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This chapter introduces the concept of ‘inditation’ to the creative industries. The concept builds on an old verb ‘to indite’ and the noun ‘inditing’, meaning ‘to make up’ and ‘to compose’. This chapter attempts to obtain the concept into the actual use of language. The term’s meaning gets adjusted in the sense of a conceptual redesign. Furthermore, this chapter introduces the concept of ‘inditation’ as a process of composing ‘the new’ by creative entrepreneurs. They indite entrepreneurial brainchildren, ‘the new’, as unique outcomes such as artwork, product prototypes, or services. The chapter asks what it means to indite and contributes three autoethnographic examples. It also suggests that inditation could evolve a process-oriented framework for bringing ‘the new’ into the world and outlines further research towards constructing a theory of inditation.

Several years ago, while grubbing in an antiquarian bookseller's basement, I came across a slim little volume in half morocco, lettered up the back Les Mutinées Royales—1863. The title conveyed nothing to me then, but the shabby elegance of the binding prompted me to pull it from the shelf, and for once my zeal was rewarded. First of all there was, within the front board, the bookplate of James Maidment, a notable Scottish bookman, the friend of Scott, and the father of a long series of curious little reprints and literary oddities. On the flyleaf was a note in his handwriting regarding the book; while before the title‐page there was exposed to my delighted gaze a collection of autograph letters from the publisher, Frederic Norgate, dating from the years 1865 and 1866. The title‐page itself read, Les Matinées Royales, ou L'Art de Regner. Opuscule Inédit de Frederic II. Dit Le Grand, Roi de Prusse. The publishers were Williams and Norgate, of Henrietta Street, Covent Garden, and the volume saw the light, as I'd already gathered, in 1863. On all counts, I decided, this was a volume worth having, I carried it upstairs to the comparatively pure air of the outer shop, feigned indifference as to my interest in it, and nailed it for, as far as I can recall, just half a crown. I hurried home, to gloat, perchance to read. The letters I transcribed without delay; the book itself I glanced through hastily, reserving it for future leisure. Before that came, sad to say, I was in the Army, and it is only within the past few weeks that my thoughts have kept turning to the dicta of the Prussian, a train of thought set in motion, no doubt, by a reading of Froude's Carlyle.

I SAW him only once—and that was in Edinburgh, thirty‐seven years ago. He had just arrived (as I heard later from one who knew him, and to whom I announced with youthful joy my glimpse of him) from St. Andrews, had been examining the bookshops, book‐dips, in the neighbourhood of the University and, with an armful of volumes, was returning from the auld toon to the new one on his way to Mackay and Chisholm's in Princes Street to buy an opal ring.

When his first full‐length book Libraries and cultural change, was published, Ronald Benge stepped forward as the compulsive conscience of our time, a happy worrier about virtually all things in heaven or hell, libraries providing a convenient locus for his professional and personal experience. Three further books written by him have been essentially a continuation of the same anxious questioning about the world in which he and his profession stand. There seems no reason why the tetralogy completed to date, Libraries and cultural change (1970); Communication and identity (1972); Cultural crisis and libraries in the Third World (1980) and the last, here reviewed, Confessions of a lapsed librarian. should not continue further as from his unquiet retirement in Barcelona he surveys the condition of his profession.

Concerning this business of testimonials: I daresay those of my readers (if I have any readers) who are chief librarians (if any of them are) will agree with me that it is fraught with difficulties. When, as a mere counter‐hand, and lamentably few in the pod, so to speak, I first summoned up the temerity to appeal to the Overlord for the usual formal bouquet, it never occurred to me that I was subjecting him to a grave ordeal. For how—short of outrage to his immortal soul—could he be expected to dilate upon me? My shortcomings were, as Professor Saintsbury said of Donne's, “gross, open and palpable.”

Charts a development in organisational philosophy and design through three major phases – the traditional model, the human relations model and the systems model – and points to an emerging paradigm for the 1990s. This new model focuses on vision before analysis, individuality before teamwork, fluidity and task focus, decentralisation of decision making downwards towards the customer interface, and indirect control via values and vision rather than direct command.

This research uses data from 2,470 not-for-profit-organizations (NFPOs) to examine the impact of organization size, risk, and complexity on monitoring costs in the NFP sector. OLS regression analysis indicate that monitoring costs are higher for (a) larger NFPOs, (b) NFPOs subject to the Single Audit Act, 8 NFPOs having larger amounts of assets tied up in receivables and inventories, (d) NFPOs spending a larger percentage of their expenses on program support services, and (e) NFPOs providing higher compensation to their officers and directors. In addition, some NFPOs such as schools and hospitals are associated with higher monitoring costs.

I am very happy to be back in Poland again after a 3 year absence. I see a great many changes and I am happy to tell you that I see them all as constructive things that are happening. Speaking from my side of the ocean my country wishes you very well in your effort to move forward to becoming a part of the full EEC. I am sure you will reach that goal eventually and hopefully sooner than later. One of your speakers yesterday mentioned tourism and he put it in a “maybe” kind of context. From my standpoint there are hundreds of thousands of Americans who would like to be over here in your beautiful country spending money.

THE absurd notion that people whose daily horizon is bounded by booklined walls are devoid of human sentiments, and that the thrills they experience in the course of exciting research work differ in kind from those felt by the intrepid airman or explorer, can scarcely be substantiated. In nine cases out of ten highly adventurous people who scale the blue air or plunge through leagues of bush in search of white tapirs or giant sloths receive their first inspiration from books, and after many years of research in many subjects I confess I cannot discern much psychological difference between breaking a lance in imagination in the company of Montalvo's Amadis and going after tiger. The result is the same—that sudden joyous uprising of the heart and tingling of the nerves which red‐blooded people in all ages have so persistently sought.