the mayor of
our collective joy of
If we assume two things—one, that the best place to start is the beginning, and two, that the Heliopolitan Cosmogony is accurate—then we ought to start with an androgynous figure masturbating.
He sits out there in his rowboat, mouth half open, the Chicago skyline rising and falling behind him. I walk on my knees though the water. Inching closer, slipping farther out into the lake.
What he was kicking, with a ferocity more like assault than play, was a small peach basket.
My father was disappointed by my inability to ride a two-wheeler by the age of six. He never said so directly, but I could tell.
"If you want to write a novel," says Joe Samuel Starnes, "don’t wait until you think you’ll have time. As Harry Crews said, life will never give you time to write a novel.
With The Grievers (Permanent Press 2012), Marc has crafted a novel that deftly addresses the issues of loss, career procrastination, and self-worth through the misadventures of Charley Schwartz.
Grace Churchill’s daughter died for the twenty-seventh time.
When I look at my nine year- old son, I see my husband’s face. His square jaw, his chiseled cheekbones, his light brown hair, his delicate, perfectly proportioned nose.
Ignore your brothers and sisters
until you secure your place
in the pouch. Then grow up quickly.