Articles by Nick Ripatrazone
July 26, 2016
I have read it twice now and taken photographs of single pages and recited them as prayers, because prayers should be strange, and they should often sting.
July 5, 2016
Burning is a slow, ritualistic death. Why not simply throw away a manuscript?
June 14, 2016
In some ways, yearbook camp felt like an extended Tony Robbins seminar. Each morning we met in the auditorium, where one of the staff led us in a group chant to get us fired-up for the day. I am from New Jersey, and only get fired-up for pizza and pork roll sandwiches.
May 20, 2016
You said that I was trying to turn you into a thriller when you were really a literary novel. You wanted character; I knew agents wanted plot. We fought.
May 4, 2016
Sadness might seem too sincere an emotion to ascribe to a novel written by a postmodernist, but Zero K pushes its readers to feel.
April 28, 2016
Readers — living, breathing readers who are imperfect and stubborn and yet often rewarding with their time and attention, and hopefully, their monetary support — are the lifeblood of writing.
April 8, 2016
Novelists and essayists ponder the apocalypse, but poems are particularly suited toward capturing the anxiety of the end.
March 18, 2016
New England horror is less about surprise and more about the slow burn of suffering. In Hollywood, horror sneaks into your home, leaps from behind doors; in New England, horror festers in your soul.
March 1, 2016
Radio is like literature, like our thoughts: moving, shifting, often clouded in static, and yet sometimes out of the maddening noise comes clarity.
February 10, 2016
There are far more dangerous professions than teaching, but few are more difficult.