Data Baby Dedication
The dedication for my memoir, Data Baby: My Life in a Psychological Experiment, via X’s @dedication_bot.
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The dedication for my memoir, Data Baby: My Life in a Psychological Experiment, via X’s @dedication_bot.
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Thank you to @whenifree_iread for posting this cool photo of the Taiwanese edition of my memoir, Data Baby.
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What if your parents turn you into a human lab rat when you’re a child? Will that change the story of your life? Will that change who you are? Find out in my memoir: Data Baby: My Life in a Psychological Experiment.
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“Fascinating. […] Unpacking thorny questions about determinism and the ethics of human experimentation, Breslin attacks her subject with verve and wit, resisting woe-is-me solipsism without defanging her critiques of the study that rocked her life. It’s gripping stuff.” — buy Data Baby: My Life in a Psychological Experiment
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See also: Data Baby: My Life in a Psychological Experiment
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Two years ago, I published my memoir, Data Baby: My Life in a Psychological Experiment. In a starred review, Publishers Weekly deemed it “gripping.” Kirkus Reviews called it “An intelligently provocative memoir and investigation.” The Globe and Mail named it “thought-provoking, ridiculously propulsive.” Read about it.
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The front-of-the-book dedication of my investigative memoir, Data Baby: My Life in a Psychological Experiment.
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This is part 26 of Fuck You, Pay Me, an ongoing series of posts on writing, editing, and publishing.
I’m happy to announce that my memoir, Data Baby: My Life in a Psychological Experiment, has been translated into Mandarin and published in Taiwan by Akker Publishing. I love the haunting and sci-fi-ish new cover.
Data Baby recounts my 30-year tenure, from early childhood and well into adulthood, as a research subject in a pioneering University of California, Berkeley longitudinal study of personality development that sought to predict who a cohort of over 100 Berkeley kids, including me, would grow up to be.
Actress Emma Roberts’ Belletrist book club selected Data Baby as its December 2023 pick. In a starred review, Publishers Weekly called it “a fascinating debut memoir” and “gripping stuff.” Kirkus Reviews deemed it “An intelligently provocative memoir and investigation.” And The Globe and Mail described it as “a thought-provoking, ridiculously propulsive book.” I also wrote an essay about what it’s like to be a child guinea pig for Slate. Learn more about my book here.
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Revisiting “I Spent My Childhood as a Guinea Pig for Science. It Was … Great?”—my personal essay, on Slate.
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Thanks to John Wooden, who gave me my first editing job, for these nice words about my memoir, Data Baby. John has a new newsletter on Substack called EPOSTASY, where he rails against the all consuming “ebyss.”
You should subscribe to it.
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This is part 23 of Fuck You, Pay Me, an ongoing series of posts on writing, editing, and publishing.
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was June. Here are a few things on my radar.
Just Say No This month I found myself in the midst of negotiating a publishing contract. The money was so-so, but the real issue was the dramatic rights. If you’re not aware, dramatic rights have to do with who has the right to turn the property that you’ve written into a movie, television series, or the like. Statistically, the odds are slim that your written property will be turned into a movie, television series, or the like, but they’re not zero. You’ll see a range of guesstimates about how likely it is that your intellectually property will be optioned, but whatever the number is, it is surely less than 1%. That said, never say never, and these days, when content is everywhere, it’s important that you retain as many rights as you can. Let’s just say Netflix or Scorsese or some producer comes inquiring about turning your words into a movie or TV show or some other sort of project like that. Do you want to be the one who has to say, oh, yes, well, actually I gave that away for a pittance? No, you do not. In fact, when I was a younger writer, dramatic rights were not on the table, or at least not so often. Somewhere around, say, the 2010s, publishers began attempting to make a land grab for these rights, and certain writers, let’s say, millennials, gave them away because they just wanted to be published. Nowadays, every Tom, Dick, and Harry is trying to steal your dramatic rights. But if your project is optioned and turned into a movie or TV show, you may make more money with that than you ever did with the word-based version. So keep your dramatic rights. I ended up passing on their offer. Which is a bummer. For them, mostly.
Get Money Last month, I wrote about how a TV show had reached out to me about using some of my photographs as part of a set that they were creating for the third season of this show, which airs on one of the streaming networks. After some negotiation, we settled on a fee. A friend of mine had advised me that this network was sometimes slow in paying, so I had a clause added to the agreement that payment was due upon receipt. A couple weeks later, I was paid, but by that time the individuals who had worked with me were no longer working on the show. Which is to say, make sure you don’t just get getting paid in writing, make sure you get in writing when you will be paid, or you might end up chasing payment forever.
Be a Star Recently, I’ve gotten into telling stories in public forums. Last month, I read an excerpt from a short story I wrote at a bookstore. Last weekend, I read an essay adapted from my memoir at a basement club that hosts performances. Next week, I’m going to perform a story I wrote based on dating in Los Angeles at a bigger event. Why am I doing this? I’m not really sure. While I’ve been on TV many times, and read my work many times, and been part of an improv group, performing is a scary thing. But I thought it was important to keep pushing myself, trying new things, telling stories in new ways. Besides, this is Los Angeles. You never know who’ll be in the audience, where it might lead, how your story might land.
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I loved Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic the first time I read it, and probably more so this time. There’s a lot to which to relate: being raised by parents better at intellectualizing than parenting, growing up in a house with a chilly atmosphere due to faulty marital underpinnings, discovering the lone way with which to connect to a parent is through books. One thing Bechdel does particularly well is refusing neat characterizations: of people, of motives, of the truth. Over and over again, she insists upon putting the contradictions on the page, of interrogating her own narrative. This book is brilliant. I love it.
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Ducks by Kate Beaton is a graphic memoir about the author’s experiences working in the Canadian oil sands. The art is simple, the dialogue is spare, and the story follows a straightforward track as Beaton moves through various work locations and circumstances. I wanted to like this book and respect all Beaton went through, but the images, tone, and delivery fell flat. Maybe it’s a Canadian thing? The most harrowing parts—in which Beaton is sexually assaulted—were underdeveloped. For me, this was a miss.
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What a curious ride Pretending Is Lying by Dominique Goblet is. A hazy graphic memoir. A disturbing accounting of childhood trauma and its consequences. A visual depiction of navigating life, relationships, and love that reels through time and place to land defiantly nowhere. I really liked it. Not for the unimaginative.
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Thank you so much to The New York Public Library for making my memoir, Data Baby, a Book of the Day!
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The first time I read Chester Brown’s Paying for It was around the time it was originally published, I believe. I decided to buy a new copy and reread it when I heard that the woman who had been Brown’s “last girlfriend” before he started paying for it had directed a movie adaptation of the book. I seem to remember liking the book more the first time I read it. This time I found it kind of grim and sort of ick. I write about a fair amount of stuff related to this subject matter, and I even ran a website for a year where I posted anonymous emails men wrote to me about paying for it, but this comic is so dark and weirdly dissociated and lacking in any kind of empathy that I read it faster than usual just to get it over with. If you don’t know anything about paying for it or why guys pay for it or the politics of paying for it (particularly in Canada, Brown’s country of origin), this book may be of interest. Also, the drawings are cool. But to the Brown on these pages, sex workers are receptacles to be judged, used, and discarded. That take is retrograde, boring, and depressing.
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A Serial Killer's Daughter: My Story of Faith, Love, and Overcoming by Kerry Rawson is not a good book. Written by the daughter of serial killer BTK, its greatest achievement is its title. Beyond that, it’s 135 pages of irrelevant backstory of the author’s life followed by her engagements with her father post-capture. The prison letters between the two are moderately interesting, but it’s like watching two people pretend a terrible thing didn’t happen with a few exceptions. Poorly written, badly edited, and only glancingly illuminating. Hard pass.
Books I Read in 2024: Victory Parade, I Hate Men, My Friend Dahmer, The Crying of Lot 49, Machines in the Head, Big Magic, The Valley, End of Active Service, An Honest Woman, The Money Shot, Atomic Habits, Finding Your Own North Star, Crazy Cock, Sigrid Rides, Your Money Or Your Life, The Big Sleep, Eventually Everything Connects, Smutcutter, Shine Shine Shine, A Serial Killer’s Daughter, Confessions of a Serial Killer
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