September 14, 2003
Things from China
Oh, but you will enjoy these dispatches from Roy Kesey on McSweeney's. There are now four.
And then strum his fiction at Quarterly West
And then strum his fiction at Quarterly West
Good stories
Read Sue Henderson's work on Eleven Bulls this month, and then click on those wonderful Tucker Nichols' drawings. I can draw sort of like that, but I'm not funny like that. Dammit.
And hang on for Joseph Young and Claudia Smith.
And there's more Kim Chinquee on Quick Fiction this week.
And hang on for Joseph Young and Claudia Smith.
And there's more Kim Chinquee on Quick Fiction this week.
Vacation Valley
We were spending the summer at Vacation Valley. I was six years old and I was chasing a Doberman around so I could ride him like a pony. He bared his teeth, reared up like a stallion, and knocked me down.
I tried after that to like dogs. Our neighbors had a collie and I would kneel and put my arms around her neck like Timmy with Lassie. I thought having a pet was full of moments like this, and one fine pet could cure my fears, but there is no halo-effect. With every new dog, I start over.
When my husband carried Eddie home in the front of his jacket I panicked, but the puppy was little. Now, Eddie?s 90 lbs. We live in a quiet neighborhood and I?m still afraid to walk him by myself because dogs attract dogs.
I did save Eddie?s life once, though. I was in the den and I could see him out the window, shaking his head hard. There was rope hanging from his mouth. I thought he was playing because Labradors are non-stop chew. Still, I went to check. He was choking. I opened his mouth with two hands and pulled on the wet rope and three feet of it came out of him.
A few days later Eddie was sleeping on my flowers, and I was tip-toeing to the mailbox so I wouldn?t wake him, but of course I did because all dogs in the world hear me coming. He got up and yawned and walked beside me, stayed with me step for step. When I got to the mailbox, he stopped and leaned his warm body against my leg, the way people settle into each other sometimes and forget how long they've been touching. He rested like that against my leg, and I held still and leafed through bills and flyers to buy time, because all I wanted right then - out of everything possible in the world - was for Eddie not to move so we could take this tiny vacation.
I tried to get him to look up, but he's eating jambalaya.
I tried after that to like dogs. Our neighbors had a collie and I would kneel and put my arms around her neck like Timmy with Lassie. I thought having a pet was full of moments like this, and one fine pet could cure my fears, but there is no halo-effect. With every new dog, I start over.
When my husband carried Eddie home in the front of his jacket I panicked, but the puppy was little. Now, Eddie?s 90 lbs. We live in a quiet neighborhood and I?m still afraid to walk him by myself because dogs attract dogs.
I did save Eddie?s life once, though. I was in the den and I could see him out the window, shaking his head hard. There was rope hanging from his mouth. I thought he was playing because Labradors are non-stop chew. Still, I went to check. He was choking. I opened his mouth with two hands and pulled on the wet rope and three feet of it came out of him.
A few days later Eddie was sleeping on my flowers, and I was tip-toeing to the mailbox so I wouldn?t wake him, but of course I did because all dogs in the world hear me coming. He got up and yawned and walked beside me, stayed with me step for step. When I got to the mailbox, he stopped and leaned his warm body against my leg, the way people settle into each other sometimes and forget how long they've been touching. He rested like that against my leg, and I held still and leafed through bills and flyers to buy time, because all I wanted right then - out of everything possible in the world - was for Eddie not to move so we could take this tiny vacation.
I tried to get him to look up, but he's eating jambalaya.
September 10, 2003
Hands off
I just finished a story, and now I have to put the file away and leave it alone, not look even at one paragraph, because I will find a typo, which I will fix, and then there'll be a sentence that needs tightening, a line of dialogue that'll sound more real if I futz with the syntax, a line to cut and paste somewhere else, and all of a sudden I'll have a chain of revisions and it'll be two hours from now, and why can't I just enjoy that I've finished something and that this, for the next little while, is the most I can do?
September 09, 2003
Pillows
We went to New Mexico in July, took the car and drove 1150 miles each way. I love driving, except for the bumper-to-bumper-78-mph traffic on I-10, and maybe the truckers need to go back to school and learn about passing on the LEFT? But that?s not the point.
We stopped in Natchitoches (pronounced Nack-o-dish and famous for meat pies) in northern Lousiana to spend the night at a Best Western because we?d been driving 13 hours and we were very tired. And we left our pillows there. Two good-smelling pillows of perfect thickness and squishability, and by the time we realized this we were in Baton Rouge and an hour from home. I didn?t call because I didn?t think the motel would ship us pillows. What kind of box would they need? But I felt bad about them, about giving them up for gone. They couldn't be replaced. The cases were this cherry blossom print.
Then, the best thing happened! We stopped last weekend at the same Best Western coming back from Andrew?s Dallas soccer tournament (won one, lost one), and asked the guy at the front desk, on a whim, fingers crossed, if someone might?ve seen our pillows, might've put our pillows in lost and found. He checked in the back: There they were. We took them to our room and Malcolm and I each slept on one, and they smelled like us, and we were grateful for this little bit of redemption that felt like joy. And the next morning we remembered to load our dear, found pillows in the car, and Andrew slept on both of them the rest of the way home.
Here they are:
We stopped in Natchitoches (pronounced Nack-o-dish and famous for meat pies) in northern Lousiana to spend the night at a Best Western because we?d been driving 13 hours and we were very tired. And we left our pillows there. Two good-smelling pillows of perfect thickness and squishability, and by the time we realized this we were in Baton Rouge and an hour from home. I didn?t call because I didn?t think the motel would ship us pillows. What kind of box would they need? But I felt bad about them, about giving them up for gone. They couldn't be replaced. The cases were this cherry blossom print.
Then, the best thing happened! We stopped last weekend at the same Best Western coming back from Andrew?s Dallas soccer tournament (won one, lost one), and asked the guy at the front desk, on a whim, fingers crossed, if someone might?ve seen our pillows, might've put our pillows in lost and found. He checked in the back: There they were. We took them to our room and Malcolm and I each slept on one, and they smelled like us, and we were grateful for this little bit of redemption that felt like joy. And the next morning we remembered to load our dear, found pillows in the car, and Andrew slept on both of them the rest of the way home.
Here they are:
And more
Word Riot is lucky to have: Sue Henderson;
And a fine John Leary story, but the link doesn?t work. Damn. I?m gonna write Jackie Corley a note.
And Avital Gad-Cykman is right cheer.
And a fine John Leary story, but the link doesn?t work. Damn. I?m gonna write Jackie Corley a note.
And Avital Gad-Cykman is right cheer.
September 06, 2003
Fresh, live Stories
Carve Magazine has a story by David Gerard Fromm I think you should read, please.
And the September issue of LitPot (a revamp of Literary Potpourri) has my story, ?Babysitting,? and a fine piece by British writer, Richard Hollins.
Oh, boy, Tara Wray writes about mothers like nobody?s business.
Kim Chinquee?s flashes leave marks. Here?s a new one on Hobart
And the September issue of LitPot (a revamp of Literary Potpourri) has my story, ?Babysitting,? and a fine piece by British writer, Richard Hollins.
Oh, boy, Tara Wray writes about mothers like nobody?s business.
Kim Chinquee?s flashes leave marks. Here?s a new one on Hobart
September 01, 2003
Tobias Wolff
He writes this about reading stories, but I will use it for writing stories, too:
"We need to feel ourselves acted upon by a story, outraged, exposed, in danger of heartbreak and change."
recently
Another Sweet Holiday Gift Idea.
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Awww.
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A request for Jim Shepard.
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Pia's Nifty Gift Ideas.
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My Favorite Runners.
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Story Quarterly Contest.
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Clickable:
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You Try and Choose.
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Pop Up Books.
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Container Houses.
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aviary
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Pia Z. Ehrhardt.
designed by Terry Bain.
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