fiction
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Last night I finished reading Mary Gaitskill’s Because They Wanted to, at long last. I’ve been working through it for a few weeks, stealing chances to read now and then. I enjoyed it about as much as I enjoyed Don’t Cry, which was a lot. Gaitskill’s narrators tend to have a detached objectivity, which I
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I wrote a poem last night. An honest-to-gawd poem. It hasn’t been happening often lately, partly because I’ve been so busy, partly because I’ve been more interested in going on dates with short fiction, and partly because I’ve been putting too much pressure on myself. The title of this post comes from a Beckian Fritz
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and it was with David Leavitt, and it only recently ended. But unlike Tiger Woods, I am not sorry. I spent the last several months reading Leavitt’s Collected Stories from cover to cover. I loved it. I hope it’s no secret that I love a short story. I do. If I cheat on poetry, it’s
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…for you to read Matt Bell’s The Collectectors, which is now available free via Issu in a special extended version. Bell’s prose chapbook tells the story of two very strange brothers whose home becomes both a sanctuary of beloved objects and a repository of needless things over the course of their lives. Bell’s short, lyric
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Have not been writing much new poetry, but have been enjoying some revision work and also reading a lot: Nothing Right, Antonya NelsonDon’t Cry, Mary GaitskillCollected Stories, Amy HemphillChapters from an Autobiography, Samuel M. StewardSight Map, Brian TeareNational Anthem, Kevin Prufer National Anthem is a book I wish I’d written. It’s strange and satirical and
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