April 22, 2013
by Ben Greenman
The moment when I can work no more, when the novel or collection of short stories or book-length essay is as done as it’ll ever be, I go looking for works of art that match it tonally. I listen to music with an acquisitive ear. I watch pieces of movies whose titles intrigue me. Most of all, I scan through dozens of websites that collect images by contemporary artists. And then I try to solidify the relationship by using those works as my cover art.
April 19, 2013
If there were no more “middle class” movies, then in what other arenas would an ostensible middle class suffer? Publishing, for sure. But what about . . . everything else?
April 17, 2013
My husband is a sculptor and he worships stone. Travertine, granite, marble, onyx – these are the other women in my married life. A writer can learn a lot from a stone carver, and I’ve been watching him a long time.
April 16, 2013
Catholic literature is thriving. Some are Catholic, some write about Catholic themes and characters, and some react against Catholicism.
April 10, 2013
Barry Hannah sometimes jokingly referred to Nightwatchmen in third-person as “Barry Hannah’s ‘lost’ novel.” Published by Viking in 1973, it was widely disparaged by critics, sold poorly, and, at the author’s wish, has never been back in print. That the book was a failure isn’t as important, I believe, so much as that it was a necessary failure, one that deserves to be read.
April 9, 2013
My quest to find the great tech novel — something sprawling and social and occurring inside the Teach-Up and outside the restaurant and around the home of the displaced shopowner and the H1B-visa programmer — is in itself a kind of solutionism. Novels are captured social data. You want a snapshot of nineteenth century French provincial bourgeois life? There’s an app for that: it’s called Flaubert. And that’s before we consider the novel as an aggregator of human data of the biggest, most nebulous kind. You want a map of the human heart? Whose heart? What century? There’s an app for that too.
April 4, 2013
I wrote all day and late into the night. There was something magical about this time. I was suspended, insulated, cared for, and writing — all in the privacy of the Virginia countryside. My teaching job and the staring eyes of my students seemed very far away. I started to feel like the wood-nymph Daphne, transformed into something that would confound my pursuers.
April 3, 2013
I had the feeling that my children thought that I stood frozen inside the house while they were at school, only to be reanimated when they burst back through the door at the end of the day. Sure they knew I was a writer, but what did that actually mean to them?
March 29, 2013
What participation in social media comes down to, I think, is that either you have an instinct for broadcasting your life, or you don’t. Mary MacLane would have been a natural.
March 27, 2013
by Julia Fierro
The word that made me lift my fingers from the keyboard was “clitoris.” Was it okay to use this word? What would my fellow literary writers, my former teachers and classmates at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop think of me?