True Crime Beyond the Genre | CrimeReads, June 2022 Novels that Thwart Traditional Narrative Structure | Lit Hub, June 2022Ī novel is not airline luggage, there are no strict rules, no arbitrary size and weight regulations that you must contemptuously squeeze your story into. Had he been sitting at brown locker number 4210, on that clean towel, all night? He seemed to be there always, like a ghost. Only the janitors could know how and when exactly Clayton arrived at school. The move included a change of school districts without much of a change of scenery, for we still lived in Queens, New York. This was neither a step up in location nor accommodation. Imagine that he is so thoroughly gone that even the depression he leaves when he gets up to use the bathroom is gone, even his toothbrush is gone, stored away in the medicine cabinet, dry bristled, waiting, like you. We spent ourselves and each other like pocket change, and we spent that, too. Where We Were | Tin House's Open Bar, May 2015 I know that my coworkers know why I have taken the bus. I take the bus when I am still drunk in the morning or when it is snowing or raining because I don’t like to drive in the weather. I often come into work with sunglasses on, having taken the bus. None of these Will Bring Disaster | Michigan Quarterly Review (MQR) , Fall 2015. No matter what we were or weren’t doing in private, meeting Hugh in public felt like meeting an enemy on a brief and unwieldy truce. Even before leaving the house I felt unwell. Only the Good | Indiana Review, Winter 2015.
You take The Pill daily at 4pm, on schedule exactly because-just imagine: your children would have his fire red hair, and your terrible, errored DNA. James believed but was a negative word that subtracted positive meaning from the first part of the sentence, and therefore he rarely used it.Įlegy | The Southeast Review (SER), Fall 2016. We had a war going on between ands and buts, or, at least, I had a war going on between ands and buts.
When I saw the world as upside-down-which, indeed, it seemed to be-then the houses and trees were like stalactites hanging from the ceiling of earth above my head, and our little civilization was very small, just the tiniest inhabited layer in a world made up almost entirely of air. Unattached | Carolina Quarterly, Winter 2017 I was born almost completely deaf, and by the time I was seven I had already become a prisoner to my education.
The Portrait | The Threepenny Review, Spring 2018. In some dreams, Gretel is a piece of dark, hollow chocolate. Two Stories: Aftermath: Hansel & Gretel's Dreams | Tin House, Spring 2018. With no courtship or aftermath, the exit is peaceful and unembarrassed. In the morning, we lie skin-to-skin, like spoons stacked in the silverware drawer. Middlemen | Alaska Quarterly Review, Winter/Spring 2019.
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