Monthly Archives: March 2011
feeders (my 5th account of making friends with crows)
As I prepare a plate of food to feed to the crows (some nice leftover chicken, berries, and a few chunks of cheese my daughter left in her lunchbox yesterday), it occurs to me that some people are just feeders.
feeders (my 5th account of making friends with crows)
As I prepare a plate of food to feed to the crows (some nice leftover chicken, berries, and a few chunks of cheese my daughter left in her lunchbox yesterday), it occurs to me that some people are just feeders.
the writing group (chapter 15, pt.1)
The writing group has just finished discussing this week’s submission, a scene from Wayne’s script entitled Usher Place. It was a short and lively scene, the one where the aging actress first seduces her writer. The young man enters her
the writing group (chapter 15, pt.1)
The writing group has just finished discussing this week’s submission, a scene from Wayne’s script entitled Usher Place. It was a short and lively scene, the one where the aging actress first seduces her writer. The young man enters her
This Is the Moment I Became Something Else: An Aesthetic Contrivance (a review of Artifice Literary Magazine)
by Anna Fonté Preface: I volunteered to review Artifice, volume 3, one of those ϋbercool literary magazines for really smart, arty types. I thought, what the hell, I don’t get out much and here’s a chance to try something new.
This Is the Moment I Became Something Else: An Aesthetic Contrivance (a review of Artifice Literary Magazine)
by Anna Fonté Preface: I volunteered to review Artifice, volume 3, one of those ϋbercool literary magazines for really smart, arty types. I thought, what the hell, I don’t get out much and here’s a chance to try something new.
the training
“So.” Buddy Alter sits alone, center stage, in a tall chair overlooking the crowd. His gaze oscillates slowly, row-by-row, pausing on each audience member before blinking on to the next. A few confront him like closed fists, oysters waiting to
the training
“So.” Buddy Alter sits alone, center stage, in a tall chair overlooking the crowd. His gaze oscillates slowly, row-by-row, pausing on each audience member before blinking on to the next. A few confront him like closed fists, oysters waiting to
what kind of water do you dream? (chap. 14, pt. 2)
Earlier tonight they shot the scene where Robert invites everyone for a nighttime swim. They all walked arm-in-arm down to the beach, white linen silhouettes under the wind-swept pines, the warm air scented with chamomile. Everything was
what kind of water do you dream? (chap. 14, pt. 2)
Earlier tonight they shot the scene where Robert invites everyone for a nighttime swim. They all walked arm-in-arm down to the beach, white linen silhouettes under the wind-swept pines, the warm air scented with chamomile. Everything was
Wait and See
Olympic-sized indoor pools are all the same: A vault echoing with the splash and suck of water, air sharp with chlorine, rubber heads breaking the surface of artificial blue like blind worms threading up and down the lanes. But it’s
Wait and See
Olympic-sized indoor pools are all the same: A vault echoing with the splash and suck of water, air sharp with chlorine, rubber heads breaking the surface of artificial blue like blind worms threading up and down the lanes. But it’s
dirty-handed: how I became a bag lady
These are the questions that keep me up at night: What would we do if a big earthquake trapped us in the house? Have we been poisoned with plastic? Should I put the lint from my bag-less vacuum into
dirty-handed: how I became a bag lady
These are the questions that keep me up at night: What would we do if a big earthquake trapped us in the house? Have we been poisoned with plastic? Should I put the lint from my bag-less vacuum into
her hands are not beautiful (part 1 of chapter 14)
(photo courtesy Jo) The hunched, black-clothed form of Mademoiselle Reitz shuffles up to the piano, gives a haughty little bow and plops down on the bench. Her hands are not beautiful; they hang over the keys like frozen buzzards and
her hands are not beautiful (part 1 of chapter 14)
(photo courtesy Jo) The hunched, black-clothed form of Mademoiselle Reitz shuffles up to the piano, gives a haughty little bow and plops down on the bench. Her hands are not beautiful; they hang over the keys like frozen buzzards and
