Friday, June 22, 2018

A brand new weird story of mine is up at Quarterly West. It's about sentient sinkholes, a fierce Girl Scout, and the impermanence of life.

Sunday, June 10, 2018

So wonderful and strange to have this story up at Terraform. I wanted to write about the future of sex, the tenderness amid some of the horror. I’ve written a good bit about prostitution, historically but never speculatively. Anyway it’s here, it’s free. It’s one of the strangest things I’ve written so I feel a little at my fringes.

Introducing Debut Novelist Spencer Wise

The hilarious and brilliant Spencer Wise -- a graduate student of mine from way back -- has a debut novel that's just hit shelves! (Up-and-coming novelists -- check out the imprint; it's new and thriving,)
THE EMPEROR OF SHOES has amazing blurbs. Here's my addition to the long list of accolades.
"Brimming with comedic genius, The Emperor of Shoes is a commentary on American naivete and willfully blind greed that speaks to our collective human history of oppression and inhumanity. Wise opens us up with humor then refuses to pull his punches. He remains hopeful -- against diminishing odds -- about love and the sacrifices we make in its name."
(Also Spencer happens to be incredibly generous -- he's worked, one on one, as a mock-producer with the FSU MFA screenwriters as they prep for a week of meetings in LA. A wonderful gift of his time and insights into story. So thankful.)


Wednesday, March 14, 2018

love and androids...

A quick Q and A at Agni about my short story THE VELVETEEN LOVER, an AI sex-toy re-envisioning of THE VELVETEEN RABBIT.... as one does.

Tuesday, March 13, 2018

I can only write when I build my own insulation. Its toughest material, the stuff that's part-Kevlar, is made of specific books by writers I need to sustain me. This administration made my insulation brittle and then slowly tougher, more durable...
My advice is to prioritize your writing life -- we need voices right now more than ever... each of us helping to protect the next.

Thursday, December 14, 2017

A Poem to the 63% of White Women Voters of Alabama who Voted for Roy Moore

I see you, whipped hair and tears,
and imagine the staunchest among you
as having suffered
and swallowed so much that your are full --
all u can eat buffet full -- of what has been done
to you
against you
and you have lived with it so others should
live with it
for some greater good you see in your mind's eye.
And the others who followed
sheepishly
who fall asleep and gnash and rationalize
and gnash, I see your jaws knot as you speak
on TV. What is that ache that heaves
from time to time
in your clenched chests? 
My first thought, always and again
and again
is that he reminded you of your Daddy
or your grand daddy
or your uncle or your manager
or that boy
or that train conductor that time you traveled
alone from Alabama to Alabama
to Alabama
because no matter where you go in America
it's always still Alabama. 

Thursday, November 30, 2017

It's that guy's birthday...

So I married this guy, a long time ago, a really long time ago, and the other day I'm in the shower and because I'm the kind of idiot grown up who can't forecast that, while stepping into a shower, I might need a towel at some point in the near future, this guy brings me a towel -- as he often does because he knows the kind of dipshit I am and "learned helplessness" blah blah blah "codependency" [yawn] -- but this time he says, "And it's clean-clean not just folded-clean." At this point, my world comes to a screeching halt. All along, all these years... there have been two kinds of clean? There's been this actual clean and this fake folded clean passing for actual clean? I stand there, frozen, in the shower, and I think -- well, this guy is still full of surprises, he's a magical mystery tour and I'm just along for the ride. 

And I tell this story now because it's this guy's birthday and because I love him and because when the conversations turn, as they often do, to the difficulties of marriage, I get quiet; I feel like I've wandered into a translation -- a language I understand a little but I'd still prefer subtitles and really can't speak it with any semblance of clarity or grammar or proper syntax. I get picked off as a foreigner in a foreign land. And I really like the Land of David Scott where the towels might -- or might not -- be fresh, but the love is really real.