For the novel to improve, for ink-and-paper storytelling to stay relevant, for literature to tell today’s stories to today’s audience, it must learn from the work of screenwriters
Who knew when we’d see each other again, with the pandemic rolling in and the economy flipping belly-up, with graduation and wedding and career plans scattering in the air like confetti.
People will die, the economy might tank, and my Italian honeymoon’s on the line, but somehow, it feels like I have a conflict of interest.
Only a very few of my friends and family members hate women or God, no matter what Rush Limbaugh and The Nation insist.
Today I smell dead quail and gunpowder. Today I taste sweat. Good things, and my attention comes on its own.
Set your libido level to maximum!
I’ve peed behind dumpsters, on beaches, in alleys, gardens, parking lots, yards—and yet I was here, in this bathroom, I-can-pee-anywhere-ing in a space created for people who can’t.
I don’t know what home means without you.
Want to know about other types of spaces? Of course you don’t. I’m gonna tell you.
I’m committing to following this path as best I can, although I can’t see the turns ahead and everyone disagrees about the map.
When Joanna and I bought groceries the next day from a store unironically named Winn-Dixie, the cashier chatted with us about our beer and asked, “So what are ya’ll doing later today?” in a way that made me feel rude for not including her.
With a little out-of-the-box thinking, you can find just as many opportunities for meaningful connection on the 9-to-5 side of that pesky diploma.
Do you have flu-like symptoms? Do you feel tired all the time? Do you feel just fine? If so, you might have mono! Who knows!
Outrage fatigue has become popular these last few years, like the fashionable suicides that knocked off so many of the Romantic poets.
One hit to the torso killed you dead. Three hits to the same limb chopped it off. Head shots were off-limits by parental decree, but if they happened on accident you better recover quick before Calvin jabbed you in the belly with a two-handed sword.