things have changed

Almost everything. No, not really, but life’s a bit different now that Chelsea’s here. Lots of other news I’ve meant to talk about for these last however many weeks. I guess it’s only been about two, yeah? Seems like the days and weeks have slipped from me.

She’s here now, though. Working beside me. Doing her internet programmery and so on.

Maybe I’ll just leave this as a placeholder for now. Something to remind those who read here that I’m still alive, still thinking and working and creating. Wrote about 120 poems over a weekend a few weeks ago when I was feverish and ill. I guess that’s what happens when your brain boils and a wordprocessor’s nearby. Hoping to get back into a more normalised routine here soon.

Oh, I’ve also been doing interviews. Lots of them. Start reading them here:

Phil Jourdan

Brian Allen Carr

Curtis Smith

All of those were at Monkeybicycle where I’m taking over JA Tyler’s interview series. It’s pretty cool and I’ve some really great ones coming out soon.

Other things:

Interview with Matthew Salesses at Heavy Feather Review.

Review of Christopher Barzak’s new collection at The Lit Pub.

But, yeah. Hopefully getting back into a novel this week and maybe getting another short story done for the year. I’m well ahead right now, but I feel a few brewing in me.

Till next time.

Hopefully soon.

But Chelsea’s here, and sometimes there’s not much else a body needs but love.

what about

Two more book reviews have been out for a few days/weeks, so I’ll post the links here.

JA Tyler’s Water:

J.A. Tyler’s Water is not a dream. It is two dreams. A dream of rain and a dream of fire. A prayer for land and a hunt for water. It is a dozen children gathered together, telling stories, finding worlds within one another, waiting for the rain to stop if only for a moment. It is a boy wandering the skies and lands, and a girl hiding from the herds of people who will take her apart for the dream she carries inside. It is the sound of silence, the music of the world, the chaos of rain and calamity of fire.

Berit Ellingsen’s Beneath the Liquid Skin:

Many short story collections suffer from monotony, where the stories all too similar, whether it be in content or tone or emotion, but this little book is one of the most fun reads I have recently encountered. It is a display for Ellingsen’s talent and imagination and yet it is so distinctly itself. These stories belong together for reasons I cannot really name, but if one were to be missing, it would be noticed. Where many writers explore the fantastic by revisiting myths or spinning tropes, it is almost as if Ellingsen herself came from somewhere else, some world beyond ours and carried back the stories of that distant place.

reviewing books

Two new reviews up. One of them however, is currently unavailable at Manarchy Magazine due to some things I don’t really understand. Whole website is temporarily down, but should hopefully return by the end of the week. I’ll post a link when the time is right. One is a review of Mark Z Danielewski’s latest release, The Fifty Year Sword. Excerpt:

But let’s talk about The Fifty Year Sword. Five nameless narrators tell the story of a seamstress and her twin sister watching a man read a story to five orphans. That really is all that happens. However, there is also so much more happening in this book. A ghost story that the reader lives through and feels as the text becomes more visual with illustrations running over the page, the words at times dancing through the imagistic chaos. And the narrators: I imagine this is quite a different experience when performed with five readers. In the text, they are each noted by a different color of quotation marks and they switch at alarming rate. But what is truly interesting is how they overlap, so a word or a phrase is now said by two or three of the narrators at once — sometimes none at all. This is an interesting thing to recreate quietly in your head, but surely a rather powerful and different experience when performed live.

And the other out today is my review of Ben Spivey’s Black God.

Love that book. An excerpt:

In Black God, Spivey dives fully into the hallucinations and the surreality of existence without bothering to even leave footprints on the shore. And in this way, Black God is everything that Flowing in the Gossamer Fold never managed to be. Though quite short, it hides great depth and power and emotion. It takes you by the throat and drowns you in this world that may or may not be here, a world disintegrating and growing with every sentence. You get claustrophobic, holding close to Cooper, the aged narrator, clutching him close as time and memory and love refract and contract around him. And when you reach the end, you may not recognise how you got there or the lands you traveled, but you know it mattered from the marks imprinted on you.