Tag Archives: literature

In Which It Turns Out I Have a Lot of Feelings About FTR and AWP

Here’s a story.

Several years ago, I received a free pass to AWP. The conference was being held in New York and because Sarah Lawrence was a sponsor, they had some passes to give away to students. I was delighted to have the chance to attend, and I rode the train into the city in my favorite red dress, loving trains, loving the city, loving the promise of belonging to a community of writers.

I was a senior in my last semester of college, trying to decide what to do with myself. I’d always assumed I would attend an MFA program straight out of college, but the previous fall, when it came time to apply, I started to feel how small my experience of the world had been up until then, started to think, Maybe I’ll wait. Around that same time, I’d remembered how much I loved fairy tales, and I decided to apply to a few graduate programs in folklore. It was impulsive, by my cautious standards. Folklore wasn’t something I’d seriously considered before — wasn’t even something I’d really known you could study. But I felt I’d been going down the same straight path for so long, I wanted to know what it would be like to go in another direction for a little while. I wanted to see where it would take me.

By the time I was going to AWP, I think I was still waiting for my acceptance letters, though I don’t quite remember. What I do remember is attending a searingly good panel on nonrealist fiction, with speakers who included Rikki Ducornet, Brian Evenson, Theodora Goss, Kelly Link, and Kate Bernheimer. I remember thinking, Yes! This is what I love! This is the kind of writing I want to do! Possibilities opened up. I felt galvanized.

The next day, I went to the Fairy Tale Review table and spoke to Kate Bernheimer, probably inarticulately, about being torn between studying fairy tales and writing them. I don’t remember what she said, exactly, but I know she told me, “Let me know how it goes.” A few months later, I did, earnestly updating her about the choice I was making between graduate programs. She emailed me back, wonderfully kind and encouraging. It wasn’t much, just a few lines, but it meant a lot to me. It felt like a fine, lovely thread, tying me back to that golden feeling I’d had on the train to AWP, of belonging to something, creatively speaking, bigger than my own words on the page.

Later that year, I moved to Bloomington, and spent two wonderful years studying folklore at Indiana University. I loved folklore, and I loved the people I studied with, but by the end of my time there, I’d realized I couldn’t see myself devoting my life to the scholarly study of folklore. The perspectives I’d encountered at IU had changed the way I thought about storytelling and literature, but I missed writing stories of my own. I’d taken a detour into folklore, and I wasn’t sorry I’d done it, but it was time to try to get back to the path I’d always known I wanted to take.

A year or two later, I started an MFA program at the University of Maryland. I met other writers who were interested in exactly the kind of unreal fiction I’d heard the panelists talking about back at AWP. I studied with professors who encouraged me to make my writing more strange and surprising, and helped me refine my work through craft and revision. I read some extraordinary, life-changing books, and I co-founded a literary magazine dedicated to writing with a fairy tale sense of the fantastic. Most importantly, I wrote a lot of stories, many of them fairy tales in one sense or another.

Now, after several more revisions, one of those stories has found its way into Fairy Tale Review, the same journal I’d marveled over at AWP in New York, that my MFA classmates and I talked about in admiring tones. The Ochre Issue, which includes my story “May Queen”, will be officially released at the AWP conference in Los Angeles. Next week, I’ll fly to LA for the conference, where I’ll be reunited with some of my friends from the Maryland MFA. I’m excited (and humbled) that my story will be there, in the company of work by people like Courtney Bird and Carmen Maria Machado and Karen Green, but more than that I can’t wait to experience that glimmering feeling of writerly companionship again. There’s a certain kind of pleasant symmetry in this — in how much has changed between my first AWP and my second. Last time, I was uncertain about which path to follow. This time, I still don’t know where the path will lead, or what will happen along the way, but I feel sure it’s the one I want to take.

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Queers Destroy Fantasy!

I’m delighted beyond words to say I have a story, “The Lady’s Maid”, in Queers Destroy Fantasy!

I’m pleased the story’s found a home in such a great series, and in good company, too: there are stories by Catherynne M. Valente and Caitlín R. Kiernan, among others, as well as bunch of great essays from the likes of Keguro Macharia and Ellen Kushner, and some truly gorgeous artwork.

You can purchase the issue (digital or print) at the link above, or you can listen to a free audio version of the story, released by PodCastle. It’s read by Kim Lakin-Smith, with a lovely introduction from Keffy Kehrli, editor and host of the Glittership podcast.

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The Golden Key Issue 6: Hidden Things

I’m very proud to announce that The Golden Key released our sixth issue this week! The theme is “hidden things” and the issue features lots of great speculative fiction and poetry, including flash fiction selected by the wonderful Karin Tidbeck as part of TGK’s first flash fiction contest, as well as gorgeous illustrations by kAt Philbin. Do yourself a favor and go get your copy right now!

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Reading Recommendation: “Rest Stop,” Aimee Bender

Today I read:

Two things come to mind now, as I look back. First, I did not enjoy this sex outside, this sex with the tiny possibility of discovery; it did not, in any way, match my desires or my comfort level, and the second part is maybe that was the point. It was distracting enough, figuring out these details, who was where, what was visible, who might see us, what was covered, that neither of us had to pay much attention to the other person at all. Plus, I was nineteen, and preoccupied with what the girls on TV were doing and if I was doing such things equally well. I had a friend at the time who told me she practiced her moaning sounds in the car when driving, as a way to pass time while travelling the north-south freeways from San Diego to L.A. and back. I found it so depressing, when she told me that, picturing her groaning and rolling her head back while speeding beneath green exit signs as the radio went on about scandals in the political parties, but somehow I did not find it depressing when, under the umbrella needles of the fir, with those footsteps clip-clopping past, I played a reel in my own head about how adventurous a girlfriend I surely was, even though I barely remember anything physical, and I could sense my boyfriend checking off a list in his mind of places he’d done it, making both of us the kind of people who say they’ve been to Germany if they’ve had a layover at the Frankfurt airport.

— Aimee Bender, “Rest Stop

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Reading Recommendation: “If You Cannot Go To Sleep,” Emily Mitchell

Today I read:

The numbers move sluggishly through her head in single file, like people in a line at the post office or at the bank or at the discount supermarket where you can only pay with cash so the line is always long and she is always frustrated by the time she reaches the counter, and so, to compensate, she always tries to be extra- friendly to the cashier, to be sure to instruct him or her to have a nice day after she gets her change back, because it seems worse, somehow, to be a cashier in a discount supermarket than it would be to do the same job at a place that sold expensive gourmet foods, although when she thinks about this now, so late at night that she doesn’t even want to look at the clock to find out the time, she thinks, Why would it make a difference whether you ran a cash register at a place where people buy brie and figs and Ethiopian fair-trade coffee, instead of at a place where people buy Pampers and Wonder Bread?

— Emily Mitchell, “If You Cannot Go To Sleep

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I’ve been dipping in and out of Kelly Link’s most recent short story collection Get in Trouble of late. I’m really enjoying it, but I’ve also found it quite challenging in subtle, surprising ways. I may have something to say about it eventually, but in the meantime, here’s an excerpt from from the New York Times review:

When fiction enters a nonrealistic, fantastic zone, but is clearly not quick-read fantasy, many readers will begin mining the work for satire. I struggled with Link’s stories when I tried to read them like this. Although there is some similarity in tone between Kelly Link and George Saunders, her stories do not respond to this kind of reading as his do. Saunders, operating in a more obviously Baudrillardian hyperreal, is always happy to exaggerate our media-frenzied, overfictionalized world, even throwing in the odd sentimental ending or deliberate duff note from time to time because he knows that we know how to read it. We enter Saunders’s worlds, exaggerated and grotesque, so that we can see ours better. Link seems less interested in all this. She also wants us to look back at ourselves, but she wants us to see people rather than institutions and structures. Like other writers in the tradition of the modern American short story, she wants us to look closely at the small stuff of life.

I have a lot of reactions to this, but I’m not particularly interested in unpacking any of them at the moment. Maybe–hopefully–I’ll come back to this review at some future moment, but for now I just have to say: yes, the small stuff, that’s where it’s at. Fiction that’s about people–what a novel idea.

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Flavorwire’s 50 Scariest Short Stories

Flavorwire has a great list of their 50 scariest short stories, many of which are available to read online. The list includes a lot of obvious, undeniable classics by authors like Ray Bradbury, Richard Matheson, H.P. Lovecraft, Edgar Allan Poe, and M.R. James, as well as some contemporary favorites, like Joyce Carol Oates, Kelly Link, and Mary Gaitskill.

I strongly endorse all the ones I’ve read from this list and I’m excited to check out those I haven’t read. Yay spooky stories!

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