These are the last days of summer, whatever the schoolbuses, candle stores, and Pumpkin Ales may tell you. Don’t be rushed by the makers of seasonal markers: This is the liminal space of crickets and figs ripening. The ripening, too, of summer musings into autumn doings. Interesting things happen in middle-times. Liminal spaces are an …
Excerpts from my review of Alice Mattison’s new novel Conscience, just published in Consequence Magazine. Consider: A man sets his baby on the sidewalk, walks a short distance away, and sets himself on fire. Does the fact that he’s brought his child to his self-immolation prove he is out of his mind? Or is he …
If I’ve been posting seldomly, it’s because I’ve been living muchly. Expect some posts soon with juicy details on the following: Lady tattooers and bizarre coincidences. I’ve been overhauling my novel again. It’s about a young woman aspiring to become a tattoo artist in the mid-1980s, when there were few women in the field. Recently …
My essay “How to Survive the Apocalypse” is out today in the print issue of Image Journal. It’s a fun/serious look at apocalyptic fiction. (Literary fiction. Not the Left Behind series.) Specifically: the excellent novels The Pinch by Steve Stern (Graywolf Press) This Is Why I Came by Mary Rakow (Counterpoint Press), and When the English Fall by David Williams (Algonquin Books). And from …
Poetry for the End of Seasons Hunger for Salt, Elaine Fletcher Chapman Autumn-summer cusp—a breath—a good moment to read “September Begins,” from Elaine Fletcher Chapman’s debut collection, Hunger for Salt. “[O]ne psalm, picked randomly / this morning, one hundred and thirty one: / O, lord, my heart is not lifted up… / I have calmed and quieted my …
Further thoughts on the territory of hunger and ache. (For part 1, see “Empty Space”: the sometimes-painful act of letting go, and being willing to sit with our hungers.) I didn’t plan to write any more on the subject, but then there was a confluence of events: A podcast. A performance. So I guess I’ll be doing a little …
Further thoughts on the territory of hunger and ache. (For part 1, see “Empty Space”: the sometimes-painful act of letting go, and being willing to sit with our hungers.) I didn’t plan to write any more on the subject, but then there was a confluence of events: A podcast. A performance. A pastoral pondering. So I guess …
Rob and I (aka The Scrivening Bartlebys) loved making a joyful ruckus at House of Brews last weekend. Thanks if you were one of the beloved friends who came! But the best moment might’ve been when this guy crept up on stage… (Can you spot him on the right?)