Over at Lit Hub, Dorthe Nors discusses writing about middle aged women who, on the verge of becoming invisible to a society that only values women as mothers or as…
I wake in the dark in bed and there’s a furnace, a turncoat thermostat inside my body; there is no limit, there is no overdoodling, no crescendo. No hot enough, only hotter.
The first time I saw Adam on television, on American Idol, past and present collided, as if psychedelic clothes, gnawed by moths, are suddenly rewoven, resurrected.
Brooklyn Magazine’s Favorite Writers Share Their Favorite Childhood Books. One novel I loved when I was a kid was Madam Pastry and Meow. The details are fuzzy for me now,…