Rumpus Original
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Sound & Vision: Lois Weaver and Peggy Shaw
Allyson McCabe talks with Lois Weaver and Peggy Shaw, two of the founders of the performance group Split Britches, about their lives and work.
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Rumpus Original Fiction: My Name Is Jean-Pierre and I Am Still an End Table
I am glad to be free of that tyrant, even if it means I am an end table waddling inch-by-inch down this path on a foolish mission that might prove impossible. I may be an end table, but at least…
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An Answer Should Lead to Another Question: Talking with Rae Armantrout
Rae Armantrout discusses Conflation, a vinyl recording from Fonograf Editions that “interrogates the difference between texture and tactile; thing unspoken versus thing unseen.”
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Hooters Chicken
I applied for a job at Hooters on a dare a few weeks before my nineteenth birthday. A shoe salesman who worked across from me at the mall told me he’d pay me twenty dollars to apply.
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Scars of War: Watching Battle of the Sexes
Until recently, coming out was almost always dangerous—not only to our careers and our relationships but also to our bodies. And so hiding was (and sometimes still is) a necessity.
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Midnight Screams
She did everything I told her without realizing that it was hurting her and she was me.
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It’s All Finger-Pointing at the Moon: A Conversation with Carolyn Zaikowski
Carolyn Zaikowski discusses her most recent book, In a Dream, I Dance by Myself, and I Collapse, the psychology of repetition, and honoring the power of language.
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What to Read When It’s Been a Hell of a Year
Each of these books, in various ways, wound the crank on my empathy machine, and reminded me that telling a story can be a defiant act.
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Writing the Truth: A Conversation with David Hicks
David Hicks discusses his debut novel, White Plains, how much truth resides in a work of fiction, and becoming a full-time fiction writer.
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TORCH: Over the Borderline
I’m writing about the border through the eyes of children because the border is a problem of the imagination.
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Rumpus Original Poetry: Three Poems by Rachel McKibbens
I cut off my nose, / her nose collapses. / Chop down my hair & / hers shrieks from the sink. / How many poems do I / have to write ‘til she / gets dead, how many / live-wire…
