Jan Stinchcomb’s The Gill Bride is now up in The Red Penny Papers.

There is a new issue of JMWW which includes work by Carrie Murphy, Robb Todd, and John McKernan.

At A-Minor, a little something by J. Bradley. He also has an essay at Monkeybicycle and the second part of his novella at the Squawk Back.

Everyday Genius remains on its usual trajectory toward brilliance with new fiction by xTx and a poem by Keith Nathan Brown.

Blake Butler has an essay at HTMLGIANT.

You will want to look at Tyler Gobble’s flash fiction up at Small Doggies. Also check out his e-chapbook from H_NG_M_N.

It’s a light week so don’t forget to check out our December issue.

Contributors past, future, and present: do not be shy in sending us your news. We want to know!

Also, what kind of content would you like to see on the blog in 2012? Share your suggestion in the comments or e-mail us at awesome at pankmagzine dot com.

Admittedly it’s uncouth or uncool, perhaps even tacky to write about my financial straits, but it’s bugging me I can’t afford to buy my son a Christmas gift this year.

Do you ever want to give up? Well I do, but then I don’t. Give up, I mean.

I’m exhausted. Last night I woke at three a.m. and lay there trying to distract myself with visions of Colin Farrel but instead wrestled with questions rankling round my head. What’s going to happen? How will I pay this bill and that one? What’s next?

I can’t buy my son a Christmas present this year. I’ve had years in which the only person I could afford to buy a gift for was my son and now this year, not even him. I feel rotten. Actually I feel scared. I’ve spent fifteen years worried how I’ll make ends meet, and if I can’t afford to buy my son a Christmas gift, shit’s gone bad.

Right now, I hope to hold onto our house.

I also hope to continue putting food on the table.

Once every solo mom manages to escape the sinkhole of poverty, once she manages to provide everything her child needs—food, shelter, clothing—she dares hope she can buy her child something he wants.  Because between Needs & Wants is a Difference. We all want. Guilty as charged. What’s scary is feeling like maybe you won’t manage to pay for the stuff you need. Like food. We’ve been on food stamps twice, once recently, and I’m grateful for the help we received and never took advantage of it, meaning I never lied about my income or accepted assistance when we no longer qualified for it.

Some people work the system. Some of them live in our trailer park. They brag about working the system.  I bite my tongue.

Food stamps are a gift.

Maybe I could afford to buy my son a present if we were still on food stamps. Groceries, you know, are expensive.

Okay. I don’t love my son any less and am no less a mother because I can’t afford to buy my son a Christmas gift this year. Imagine if I lost our house, if I couldn’t afford groceries anymore? Still, I’m sad. What is it about Christmas that makes you feel like you should be able to go out and buy everybody you love something marvelous . . .  and if you can’t, you suck? I want to buy all my friends gifts. I have some incredible, generous, thoughtful friends. People who pulled together when I lost my job last July and provided my son and I all sorts of gift cards for food and whatnot. Incredible, generous friends. You’ve no idea how incredible these people are.

How do I return the favor?

Today my stepmom told me what a great job I’ve done raising my son. This made me feel good. Allow me to return the favor by raising the most empathetic and kind son I can because he’ll go out in the world and make a difference.  This is something I’ve taken to heart, taken serious, raising my son: I signed a contract with the universe.

Maybe that’s corny. I’m grasping at straws. Gone sentimental. It’s Christmas.

Here’s the thing: other people have bought my son gifts this year. He won’t go without. The kid got an Ipod Touch from a friend of ours. Holy shit! And my parents gave my son a hundred bucks. A hundred bucks! My son is lucky. Who said it takes a village to raise a child? It certainly takes one to spoil him at Christmas.

Once upon a time, my Granny sent me a check for $500.00 every Christmas, and every Christmas I applied a good portion of that check to getting myself caught up but always used at least a hundred dollars to buy my son presents. My Granny is currently living in a convalescent home. She’s paralyzed on one side, blind in one eye, and can’t swallow, which means she gets all her nutrients through a feeding tube. Her husband died a month ago. My Granny’s life consists of lying in bed. That’s it. She can’t do any of the things she used to love so much: cook, eat, read, paint, knit, arrange flowers, work out crossword puzzles, pat my grandfather’s cheek. He’s dead. And her family is scattered. My Granny can’t see or even hear the TV in her room. Who keeps her company? Nurses mostly. Hopefully, but who knows?

I dreamed two weeks ago my Granny recovered from her stroke. She could walk again, talk, see, hear, eat. My reaction was euphoric. It was selfish, obviously. I had my Granny back. We all want to turn back time and undo the terrible stuff age and disease and strokes do to our loved ones’ bodies. What time and age, disease and strokes will do to our own. It’s like seeing the future. A crystal ball.

Last time I saw my grandmother, I watched her sleep, and she’d jutted her chin forward and at such an angle it was as if her spirit was trying to bust free of her ravaged body.  As if she should at last, let go. Except she’d asked me to hold her down before she fell asleep. She said, “Keep your hands on my chest and press hard as you can so I don’t leave my body.” It didn’t come out clearly as that though. She spoke the way a person who’d had a stroke and now had a partially paralyzed tongue would speak. So I leaned over and held my ear close to her mouth as she spit the words out. Then I stood at her hospital bed with my arms over the bars and held my hands to her chest, all her bones sticking out, and pressed not as hard as I could because I didn’t want to hurt her or leave a bruise. She bruises easily now—black, red, blue.

“Harder,” she said despite all that. Some may say Fear of Death. Or stubbornness. Resilience maybe? Where I get it from.

Until January 2, 2012, there will be no submissions to [PANK] and you can expect a little less from us. After January 2, it’s back to business as usual. In the meantime, read the December issue. It’s the bomb. Happy Holidays, everyone.

The December issue debuts today, and this one is, outstanding. Every piece is a showstopper and we hope as you head into the holidays, you find a little time to stay warm with the writing in this issue.  This issue features Mi Madre, by Lisa Lim, an e-chapbook combining words and art. You’ll also find the extremely funny The Rematch by Mike Miner, Katie Assef’s melancholy Blue August, Jon Sealy’s gritty Then Come Home to Settle, an innovative story as a Drug Facts pamphlet by Lauren Trembath-Neuberger, the imaginative and witty Dr. Moreau’s Pet Shop  by Gregory Wolos, a taste of Spain with four poems by Lisa Marie Basile, Catherine Campbell’s heartbreaking, almost shocking Ways to Swim, and equally wonderful writing by Neelanjana Banerjee, Mary Kovaleski-Byrnes, Emma Torzs, Robb Todd, Nathan Tavares, Tim Suermondt, Danez Smith, Steve Kistulentz, Krystal Howard, A.T. Grant, Sierra DeMulder, Marianne Colahan, Fiona Chamness, and Justin D. Anderson.

Get started here and read all the way through. You won’t regret it.

Todd Mckie has a story in the Spilling Ink Review called Fox is Blue.

You’ll find a story by Amy Butcher and a poem by Megan Lamb at Everyday Genius.

Tania Hershman’s Burrowing Blind is featured at Metazen.

Don’t miss this poem by Ocean Vuong at The Nervous Breakdown.

In the December issue of Word Riot, work from Len Kuntz, Parker Tettleton, and Colin Winnette. Len also has a story up at Airplane Reading where he is joined by Alex Pruteanu.

At Juked, Elaine Castillo.

Karen Munro has something funny for us at The Rumpus.

We also have a new issue of The Collagist which includes Tracy Jeanne Rosenthal.

NAP 2.1 has words by Chad Redden, Michelle Reale, Megan Lamb, David Tomaloff, Emily O’Neill, and others.

Chloe Caldwell has an essay in Smith Magazine.

Dick Move, by Sarah Einstein, is live at Fringe.

Kathy Fish is the Writer in Residence for December at Necessary Fiction. She’s been up to some amazing things and has featured the work of great writers including many PANK contributors.

I read something at Forbes today because several of my friends on Facebook had linked the article. Here it is.

If I Were A Poor Black Kid.

The author, Gene Marks, describes himself as a “short, balding, and mediocre public accountant.”  He’s also White, gainfully employed, and miles away from childhood. Why would such a person imagine himself a poor Black kid? Furthermore, should he?

Allow me to go back a month when I assigned my composition students “process papers.” Essentially I asked them to either write a process explanation or a set of instructions for completing a specific task; however, before they could get to writing the actual instructions or providing any sort of explanation, they had to write how and why they were qualified to instruct thier audience in completing said task. I called it “establishing authority.” My students did a pretty good job of it, too, as most of them explained something they’d done several times over, often by trial and error, and had personal experience with.

I bring this up because Marks’ essay reads like a process explanation in which he imagines himself a poor Black child in America describing just how he’d create success for himself despite the odds.  For instance, he’d earn the best grades possible, use all the technology available to him, and became an expert at Google Scholar.

I don’t know about you, but any time I’m about to receive advice from someone I ask myself what qualifies this person to give me advice. The answer to this generally determines how “to-heart” I’ll take his or her advice not to mention whether or not I’ll silently send him or her to Hell. Everyone’s a fucking expert, right?

If Marks showed up in one of my writing classes and wanted to write this particular essay as a process explanation, I’d tell him what I told my other students. Establish your authority. What makes you qualified to offer advice to poor Black children? Apparently, here’s what makes him qualified.

“I am not a poor black kid.  I am a middle aged white guy who comes from a middle class white background.  So life was easier for me.  But that doesn’t mean that the prospects are impossible for those kids from the inner city.  It doesn’t mean that there are no opportunities for them.   Or that the 1% control the world and the rest of us have to fight over the scraps left behind.  I don’t believe that.  I believe that everyone in this country has a chance to succeed.  Still.  In 2011.  Even a poor black kid in West Philadelphia. It takes brains.  It takes hard work.  It takes a little luck.  And a little help from others.  It takes the ability and the know-how to use the resources that are available.  Like technology.  As a person who sells and has worked with technology all my life I also know this.”

Satisfied?

Sure, if you’re a middle-aged White guy.

Now, here’s the other question I’d ask Mr. Marks if he were my student: WHO? IS? YOUR? AUDIENCE?

Poor Black kids?  Doubt it.

First of all, imagine a poor Black kid coming across this article in the first place then feeling optimistic when he or she reads that paragraph up there. Marks hasn’t established anything at all with Black children except he hasn’t walked a mile, even a minute, in thier shoes. Mr. Marks isn’t writing to or for poor Black children. He’s writing to people who read Forbes Magazine, and who reads Forbes Magazine? Not me, for one, ever. Except the time all my Facebook friends linked this article.

If Marks has ever spent time with poor Black children in West Philadelphia he’d better say so. If he does or has ever lived in a poor Black neighborhood, even a poor one, he’d better say so. Furthermore, what sort of adversity, prejudice, bigotry, and hardships has Marks experienced in his own lifetime then overcome? This kind of information is imperative if you’re going to imagine yourself a poor Black kid in America.

Hell. It’s imperative if you’re going to write anything that smacks of emotional truth. (Yeah, that’s a fiction writing term, “emotional truth,” meaning if you’re going to write outside your gender, race, or sexual preference, generally your own life experience, you must identify just how and why you emotionally empathize with your character. For instance, I often write as young gay men, and I feel I write from an emotionally true place in those instances because I know what it’s like to live a double life, to hide parts of myself, to suppress parts of myself, to feel ashamed, to feel afraid, to feel thwarted. Not to mention I’m a bisexual man trapped in a woman’s body.)

Anyway. Here’s another question for Mr. Marks. Has he ever stepped foot inside an inner city school? I have. And you don’t talk to those kids like that. Jesus Christ.

I’m not saying a White guy can’t offer advice to poor Black children. I’m just saying he shouldn’t do so in a column for Forbes. But, as I’ve already suggested, Marks didn’t have a single real-live Black child in mind when he wrote his column. What he had in mind was his imaginary poor Black child self whom he spent all of ten seconds getting to know. What Marks had in his mind was President Obama’s speech in Kansas concerning inequality in America and how it’s “the defining issue of our time.” Yes, it’s an issue; it’s always been an issue; and now our Black president has said as much, and Marks appears to concur in his article. Sort of.

Equality is a problem in America, but if I were a poor Black kid it wouldn’t be a problem for me.

What a trooper. What an optimist. He’s got the inside track, that guy. After all, Gene Marks has written five books and is a contributing columnist for Forbes online. In other words, he’s a more successful writer than me if we’re sticking to number of books published. Also, Forbes is pretty high-profile, right? Likewise, I’m certain Marks earns more money than I do, “mediocre” or not.  He’s an accountant, and I’m currently an adjunct college professor who earns less than a grand a month.

That being said, six short months ago, my former boss laid me off and as a result I collected $468.00 a month in unemployment and fed my son by the good graces of food stamps. So I’ve improved my circumstance by $300.00 a month since August. Also, we’re no longer receiving food assistance. My wages plus child support put us $15.00 over the cut-off line for public assistance by September, which is sort of a mixed blessing, to tell you the truth,  because we’re literally squeaking by.  Squeaking.

Maybe Marks’ could apply his optimism to another article for Forbes next month. “If I Were A Poor White Single Mother.”

“I am not a poor white single mother.  I am a middle aged white guy. So life is easier for me.  For instance, I’m a man, and that’s a big advantage, not to mention I’m not a single father, but if I was I could still date and enjoy a social life because I could leave my kids with their mother on weekends or at least share parenting responsibilities with her. Not to mention women love single fathers. They’re sexy. Single mothers? Not so much. Baggage alert! Those women are just dying to get married in order to remedy thier financial straits and secure father figures for their bastard children. Which reminds me, I’m not a bastard child, but if I was . . .”

If you’ve ever read Lorrie Moore, you know she’s a genius in the tragicomic world of literary fiction. If you’ve never read Lorrie Moore, then you will have no idea what this post is about, and for this I’m sorry. But you should read Lorrie Moore, because her work is damn fine.

A Glass-Half-Full Kind Of Guy Reads Lorrie Moore
I just read a collection of stories by Lorrie Moore and, oh, they are so funny! Seriously! I mean, I kept hearing how I should read her short stories, but it was one of those things I kept putting off, like going to the podiatrist. But I finally did it, and I’m so happy I did! I told all my friends to read her work, especially Danny because he suffers from depression and he could use a good laugh. Thank you, Lorrie Moore, for always putting a smile on my face!

A Glass-Half-Empty Kind Of Guy Reads Lorrie Moore
I just read a collection of stories by Lorrie Moore and, oh, they are so tragic. Seriously. It’s so sad how her characters long for so much but obtain so little (if anything at all). Dreams always falling apart, reality always smacking its frigid hand across the face of a dreamer. Luckily, I can control my melancholy, but I would never recommend her work to someone suffering from deep depression, especially someone like my friend Danny.

A Glass-Completely-Empty Kind Of Guy Reads Lorrie Moore
I’m dying of thirst. Honestly, I can’t even think about reading right now, I’m so thirsty.

A Glass Reads Lorrie Moore
What’s a Lorrie Moore? I’m just a glass. I don’t know very much about the human world.

A Person Who Hates Exclamation Points Reads Lorrie Moore
Christ.

A Person Who Loves Exclamation Points Reads Lorrie Moore
I love her work! Oh, and get off your high horse, Person Who Hates Exclamation Points Reads Lorrie Moore. The exclamation points are being used satirically anyway, so just chill out. Jeesh.

A Person Who Hates Exclamation Points Reads Lorrie Moore
Why don’t you mind your own business, Person Who Loves Exclamation Points Reads Lorrie Moore. The day I use an exclamation point, satirically or otherwise, is the day I die.

A Person Who Loves Exclamation Points Reads Lorrie Moore
Oh, yeah. I bet I can make you use an exclamation point!

A Person Who Hates Exclamation Points Reads Lorrie Moore
Oh, yeah. Go ahead and try, asshole!

A Person Who Loves Exclamation Points Reads Lorrie Moore
Ha! I just did it! Looks like today’s the day you die.

A Person Who Hates Exclamation Points Reads Lorrie Moore
Whatever. It was just a figure of speech. I’m not really going to die today.

A Person Who Hates Figures Of Speech
Ugh.

A Glass Reads Lorrie Moore
What’s an exclamation point?

Danny Reads Lorrie Moore
Not much of a reader. Let me know when the movie comes out.

Patricia Lockwood has two poems in The Awl.

New magazine ILK has debuted and you will find Thomas Patrick Levy, MG Martin, Parker Tettleton, and Wendy Xu.

Kill Author 16 is up and running. Check out the excellent writing of Camonghne Felix, Christopher Citro, Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz, Janet Freeman, Melissa Goodrich, Mark Baumer,  RD Parker, Rose Hunter, and more.

Jen Michalski has writing in the Blue Lake Review.

Thrush, a new journal of poetry edited by Helen Vitoria, features Maureen Alsop, Amber Tamblyn, and Ocean Vuong. Helen also has a poem in THIS Literary Magazine and in the December issue of decomP.

Ravi Mangla’s Visiting Writers has been published by Uncanny Valley.

If you’ve ever had strange and dirty thoughts about your dishwasher, Chloe Caldwell has got you covered.

In the December issue of Hobart, excellent writing from Rachel Yoder and Gary McDowell.

The new issue of Glitter Pony includes Daniela Olszewska and Matthew Mahaney.

Alec Bryan has fiction in Metazen.

You will find writing by Robb Todd, xTx, and Peter Schwartz in Fiddleback.

Got a surly, hard-to-buy-for Litnerd in your life and them flipping holidays creeping up just around the corner? Four words for you, for you and your children, [PANK]‘s Saturnalian LitOrgy Basket. Just choose their t-shirt size, hit the buy now button, and you’ve given the gift of a glutonous [PANK] LitOrgy. Mull on that for a moment over your egg nog. Consider the $71 value! You know it’s the right thing to do. Requires assemblage and adult supervision. Offer expires December 16, 2011.

Look Inside This Jammy Pack!
1 copy of [PANK]5
1 IOU for a copy [PANK]6 (out in January 2012)
1 copy of Matthew Salesses’ Our Island of Epidemics
1 copy of Ethel Rohan’s Hard to Say
1 I *Heart* [PANK] Sticker
1 [PANK] Lapel Pin
1 [PANK] Typewriter Raven T-shirt

GET ONE

HARD TO SAY
Fiction by Ethel Rohan
PANK, September 2011
ISBN-13: 978-0-9824697-6-7
Paperback: 54pp; $6.50
Newpages Review by Michele Finkelstein

Hard to Say, recently published by PANK, contains a collection of short personal stories that will pluck at your heartstrings. Ethel Rohan, author of Cut Through the Bone and Dark Sky Books, executes the tone of youthful awkwardness with the perfect amount of bittersweet. The pangs of childhood tales and oddities resonate throughout the book, keeping the reader drawn until the finish.

Set in Dublin, Ireland, Rohan tells the story of a family’s hardships from the perspective of the eldest daughter. A mother’s depression and dwindling eyesight form the dark cloud within each setting and influence the story and temperament of her children. The trauma of such events causes the narrator to live silenced and mostly misunderstood. Rohan accomplishes a genuine childhood perspective of innocence and pairs it with graceful detailed language to provide a well-rounded snapshot depiction within every scene.

Even through the perspective of a child, Rohan achieves a complex character that leaves the reader intrigued. The story “Robbed” exemplifies this character’s inner struggle of self-expression. After witnessing a robbery the narrator reflects: “I worried they’d spotted me and would come after me to silence me. Not that they needed to come hush me. I wouldn’t identify them. I wasn’t a telltale. No, I’d keep it inside, I was swollen, bursting, with all I knew not to say.”

Similarly, in the story “Fresh from God,” Rohan sets the scene with extraordinary subtleties that allows the scene to breathe on its own. After a neighbor visits an exhausted mother whom recently birthed her sixth child, the narrator reflects, “I walked down the street hauling something huge and invisible behind me. Mrs. Dolan’s words, that our family was finished echoed inside my head. She’d spoken in kindness, but her words came at me again and again, bats in a cave.” Rohan’s ability to create emotive instances with simplistic language of a child’s perspective works wonderfully. Not only does the reader relate to the child, but one also is overwhelmed with empathy for her story.

Continuous themes of abuse, neglect, and mother figures permeate each chapter. Some may view this as an issue of redundancy. The conflicts may seem trite, each chapter holding similar problems, with different settings. However, the skepticism fades when it becomes evident that these stories gather to comprise a whole entity by the end. One that not only chronicles the life of the narrator, but gives the character a voice worth listening to.

Childhood is always an intriguing theme. It deepens the understanding of ourselves through the trials and struggles of the characters. The author’s last few stories provide us with a mature character with a voice and decision to leave her home. Without the support of her parents or siblings the final chapters reveal her own sense of self that is ready to be unleashed. This satisfies a truly great ending to such a painful tale: the narrator can at last separate herself from her past and start anew.