(K)ink: Writing While Deviant: Simon Copland
Writing is not just about expressing myself creatively, or even about having my voice heard: it is about releasing some part of myself.
Rumpus Original
8550 posts
The Sunday Rumpus Essay: To Prey on Birds
I am alone. Alone with my small size, my cracking bones, and the guilt that wraps around my spine like a jungle vine. Don’t be hysterical, I repeat to myself.
The Saturday Rumpus Essay: Night
With these young women, I no longer slip in and out of places undetected. With them, my cloak of invisibility—my only known superpower—has been removed.
Rumpus Original Fiction: State Facts for the New Age
“I’m a shock absorber for tragedy,” I say, not really knowing what I mean. “Maybe I should just move to Hawaii. I hear that’s a happy place to live.”
The Rumpus Interview with Robin MacArthur
Robin MacArthur discusses her debut story collection Half Wild, life in rural Vermont, and how narrative—and fiction—is key to reaching across what divides us.
Literature’s Second-Class Citizens
They’re there but not there. They’re included but their stories don’t fully weave into the story.
Songs of Our Lives: Stereolab’s “Pause”
“Pause,” like the nostalgia it references, possesses the qualities of ceremony. My ceremony: I played and replayed this song that year, transforming past into present into past over and over.
Sound & Vision: Ebru Yildiz
Brooklyn-based photographer Ebru Yildiz talks with Allyson McCabe about shooting concert photos, moving to New York from Turkey, and discovering the city’s music scene.
FUNNY WOMEN #142: How to Be a Female Boss
An important part of being a female manager is letting the world know that you can have it all.
Baking Lessons: Needing, Rising, and Letting Go
When I took those breaths, I also learned to say, “I am enough, I am enough, I am enough.”
Meditation
We looked up as we moved. A handful of stars watched us behind a ripped black canvas of clouds. It started to rain as we all got to our cars. The skies poured down globs of heavy rain that burst out like tiny bombs around us.