It’s not often, or ever, that I get to meet authors who have published their short stories in The New Yorker. Yeah, John Updike, Alice Munro, Roddy Doyle, they don’t do too much hanging out…
Browsing Category Writing
On making out and Blue Oyster Cult
If we had a nickel for how many times I’ve randomly shouted (both outloud and in my head) “Time to play B sides, time ain’t on my side, time I’ll never know” we could all…
Two pages that include Bruce Springsteen
I’ve got two pages filled with 638 words. This is the furthest I’ve ever been on a Tuesday night/Wednesday morning. Of course it’s 638 pages of stream-of-conscious bullshit involving a bowling alley and Bruce Springsteen,…
Where I become the girl who cries at poetry readings
I cried at a poetry reading tonight. I cried. At a poetry reading. It bears repeating because, seriously who actually cries at a poetry reading? I don’t even like poetry, really. It’s anarchy and chaos…
On my annoying voice and $3 cupcakes
To the untrained eye it looks like I’m sitting on my ass watching Martha Stewart. I can see how people might leap to this conclusion, after all it is cupcake week. We will, for the…