Tag Archives: Molly Gaudry

Exploding treadmills doing what you love coffee clacking

The Lit Pub is up and running. Like a crackling yarn crane of goodness. Fly! Fly! Check out this exciting project. It will make you want to consolidate a garden of stars. It’s got Molly Gaudry. She kicks ass. It’s got Chris Newgent. He kicks ass. You know it’s going to be glow. These people mean bizness! I mean to say: buy some books, people. One of the best way to support this whole scene is to buy some freaking books.

But what exactly is Lit Pub?

Good question. So. HTML GIANT does an interview here:

*

I’m all serious and presidential and shit and gonna drink this beer all presidential going to drink this beer all presidential and Michelle be drinking this beer and working out later on the treadmill and everyone shut the fuck up while I down this wonderful beer in this authentic for once Irish pub. [Damn, I do love Guinness. Good choice, sir. And you look better than some:]

Oh lookie a shot of whiskey…oh my oh my.

PARRRTTTTTYYYYYYY…

[I thought you quit drinking.]

[I hate people who drink through their foreheads. I knew this one young lady drank whiskey through her feet, the soles. I had a sister tried to drink gin through that little cabinet above the refrigerator. Dusty bottle of cabinet gin. Never works. So I removed that gin and hurried away. In the mouth! In the mouth, Nixon.]

(BTW, here in a medical study about three desperate lads who decided to INJECT vodka into their veins.)

When questioned about intravenous injection of alcohol, he said that he had been using this method for 10 years until 1 year before admission. He injected mainly vodka with a frequency of four times per week. His main reasons for injecting were the rapid effect and enjoyment of the needle, particularly when heroin was not available. He described the only side-effect as redness and a burning pain at the site of injection.

[Style. That’s why we voted for the man. That little kid is rocking a cool relax pose, too.]

*

Oh, fuck Twitter.

*

Have you checked out ChickLitz? Literary blog, yo. Go.

*

Oh, glow Amy Schreibman Walter. She wrote this poem that is sort of/kind of a Dorothy Parker mashup. Made me all worm-riddled with happy. Me like. Read it at elimae.

*

Pissed off I am. So I channeled that into my visual art. This image below is a piece of art work. I used a technical piece of optical equipment, a device called an iPhone. I pressed something called the camera icon button. VEry technical stuff. I used a technique called juxtaposition, like when you see a beautiful woman but she is driving a blue scooter on the highway shoulder and she runs over a crow eating French fries.  The the sun cries. I call this print MY FUCKING TREADMILL LIFT MOTOR EXPLODED AGAIN BUT AT LEAST I AM IN THIS BADASS BOOK OF FLASH FICTION AUTHORS.

So, the bad news is I had to run outside in the mid-80s temperatures, full sunlight, did a little Fartlek X 20 bursts, a 5 miles deal of sweat and red knees and legs rubbery like a window sealant when I was 12. Etc. There is a difference between running on a treadmill and running outside (wind resistance, foot push-off), so I always elevate the grade on my treadmill when training. I’m giving you a tip here. Go at least 1 %. I yawned a bit after the workout, a signifier of a good run.

So the bad news is I need another fucking lift motor and this IS MY FOURTH LIFT MOTOR!!

Helloooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo. I dropped some pretty serious $$$$$$ bread, bullion, mazumah, cabbage, chicken feed, coin, coinage, dinero, dough, funds, bucks, green stuff, legal tender, skins, ready assets, refund, riches, , wampum, wherewithal on this treadmill, I mean this is no Sears bullshit, etc., this not yo mamma’s treadmill, this is like the treadmill bought for clubs, for health clubs (Think about the difference. A home treadmill is for hanging your underwear on. A club treadmill has a bear engine, for people to run on 24 hours, to stagger all over, etc.) and sure it’s been years I have owned the thing, and everything falls apart, we are all falling apart, oh my, oh my, but FOUR lift motors?

The good news is They Could No Longer Contain Themselves: A Collection of Five Flash Chapbooks By Elizabeth J. Colen, John Jodzio, Tim Jones-Yelvington, Sean Lovelace, and Mary Miller!

The buzz is starting. Good. I just want to honestly say how privileged I feel to be in a book with these flash authors. My mind is a piano paw. I glow. Look:

Already reviewed here.

Already on the Small Press Distribution Best Seller list!

Buy it, people.

*

I just played a metric ton of disc golf in Peoria. Don’t even flutter that link unless you love the game, unless you know its perfect fits and dark carpets of joy.

*

I am stoked about Tyler Gobble and Stoked Press. They have a call for submissions, so, you know, submit. Now.

*

I write some more Velveeta over at Robert Lopez. Cheese. I intend to write only about Velveeta until 2012.

*

New Hobart has a Julia Wertz interview. Who is Julia Wertz? I didn’t know. I don’t even like these type of comic things. OK, I’m warming up a little, but really, I’ve read two graphic novels. So. Started reading and surfing and checking out her Web Comic blog thing. I like it. I like her stuff. Might get her book.

Here’s a sample. Funny. And that’s not an offhanded comment. Tough to be funny. It shows intelligence, perception, and understanding of narrative structure. So, hey, respect.

The only annoying thing is her disclaimer, something like EVENTS NOT RELATED TO MY CURRENT LIFE…etc. Why would she put a disclaimer next to her creative work? Like the readers are idiots. Or she is too sensitive? Maybe some things happened and she wants the Internet freaks to LEAVE HER ALONE. I get that. Internet freaks are the worst. I have stopped reading COMMENTs on news articles or at Youtube because they make me depressed about humanity. So maybe she ran into someone so concrete they think her graphic artwork is somewhere they could go find a drink? And why would anyone care if her comics are/are not about her actual current life? I don’t get that one. Maybe this is the world we live in. Even if it is autobiographical, you have to tell a reader that your life has changed, that you have changed, that you are capturing a period of time? That makes me sad.  I mean it’s a cartoon, right? A cartoon needs a disclaimer? But I digress.

Saying all that, I think I’ll buy the book.

*

The Atlantic has a glow series examining the creative process of many artists, from T.C. Boyle to Chuck Close to Tim Burton to Frank Gehry to all types of designers, chefs, directors, writers, seers of artistic visions. It’s interesting how these “geniuses” work, their processes so different and then often the same. Grinding it out, for example:

Samples:

With me, if it’s a good idea and I don’t have it right, I stay with it. You have to be patient, just keep erasing what you don’t like. At a certain point it becomes alive, and you know the problems are solvable with solutions you may have used before. That’s my songwriting process.

Paul Simon

The system seems totally mechanical and so systematized, but in fact the thing about limitations like these is that they free you to be more spontaneous and intuitive. The painting is always in a state of flux. It’s a process well–suited to me, because I’m a nervous wreck. I’m a slob. I have a short attention span.

Chuck Close

*

Here is a photo of Brian Oliu eating nachos. He has a book out! Get this book! You know Brian has  a name no one can pronounce and he likes satiny 1980s jackets and 1980s video games and this book is made of lyrical essays composed as Craig’s List missed connections so hell yes.

One time I was in Alabama at this diner and Brian showed up and I said, “Brian, eat a fried pickle.” And he said, “OK.” And he ate a fried pickle. True story.

*

You do know about Bat Segundo show, right? Best radio author interviews around. Check them out.

Correspondent:It’s an unsuccessful story. Should history really be in the business of remembering the losers?

Hochschild: Well, first of all, for me, as a writer, it was a challenge to see if I could write a narratively interesting and emotionally meaningful story about a movement that failed. My last book was about the anti-slavery movement in the British Empire. That was a successful movement. Slavery did come to an end. These people failed to stop the First World War. But I still find them very, very much writing about. Because it takes a special kind of courage and nobility to go against patriotic madness that’s in the air. And very often, a movement like this, it doesn’t succeed the first time. We still haven’t stopped war today. We’re caught up in at least two necessary wars, in my view, in the United States right now. I would like to see people who opposed those wars take some inspiration from these earlier folks. Even though they failed.

*

A lot of buzz for Lidia Yuknavitch’s  new memoir, The Chronology of Water. I really enjoyed this review by Amy McDaniel, mostly because McDaniel wades into the novel/memoir civil war. Good mind, good words, Amy.

*

the same third of a meat-can at dusk.

Meat-can indeed, sir. It’s about time everyone understand Matt Bell is a meat-can of badass. Thanks for this flash, Matt.

S

Eggs and Bush and Red Lobster.

Look what I got in the mail today! Can you say ken baumann, shane jones, jimmy chen, brandi wells, blake butler, nick antosca, sam pink, james chapman, colin bassett, michael kimball, jac jemc, kim chinquee, kim parko, norman lock, randall brown, brian evenson, michael stewart, peter markus, ken sparling, aaron burch, david ohle, matthew savoca, p. h. madore, johannes göransson, charles lennox, ryan call, elizabeth ellen, molly gaudry, kevin wilson, mary hamilton, craig davis, kendra grant malone, lavie tidhar, lily hoang, mark baumer, ben tanzer, krammer abrahams, joshua cohen, eugene lim, c. l. bledsoe, joanna ruocco, josh maday, & michael martone?

I feel like Rod Stewart or Cher back when she had orange hair and that crazy spandex and the battleship.

This has been out a while and I then forgot and now it arrives and I am about to read until I swoon.

*

Cynthia Reezer at NewPages does a sweet review of Eggs.

“Lovelace weaves scenes that flow organically (or maybe “morph” is a better word) into the next thing happening by the writerly imagination.”

Word.

*

holy shit

*

I have decided I have a cooler beer glass than most.


Some Crank-Shaft Disses Flash Fiction. I Defend.

Some Brie-head interviewed over here at ShatterColors Literary Review. I guess he edits the magazine or something. So he’s interviewing himself in his own magazine?  And he publishes himself in his own magazine? Hell, I don’t know. I’m tired after running a hill workout. Then I read this, making me more tired. He’s one literary dude, though. Very literary, no doubt.

Robert Scott Leyse (14 bucks he prefers you use all three names) says some really un-sightful things here.

Like he says that he attended a “writing event.” Sounded like he had a hell of a good time, too. In his words, I thought, “What does a gathering of clowns spouting pretentious rubbish and thirsting to have their asses kissed have to do with writing?”

Touche, Robert Scott Leyse. “Thirsting to have their asses kissed” is an excellent image, or maybe just a mixed metaphor/dating service for burros. Either way, I love a man who can recognize a clown in disguise (or were the writers wearing their red noses and giant shoes?).  Reminds me of the grandmother in Flannery O’ Connor’s “A Good Man is Hard to Find.” Grannie wears very clean underwear and knows exactly how to identify “Good Men.” Only takes her a few minutes, too. (Unfortunately, she is soon executed, along with the entire family she leads directly to their collective doom.)

clown on computer

I’ll just jot down this epic poem here, la-dee-da….

One problem I have with Robert Scott Leyse is that the people I meet at “writing events” are scared of clowns. Also they are self-deprecating, witty, humble, interesting, well-read, grinders at the page after page, and know how to drink a shit-load of quality ale. (Those that don’t drink beer I maybe never meet.)

Possibly we attend different conferences?

As an editor Robert Scott Leyse prefers, “love stories, at whatever stage of a relationship…”

Hey! I do too, maybe. So good call, maybe.

Then Robert Scott Leyse reveals his true internal thrumming, as he drops the dark and stormy nights of his intellect onto flash fiction.

Egads! Run for the big tent, you clowns!

On flash fiction (you can hear the disgust steeping in his bottom lip like a tobacco chaw): “It’s a writing exercise, useful in learning the virtues of succinctness of expression. As for it being a viable form… Basically, some corner-cutting smartass thought, “Hey, why waste these writing exercises? Why not doll them up in fancy terminology — call them ‘flash fiction,’ ‘flashers,’ or ‘impromptus’ — and persuade people they’re real stories? That way, I’ll be able to churn out three or four or five of them a night!” Needless to say, I neither read nor publish writing exercises.”

I adore that last sentence. Cutting, shall we say. In fact, fuck it, all short forms are actually writing exercises, especially those damn sonnet things. I mean how can 14 lines be “viable”? Yo, parable, fable, mythology, psalm, and all you annoying hieroglyphics, please go away or at the very least add a whole lot of words, OK? Can we get some more words, seriously? Back up the fucking WORD truck, beep-beep-beep. MORE, MORE, like in a legislature or a contract.

And, yes, you pegged me, Robert Scott Leyse, since I do write and read flash fiction, I am indeed a “corner-cutting smartass.”

[But Impromptus? That sounds like a type of water dwelling dinosaur in a children’s book. Dude, don’t bring that one out in public, just a friendly tip.]

Speaking of “corner-cutters,” and since I just spent a semester with a grad student researching a bit of the inexhaustible history of flash fiction as a genre, other corner cutting clowns would include:

Margaret Atwood, Ernest Hemingway, Langston Hughes, Dave Eggers (a ton here), David Foster Wallace, Tara L. Masih, Pu Songling, Kim Chinquee, J. G. Ballard, Jim Harrison, Kobo Abe, Primo Levi, Angela Carter, Max Steele, Barry Graham, Umberto Eco, H. H. Munro, Don Delillo, Mervyn Peake, Anton Chekhov, Kurt Vonnegut, Andrei Bely, W.B. Yeats, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Luigi Pirandello, D. H. Lawrence, Katherine Mansfield, John Steinbeck, George Orwell, Ander Monson, Mark Twain, Marianne Gingher, Wu Jingzi, Dubus (x 2), Vladimir Nabokov, Oscar Wilde, Molly Gaudry, Agatha Christie, Dr. Seuss, Jaroslav Hasek, Samule Beckett, Jeff Noon, Matt Bell, Aesop, Deb Olen Unferth, Patricia Highsmith, Emily Bronte, Franz Kafka, Italo Calvino, John Updike, Jill Christman, Julian Barnes, Richard Wright, Sherman Alexie, Sara Teasdale, Shane Jones, Diane Williams, Jesus H. Christ, Blake Butler, Maya Angelou, W. G. Sebald, Edmund White, Thomas Pynchon, Raymond Carver, Carolyn Forche, Djuna Barnes, Virginia Woolf, Buddha, Dorothy Parker, Tao Lin (oh, fuck him [I kid]), Carol Bly, Russell Banks, John David Lovelace, Krishna, Richard Brautigan, Ezra Pound, Scott Garson, Michael Kimball, Jewel, Robert Olen Butler, Gertrude Stein, Alexander Pushkin, Joseph Young, Emile Zola, Ursula Kroeber Le Guin, Michael Martone, Hart Crane, Tania Hershman, Joyce Carol Oates, John Edgar Wideman, Rose Terry Cooke, Plato, Katherine Anne Porter, Kate Chopin, Gwendolyn Brooks, and Gabriel José de la Concordia García Márquez.

tolstoy

hanging out, corner-cutting...

I could go on, but it gets ridiculous the number of authors in the canon, and outside the canon, and shooting from a cannon (a la Hunter S.), that have worked in this genre, and didn’t I just say I was tired, and also I need my typing finger for clowning tomorrow morning.

I just got to clown, yo.

Wouldn’t want to be with that “impromptu” crowd, anyway, would you? What’s next, you start valuing other forms of brevity, like say oysters, shots of bourbon, sudden kisses, short films, or the well-cut diamond?

A writing exercise? Flash fiction is to a writing exercise as a haiku is to a pretzel. Something. I disagree, Robert Scott Leyse. And what if a flash WAS a writing exercise? What if someone wrote a story in the shape of an apartment building (Georges Perec) or as a travel guide (Martone) or I don’t know a freaking examination. On and on…or can stories only be one way, “love stories, at whatever…” etc.

[A red fox just loped across my backyard. Is it limping or loping? I mean loping is like attitude. Limping you probably got car-struck crossing highway 69]

Oh hell, I digress, and if you read this blog you know where I will digress to, like a ship drifting to harbor…1.) preheat oven. 2.) slice corn tortillas. 3.) Add cheese and “impromptu” toppings.

Well, I just had some kick ass nachos. It felt good. It didn’t take long, they are often listed as appetizer…so eat my board shorts (those are the very, very, very long shorts, sir, I think you will like them), Mr. Robert Scott Leyse.

Nachos

(BTW, here is an exam, a writing exercise, as you would say.)

Well, what can you do? Not human at all, is it, the flash fiction above…drivel, really.

No, no, know.

Now?

I am going to go relax in the bath.

I will not! For me, a hot shower. I said hot.

And quick.

And good.

*

Beer prices are going up. (again)

Here’s what the D-bag at Budweiser says: “The environment is very favorable, we think.” (He means for price increases.)

Here is the D at MillerCoors: “We have seen very strong pricing to date this year, and we are projecting a favorable pricing environment moving forward.”

Can you believe people who work at a brewery talk like this? I am done with these fools. Can you smell the cynicism in the voices of these guys? It’s micro-brew only now (was heading percentage-wise that way anyway). I mean I feel like I am buying my beer from an attorney, and he’s laughing right in my face. Going home and telling his wife about all the suckers he found today in his “pricing environment.”

rcarter0012

*

Kind words from The Prettiest Girl in School about Eggs here. Thank you for reading!

*

S

wigleaf Goodness Ace read Business of Books

Me got some new words in wigleaf. Go read it and you will be happy like corn or something.

*

ace!!!

Ace yesterday at Pieradise, hole # 18. Aces make me feel like corn. This man (Alen Pier) turned his farm into a disc golf mecca and we are all better for it.

*

“Obviously, what we hope and we see with the small, independent publishers that there is a younger generation that is not going to buy into the money culture and that has decided that some of these values still matter to them.”

Andre Schiffrin

I just finished this book:

23761751

It talks about how media conglomerates have destroyed book publishing. How thoughtful, intellectual, engaging literature and essay and so on have been pushed aside for glam and glimmer and $$$.

It made me thankful to all the awesome Indy publishers out there. There are still people who care. Half the writer/bloggers I truly enjoy more than likely wouldn’t have their books out by mainstream publishers. Blake Butler, Shane Jones, Molly Gaudry, on and on and on. Exciting, sometimes difficult (in a good way. I’ll take my art hard like a knife edge thank you) work I am so happy to be ABLE to obtain, read, pass on, discuss, enjoy.

This is an important book. All readers and editors and anyone else who believes arguments and inquiries and art/art/art are CRITICAL to a democratic society, to a people, pick it up. I think it makes the argument for why writer/bloggers, indy publishers, all of this buzz and whirl and everything going on right now on the net acts as ESSENTIAL.

S

Robot Melon YB Disc Golf Nacho Tammy Magazine Huh?

I played a disc golf tourney this weekend with a bunch of friends. Ander Monson won. I got second overall, and snagged these:

1.) A second place ribbon.

2.) A sick-ass San Marino Roc. (D golf nerd talk here)

3.) A bottle of dank-ass whiskey.

4.) A Pizza Hut gift card.

5.) A Cleveland Cavs knit cap. Second place makes sense for this cap, as you know.

swag

*

Me got stuff in the new Robot Melon.

There are exactly Seven Types of Poem. You want to argue the fact? Huh? Seven, seven only, my friends.

I got some bone marrow stuff in there, too, but who cares? Let me lead you to a much better poet, and a person whose work I adore (I would most likely adore her personally, but we have never met [we will]): Arlene Ang.

If you haven’t read Ang, you might want to Ebay a clue, my young friends. Here:

What Happens to the Postwoman When She Stops

Delivering the Mail

*

I am digging this new Lit Mag named Tammy. Will caterwhomp a report soon. Very language/love-of oriented, so am cranking like startling eyes.

tam

*

I write about Anne Sexton and The Meaning of Life (#22) in the new YB.

Lots of great authors here! Check Molly Gaudry. I especially like the commentary, a glimpse at artistic process, at flow and verse and kiss (muse/lightning).

“I am both nervous about admitting what I have to say next, and excited by it:”

Who wouldn’t read on? Good work and insights, Molly.

Check Meg Pokrass. I wish the title was nachos, not tacos. But still a great piece.

*

If I only knew what to eat for dinner. I have no ingredients, only these leftovers. Fridge dregs. A dead man’s warm breath…OK, I’m being dramatic. I will think of something…hmm.

DSC00870

NACHOS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Love u all:

S

50 Life Sentences AWP 2009 (my head is a chewing leg)

I couldn’t blog in Chicago. I was too drunk or too busy with work or too compartmentalized. No, that wasn’t it. The hotel’s internet was slow like boiled sugar. A lot of people told me their Internet didn’t work in Chicago. Didn’t work well. I think I heard the term sluggish. I heard a lot of great terms in Chicago. I heard Painbis, hip-swinging, also annihilates. Words and writers of words appeared in front of me like kicked doors, or armored saints growing day to day.

I am going to blog now; I call this:

50 Life Sentences AWP 2009

1.) I have arguments inside my compartments.

2.) Shards inside I feel the need to fill, with alcohol, rationalizations blue, interstitial fluid, food.

3.) My many Chicago meals were triangles.

4.) A goal of mine was triangles…

nacho-awp

5.) A goal of mine was to meet Kim Chinquee.

6.) Why didn’t I take a photo?

7.) Why was I too afraid to take a photo, to seal my memory in everlasting angles, perfect ghosts, in queens and hearts of glimmer?

8.) The poker game was a ghost everyone was talking about but no one had actually seen (like sustained love?).

9.) The poker game was mystical as a flower (on the moon).

10.) Listeners at readings whoop, laugh, bloom and flutter.

11.) Listeners at readings will buy you bourbon, will buy you shots of congratulatory bourbon, and you will drink that golden sun-struck poison like a harness-maker, like a household of leaking cells, drink them all and all and very well…

12.) In the swanky hotel lobby of the Hilton, Blake Butler voiced an opinion that authors shouldn’t just pick humorous work for a reading, just to be funny, etc., and I agree and disagree: They shouldn’t pick just funny work; they should pick funny work that is also sexual.

13.) I have arguments at Abjective.

14.) I have arguments inside my compartments, my flux and flow.

15.) Why didn’t I take the photo?

16.) I can’t get my head around Chicago, my actions, non-actions, and faulty do/do not/residue.

17.) Right alongside my heart, a nick of rib bone, I keep shaking inside like the El.

18.) I was intimidated by the El then learned to observe, conform, climb aboard, overcome something, or some thought inside my skull rolling.

19.) To meet (drift and swerve) with Samuel Ligon was glacial, as in very very cool.

20.) To meet Jac Jemc was glacial, as in very, very cool.

21.) To meet Molly and Matt and all others glowing was glacial, as in very, very cool.

matt

22.) My many Chicago meals were fermented/distilled liquid.

23.) My many Chicago meals were squid, were prawn.

dsc003851

24.) My co-eaters were 1.) a woman who was raised in a “town” (my quotes) of 92 people, who runs marathons and swims with whale sharks; and 2.) a woman who writes drafts of poems about experience so recent (the El looping) so quickly and fine it makes me shiver.

25.) I bought sake and rode its candy-cane high.

26.) I bought more sake, diet cola and books (stored in my car, a Shane Jones signed book, Barry Graham signed book, Mary Miller, others…).

dsc00388

27.) I bought a form of hesitation, medication, some other ation.

28.) I bought the poison and inhaled the poison.

29.) I bought the books; I bought the books in front of the SmokeLong table.

dsc00387

30.) Mary Miller signed the books.

31.) Why didn’t I know she was awesome?

32.) At my age, why don’t I know what I am doing?

33.) I read her book immediately, last night, such likable object, such simpatico of scene and non-scene (I know so well, beer cap moth-ing through air), such castles of crickets and leftover wine.

34.) Sometimes I watched, in all my hours shifting weightless.

35.) Sometimes I watched others and wanted to be with them, or be them.

36.) Sometimes, less often, I felt watched, or should I say observed.

dsc00392

37.) To be my age and feel lostly.

38.) To feel hesitation and unrest.

39.) the photo…

40.) Why do you think I didn’t take the photo?

41.) Honestly.

42.) Why?

43.) I felt this blue crackling in the air.

44.) I felt this moment after.

45.) Of course I took the photo!

kim

46.) (A man can only shelter so much regret…)

47.) (I am learning.)

48.) (and now.)

49.) and now.

50.) And..well, now.