Book-spine poems

Finished my thesis, and for the next couple of weeks until my defense, I have whole hours to gaze upon the stories on my bookshelf.

I have a new story in the spring issue of Midwestern Gothic, and you can buy it here!

I also watched 33 episodes of Mad Men in two weeks. I can't decide of which accomplishment I'm prouder.

It's spring now, and this means that everyone is full of the kind of joy that presses at your skin from the inside:

It's warm outside, again. We found a baby squirrel on the sidewalk. We took him home to make him comfortable, and he was, and then he died. The dog was very maternal, very careful, tiptoeing as best a poodle can tiptoe around the box. That was a good day, lots of sunshine.

Here he was, pink and alive and sleeping:

omg, awp

Fresh from the AWP conference in Chicago, where I listened to Marilynne Robinson talk about fiction and morality, gazed lovingly at Starlee Kine from the back of a packed panel on radio storytelling, crammed a tote bag full of postcards and journals and pens, ate not enough food and not enough water, and stayed up far, far past my bedtime every night.

Shared a pleasant train ride back up north with an enthusiastic man who announced that he absolutely loves the train because it is so relaxing, before gathering his laptop and power cords up and bidding me adieu for the lounge car, where he leaned back in a booth and slept with his mouth open, snoring (this I know because I passed him several times on my way to get water) for the entire 8-hour ride. He returned to our seat thirty minutes before the train was scheduled to arrive in Minneapolis, pumped my hand and said it was wonderful to have met me, best of luck, and then he put on his hat and stood at the door, waiting for the train to pull into the station while the rest of us turned back to our Words with Friends.

The AWP conference was okay, a little frantic and disorganized (schedule Dan Chaon to speak in a room that can only hold 25 people and you will have a clusterfuck of hatted literary types struggling to push through the door), but it was pleasant to be in Chicago on its birthday and see old friends and laugh hysterically because we were eating dinner at 1:00 in the morning, and we're thirty years old, can you believe it?

Happy Monday.

The Writer's Triumphant Return

Trusted Reader, I did not perish in Prague. Though I did scuttle all over Europe for a few sweaty weeks this past summer, and then when I returned I buried myself in the task of writing a novel and completely abandoned blogging. LIKE A FOOL!

But fear not, I have returned! And I have a story here and a flash fiction here and a poem here. And more to come, shortly.

I must catch a bus now. More soon, son.