PTSD
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TORCH: Growing Season
I ask Hussein if he’s proud of the work he’s doing. He says that he is. We stop talking. For a moment, the market feels like peace.
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Market Researching My Desire
I noted the weirdness, and then filed it away until a time I might really consider the implications of wanting to bury someone’s stockings. I was lost in metaphor, which meant I was lost in everything.
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This Week in Books: Civilianized: A Young Veteran’s Memoir
Welcome to This Week in Books, where we highlight books just released by small and independent presses. Books have always been a symbol for and means of spreading knowledge and wisdom, and they are an important part of our toolkit…
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The Trouble with Confidence
“But what are the statistics? Aren’t you taking a similar risk just driving?” Wide-eyed, attentive, he leans forward slightly.
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Rumpus Original Fiction: How to Become a Tiger
Tigers are bigger than my comprehension. That’s what I want. I want to be bigger than I am, so big I can’t even imagine it, so real I can’t ever be misinterpreted.
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Fresh Comics #12: Rolling Blackouts
Some books take such a mammoth effort to produce that it’s hard to want to be critical of them. Rolling Blackouts is one of those books. The nearly 300 pages of delicately crafted, watercolored panels make evident that Sarah Glidden is a…
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The Saturday Rumpus Essay: Fairy Tales, Trauma, Writing into Dissociation
Our bodies are incredible and intelligent things.
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The Rumpus Interview with Elizabeth Kadetsky
Elizabeth Kadetsky talks about her new novella On the Island at the Center of the Center of the World, writing about trauma and external forces, and coming to fiction from journalism.
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Ursa Major
Last month a bear ripped into my tent, clenched his teeth onto my upper left arm, just below my shoulder, and would not let go.
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The Sunday Rumpus Essay: Admission of Guilt
Last summer, I nearly killed my son. It was an accident, but the guilt I live with belongs to those whose malicious deeds are intentional.
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Without Boundaries or Beginnings or Ends
That truth lives in my body, next to the bullet that’s still in my back.
