: bad ducks), a few drug dealers, and more than a few passed-out drunks. And of course, the normal variety of cast off American refuse that is available for sale at such an event: lava lamps that were rejected from the USA sometime in 1980, when the US emerged from the collective nightmare known as the 1970s; pirated music, DVDs, software; and bootlegged porn.