
Truth and Lies: An Interview with Janice Erlbaum
When Villard Books, a Random House imprint, published Janice Erlbaum’s second memoir, Have You Found Her (2008), Vanity Fair threw her a party at…
Read MoreWhen Villard Books, a Random House imprint, published Janice Erlbaum’s second memoir, Have You Found Her (2008), Vanity Fair threw her a party at…
Read MoreI am nearing the end of my first writerly—read, sedentary—summer ever.
Read MoreI have come home again, to Arkansas, to sink down my roots into the only home I have ever known. My mom has dug rocks out of the hard Arkansas soil, planted sweet peas, basil, hollyhocks, marigolds, and distributed loads of manure over the garden—slowly she expands her territory.
Read MoreIn the first few months after the baby is born, I experience a singing clarity: Milk! Diapers! Milk! Diapers! Lusty oxytocin! Sleep! Cheez-it binge! Sleep! I have cleared out a space–no, cleared out my whole brain–for this time, and I have no expectation of writing.
Read MoreTwo years ago, when I was living in Mexico City in a rented room that faced a noisy gas station and made me an insomniac for the first time in my life, I got the news that my book, More or Less Dead: Feminicide, Haunting, and the Ethics of Representation in Mexico, would be published.
Read MoreIf you are ever nineteen and living in San Francisco for the first time, working at your first writing job, getting paid, getting laid, carousing 24/7…
Read MoreWhere do fictional characters come from; what does it mean to bear witness; is information the death of story? In three short essays, Vela…
Read MoreI remember years ago – five years ago, to be precise – after I’d decided not to take another teaching job, I announced to my…
Read MoreThis week’s guest writer, Melanie Bishop, was one of my first writing teachers at Prescott College, a small liberal arts and environmental school in…
Read MoreWe know it so well: that familiar feeling slinking up to assail us as we fight our way through a piece, as we send…
Read MoreFear that in the end, no matter how hard I work, no matter how many doors I bang on and with what frequency and obstinacy, no matter…
Read MoreIt was gray, raining, but a narrow ribbon of cornflower blue ran between the stormy patches to the north. The ribbon ran over the long rolling hills…
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