The maidens stand
At attention: masked
And gloved, they ask
My name. When will
I forget my birth date?

No Poem Is the Only Poem. No Story Is the Only Story.
The maidens stand
At attention: masked
And gloved, they ask
My name. When will
I forget my birth date?
Octavia Butler’s "Parable of the Sower and Parable of the Talents, Margaret Atwood’s Oryx and Crake and The Blind Assassin. Sarah Waters and Val McDermid: Stories that are deep and dark and polished and never cutesy and corny and cozy.
The theater is a mirage of color and motion and sound, swimming with heat. Ladies gently flap fans at their necks, while the gentlemen pose stoically with their arms at their sides and glisten.
Mine is not the story of the little girl who embarked on her lifelong love affair with books whilst blissfully rambling through her local public library. I never begged to go to the library; I usually begged to go home.
On the following evening, down in Hollywood, I slid my cell phone back into a front pocket of my trousers and stood outside a bar Reid and his friends frequented. I felt as if I were on a film set in a desert and overcome with the futility of it.
...I’ve been working on a number of stories set in and around L.A. Is it logically possible for a place to mesmerize and inspire a certain ennui at the same time?