Young Bright Things

Adam Ford's Heroes and Civilians: A Review by Thomas DeMary

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heroescover2Novelty is relative. The newness of style, of language, in literature is wholly dependent on the reader’s exposure, limited or otherwise, to various texts. “If I haven’t seen it, it’s new to me,” so goes the mantra. While flash fiction isn’t a brand new form, it is still a rarity to see a flash fiction collection.

Heroes and Civilians by Adam Ford  is a swift read (forty-one pages), paced with a tempo which undulates between frenetic and saunter, briskly truncating the human condition with less-than-500-word vignettes, yet occasionally letting off the gas to allow a miniature story bloom into a larger work (still under 2000 words).

The stories are crafted with brevity in mind. Less room to write means less time to get to the point. Less time to let the language unfurl with a multisyllabic, metaphoric splay of carefully-chosen vernacular. With little dialogue, Ford achieves brevity with light, silly and entertaining narratives through Otherspace, monster attacks (which ruined first dates in the process) and an ode to a celebrated superhero from his lowly sidekick sibling.

Ford showcases an enjoyment of writing, allowing his imagination to roam free while the watchful eye of the craftsman, aware and wary of belaboring the point, chaperones the fantastic. Yet this is all conducted with literary aspirations in mind, as seen here in an excerpt of   “A Billion Tiny Lights,” told from the perspective of a spaceship suddenly self-aware:

When it happened it wasn’t like waking from a dream. It was like the dream had finally started. Ozone, steam and heat. That’s what I remember. Feeling heat for the first time. Not just monitoring it. Not just recording it. Feeling it. He told me he could tell that something had changed. Your control panel was warm, he said. Like the skin over someone’s heart.

Some of the stories come and go””the effect of brevity as opposed to poor storytelling. Compared individually, a few of Ford’s stories are filler, stop-gaps to the jewels of Heroes and Villains, such as “Exit The Raven,” the musings of a recently-retired superhero, and the title story, about a young man’s desire to meet the super-heroine of his dreams—and the lengths he’ll go to achieve this goal. Still, Ford delivers memorable characters and plots, amusing lines and otherworldly settings, all neatly packed into a volume as small as a poetry chapbook.

Flash fiction is a difficult form, demanding the elements of short stories within the page-space of poems. Adam Ford exudes a control of the flash form, as well as an adherence to the principles of fiction, in a way not seen before by this reviewer. Heroes and Villains is no masterwork, and sometimes falters by the very form it touts, but it nonetheless embodies the potential and possibility of flash fiction as a viable, powerful literary art form, doing so with imaginative, yet provocative prose that does its work with little clearing of the throat. It entertains. It conjures thought. It wastes no time.

Heroes and Civilians is available for free download.

—

Thomas DeMary currently hacks away at his prose somewhere in New Jersey. Follow him on Twitter @thomasdemary

Breeding and Writing: A peek into new territory

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–by Tracy Lucas

 

I was at my favorite regional book festival earlier this month, mingling and selling, and in the process got the chance to strike up conversations with authors from all over the country. Some I’d heard of, some I’d not, but all were interesting to chat with, of course.

I’ve actually been thinking about making a jump to kid-lit. Not instead of my small press work, mind you, but in addition to it. Call it a sideline, if you will.

Talking with folks who have successfully charted in YA waters, I realized quickly that none of my hard-wrought publication credits matter. I mean, sure, I can say that I’ve sold tons of work to someone who isn’t my mother and doesn’t have to like me. There’s that, and that helps.

But in juvenile book circles?   I have no pull. I know no one well. Nobody owes me favors, has read my work, or remembers meeting me at a workshop.

They don’t. They haven’t. They wouldn’t.

I’m a novice all over again.

There are things from my own experiences I can carry with me. I know how to darling-murder. I know that kids aren’t stupid and that writing down to them is. I know only a few books make it** and that it’s a brutal fight to the top, if you’re even given the chance with a big-name publisher, and that if the opportunity arises, you’ve got to handle it carefully. I know that you’re not supposed to say “psych” or “gnarly” anymore, or comprise entire novels based on ’80s rock star storylines.

(Okay, sorry. That last one was a joke. A bad one. I’m tired.)

I’ve been reading a lot of YA lately, mostly due to time constraints, and I’m finding that there’s a lot to dig into. Middle-grade novels are actually pretty cool, if you’re open-minded and want to give them a go, and many of them have harder and more potent topics than the adult novels I’ve seen on the trade paperback shelves the last few years. Seriously. Wringer? Among the Hidden? The Giver? Amazing, tough stuff. All of it.

It’s all the heart, packed into a tighter package. It’s tense.

I want in.

Still, setting out for a new destination brings new challenges, some which I’m sure I can’t even see coming right now. Are there new boundaries?   New pitfalls? Crazy barriers to the millions of dollars I’d like to make?

Probably.

There always are.

I’m going to try it anyway, soon as there’s time.

After the projects I’m working on now are wrapped up and spiffy, I’m going to throw a little children’s literature into the mix. No idea how I’ll market it, where I’ll send it, nor who will buy it—but wandering around in something new is half the adventure, isn’t it?

Besides, my kids are only gonna love me if I manage to get famous writing stuff their friends have actually heard of. None of them are impressed by my editing a literary journal or running a freelance business.

When have you blatantly switched (or as in my case, added) publishing gears?   Has it worked out?

.

** (Incidentally, is anyone else who followed that link more than a little weirded out that Catcher in the Rye is A) listed as a kidsӉ㢠book and B) only six slots higher than a Berenstain Bears book from 1974?)

Kickstart Pop Serial #2

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Stephen Dierks has aunched a Kickstarter to fund Issue 2 of Pop Serial, a new, truly exciting magazine out of Chicago. He is trying to raise $1,000 or more in 21 days. The first 100 people to donate $10 or more are guaranteed a copy of this limited-edition magazine. The Kickstarter essentially functions as a pre-order—in, win!

The line-up of writers includes: Tao Lin, Noah Cicero, Sam Pink, Heather Christle, Daniel Bailey, Brandi Wells, Ben Brooks, Prathna Lor, Kendra Grant Malone, Matthew Savoca, Brandon Scott Gorrell, Audun Mortensen, Frank Hinton, Ana C., Jordan Castro, Cassandra Troyan, Cody Troyan, Miles Ross, David Fishkind, Brittany Wallace, Andrew James Weatherhead, Carrie Lorig, Feng Sun Chen, Megan Boyle, Brett Gallagher, Steve Roggenbuck.

For more about Pop Serial, please visit their website.

Don't Be Frightened, These Are Only Words, Words For You

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Our Queer Issue, edited by Tim Jones-Yelvington, is live. Check it out.

Karamaneh by James Tadd Adcox appears at Metazen.

Check out Octopus #14 where you will find Molly Gaudry and other lovely poets. Molly is also interviewed at Fringe Magazine.

Sheeldon Lee Compton has a story at Dog Eat Crow.

The October issue of The Collagist includes writing from Mary Hamilton (who also has a story up at Everyday Genius), and reviews by Mike Meginnis and JA Tyler.

Enjoy two stories from Ethel Rohan up now at Guernica. She also has a story, Illustrated Girl,  in Fringe Magazine.

Desmond Kon has four poems in Wag’s Revue.

The September issue of Word Riot includes Lisa Aldin, Lacey Martinez, Christina Murphy, Annam Manthiram, Eric Burke, Feng Sun Chen, Kenneth P. Gurney, Corey Mesler, and so much more. Eric also has a poem in qarrtsiluni.

At Metazen, two fictions from Peter Schwartz and an interview.

Issue 25 of La Petite Zine, “Freaky Freeze,” has poetry from JA Tyler and others.

In Short, Fast, and Deadly, you can find writing from Chloe Caldwell.

Brian Oliu is keeping busy with a piece in the Curiosity Quarterly. Brian also has work in Caketrain 8 where he is joined by Blake Butler, Nick Ripatrazone, J.A. Tyler,  Corey Zeller and many others. Pre-order this gorgeous looking issue as soon as you can.

The October 2010 issue of Storyglossia includes Donna Vitucci and Brad Green.

Some new flash fictions have been posted at DOGZPLOT including Alexandra Isacson, David Peak, and others.

Joe Wilkins has two poems in the latest issue of Cave Wall. He is joined by Jillian Weise and others.

Check out a great interview with Paula Bomer at Publisher’s Weekly.

Fiction from J. Bradley is up at A-Minor.

Prime Number Magazine’s new issue includes Anne Leigh Parrish, Nick Ripatrazone, and more fine writers.

Steve Himmer’s Boatmen is up at Wigleaf.

At Necessary Fiction, a story from Bonnie ZoBell.

Everyday Genius. MAN! So good this month and they published Elaine Castillo, a contributor to our October issue.

Tania Hershman writes of The Family at Metazen.

Don’t Be Frightened, These Are Only Words, Words For You

Posted on by

Our Queer Issue, edited by Tim Jones-Yelvington, is live. Check it out.

Karamaneh by James Tadd Adcox appears at Metazen.

Check out Octopus #14 where you will find Molly Gaudry and other lovely poets. Molly is also interviewed at Fringe Magazine.

Sheeldon Lee Compton has a story at Dog Eat Crow.

The October issue of The Collagist includes writing from Mary Hamilton (who also has a story up at Everyday Genius), and reviews by Mike Meginnis and JA Tyler.

Enjoy two stories from Ethel Rohan up now at Guernica. She also has a story, Illustrated Girl,  in Fringe Magazine.

Desmond Kon has four poems in Wag’s Revue.

The September issue of Word Riot includes Lisa Aldin, Lacey Martinez, Christina Murphy, Annam Manthiram, Eric Burke, Feng Sun Chen, Kenneth P. Gurney, Corey Mesler, and so much more. Eric also has a poem in qarrtsiluni.

At Metazen, two fictions from Peter Schwartz and an interview.

Issue 25 of La Petite Zine, “Freaky Freeze,” has poetry from JA Tyler and others.

In Short, Fast, and Deadly, you can find writing from Chloe Caldwell.

Brian Oliu is keeping busy with a piece in the Curiosity Quarterly. Brian also has work in Caketrain 8 where he is joined by Blake Butler, Nick Ripatrazone, J.A. Tyler,  Corey Zeller and many others. Pre-order this gorgeous looking issue as soon as you can.

The October 2010 issue of Storyglossia includes Donna Vitucci and Brad Green.

Some new flash fictions have been posted at DOGZPLOT including Alexandra Isacson, David Peak, and others.

Joe Wilkins has two poems in the latest issue of Cave Wall. He is joined by Jillian Weise and others.

Check out a great interview with Paula Bomer at Publisher’s Weekly.

Fiction from J. Bradley is up at A-Minor.

Prime Number Magazine’s new issue includes Anne Leigh Parrish, Nick Ripatrazone, and more fine writers.

Steve Himmer’s Boatmen is up at Wigleaf.

At Necessary Fiction, a story from Bonnie ZoBell.

Everyday Genius. MAN! So good this month and they published Elaine Castillo, a contributor to our October issue.

Tania Hershman writes of The Family at Metazen.

Ben Spivey's Flowing in the Gossamer Fold: A Review by Melissa Chichester

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spivey_flowing“The walls felt colder, and I sat shoulder to shoulder with the world.” Get ready, because  it’s a tight squeeze. While reading Ben Spivey’s Flowing in the Gossamer Fold, be prepared to enter the vortex that is Malcolm Blackburn. Wait, scratch that. Be prepared  to be Malcolm Blackburn, a motivational speaker, left dejected by his ex-wife as she kicks him in the teeth one last time by giving him a separation gift: a bag of orange  pubic hair. If you were left with a bag of pubic hair, your life might spiral into a majestic  pity party too. Right away, we know this isn’t a traditional life, but then again what is?  Flowing in the Gossamer Fold gives us the freedom to explore the layer of mental tissue that inhabit all of us, some of which we are too afraid to admit is there.

Reading like a long prose poem, Spivey weaves in and out between the abstract fluids of Blackburn’s stream of consciousness while seamlessly touching back to the grim  reality of his lonely life. This is 164 pages that feels like ten minutes and forty years all  at the same time. In our first steps through Malcolm Blackburn’s life, we see an  everyman, a regular person doing his job so meticulously, that he has mentally recorded  that this is his 289th motivational speech. With the speech follows a very public  breakdown in front of his faithful audience, and a spiral seemingly made to digest the  reader and regurgitate over and over again through a complex relationship with self, a  sparrow of an ex (otherwise known as Claire), and shape shifting mannequins.

“You can’t leave, the sparrow squawked. Where will you go?” Where Blackburn goes is bungee jumping into the maze of his own emotional intestines, which prove to be  quicksand. Malcolm Blackburn continues to be pricked by the sword, paying the price of  being human as he navigates through the sticky aftermath of divorce. He jumps on the  bicycle of regret and remorse, pedaling backward to find warmth and comfort with his  dead mother (swimming in the ocean, never to return), all while speeding forward to a  leaner shape, a beard full of bird nests, and a retreat from society with the exception of  Guy, a friendly top hat wearing, chess paying neighbor. Still, with Guy’s social arm  extended, Blackburn travels with swift, progressive destruction as he is tortured by the  words of the sparrow; the words of his ex-wife.

It is difficult to figure out where to shelve these thoughts, while bathing in “dream’s milk”, as Blackburn drifts through life, intently drawing lines through the loss of family and the  inability to create one. The descriptions are raw; the natural childbirth of a man’s crisis.  When he declares to have “unfinished business with the rest of the world”, readers will  cheer for Malcolm Blackburn, for he is always racing in circles with the space between  root and dust. “Static. I am you.” Aren’t we all?

—

Melissa Chichester writes in rural Michigan, surrounded by three dogs, three cats, and her fantastic husband.

Ben Spivey’s Flowing in the Gossamer Fold: A Review by Melissa Chichester

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spivey_flowing“The walls felt colder, and I sat shoulder to shoulder with the world.” Get ready, because  it’s a tight squeeze. While reading Ben Spivey’s Flowing in the Gossamer Fold, be prepared to enter the vortex that is Malcolm Blackburn. Wait, scratch that. Be prepared  to be Malcolm Blackburn, a motivational speaker, left dejected by his ex-wife as she kicks him in the teeth one last time by giving him a separation gift: a bag of orange  pubic hair. If you were left with a bag of pubic hair, your life might spiral into a majestic  pity party too. Right away, we know this isn’t a traditional life, but then again what is?  Flowing in the Gossamer Fold gives us the freedom to explore the layer of mental tissue that inhabit all of us, some of which we are too afraid to admit is there.

Reading like a long prose poem, Spivey weaves in and out between the abstract fluids of Blackburn’s stream of consciousness while seamlessly touching back to the grim  reality of his lonely life. This is 164 pages that feels like ten minutes and forty years all  at the same time. In our first steps through Malcolm Blackburn’s life, we see an  everyman, a regular person doing his job so meticulously, that he has mentally recorded  that this is his 289th motivational speech. With the speech follows a very public  breakdown in front of his faithful audience, and a spiral seemingly made to digest the  reader and regurgitate over and over again through a complex relationship with self, a  sparrow of an ex (otherwise known as Claire), and shape shifting mannequins.

“You can’t leave, the sparrow squawked. Where will you go?” Where Blackburn goes is bungee jumping into the maze of his own emotional intestines, which prove to be  quicksand. Malcolm Blackburn continues to be pricked by the sword, paying the price of  being human as he navigates through the sticky aftermath of divorce. He jumps on the  bicycle of regret and remorse, pedaling backward to find warmth and comfort with his  dead mother (swimming in the ocean, never to return), all while speeding forward to a  leaner shape, a beard full of bird nests, and a retreat from society with the exception of  Guy, a friendly top hat wearing, chess paying neighbor. Still, with Guy’s social arm  extended, Blackburn travels with swift, progressive destruction as he is tortured by the  words of the sparrow; the words of his ex-wife.

It is difficult to figure out where to shelve these thoughts, while bathing in “dream’s milk”, as Blackburn drifts through life, intently drawing lines through the loss of family and the  inability to create one. The descriptions are raw; the natural childbirth of a man’s crisis.  When he declares to have “unfinished business with the rest of the world”, readers will  cheer for Malcolm Blackburn, for he is always racing in circles with the space between  root and dust. “Static. I am you.” Aren’t we all?

—

Melissa Chichester writes in rural Michigan, surrounded by three dogs, three cats, and her fantastic husband.

J. A. Tyler interviews J. A. Tyler: A Re-Review of Stephanie Barber's Re-Release of These Here Separated to See How They Standing Alone Or the Soundtracks of Six Films

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JAT: When did your original review of Stephanie Barber’s These Here Separated— appear in Mud Luscious?

JAT: Issue six. It went online January 2009.

JAT: And this was part of your full-press review of Publishing Genius Press right?

JAT: Right.

JAT: So why have you chosen to re-review this particular text?

JAT: Publishing Genius Press has just released their second edition of Barber’s book, with fantastic new cover art and a re-mastered DVD. Plus, both their re-publication and my review are a bit of paying homage to the beginnings of a press that has come quite a long way in a pretty short time.

JAT: We don’t have to talk about Light Boxes again do we?

JAT: No.

JAT: Good. I mean, come on, dead horse and all.

JAT: I totally understand…it was a good book though.

JAT: Sure, sure. Absolutely. Just–

JAT: –no. I totally get it. No need to explain–

JAT: –good.  So, you’ve read Barber’s book at least twice now—what is different this time around?

JAT: The cover is the most apparent change, and it is enormously different and much much better in my opinion. I love the work that Publishing Genius puts out—

JAT: –You did say this was a kind of homage—

JAT: –Right right. And it is in a way. And this cover is a good way to highlight that. It is the first Publishing Genius book to use endpapers—

JAT: –to clarify for folks who don’t know, that is a different colored paper that appears between the

JAT: –between the cover and the start of the book and between the end of the book and the back cover–

JAT: –beautiful.

JAT: Yes. And this one is bright lime green and matches the titling perfectly. And it is these kind of small touches that make me appreciate Publishing Genius even more every time I engage with a new title. Not that everything should be relegated to aesthetics, but this is something that I think indie presses can often do even better than larger houses, and Publishing Genius does it right on this book for sure.

JAT: Nice. So the new cover is beautiful, but what about the interior. Are there changes to the original?

JAT: None that I can see, none that seem overt or large. Maybe some minor tweaks in typography or some small line-edits, but I am really happy about that because I think the original text was solid and just perhaps needed a new skin in order to appeal to more readers / viewers.

JAT: Can you give us an idea of some good text within These Here Separated—?

JAT: Sure. How about this from “The Inversion, Transcription, Evening Track and Attractor”: Well, we are not sitting on chairs in the middle of the ocean with prosaic fingers ticking time. / Computer tomography scanners and radio telescopes. / A chemical affixed to paper or metal whose properties are changed upon encountering light. Or the utilization of a sensor array like Bayer’s and like so many tiny pools catching and storing light. / Sometimes we look at a photograph to see if something is actual (happened).

JAT: Interesting. And is this passage indicative of the style / vibe of the entire book?

JAT: In a way, yes, in that it is interestingly written, uses a fluid mixture of technical-sided language and yet straight-text. But in another way, no, in that all six texts here are very distinct and vibrant in their own bodies. Some are more poetic, some more ethereal, and some are curt dialogues between characters. Like this from “The Play”: SP: When the show was over we folded up our expectations of greatness. / BP: Yes, carefully—I remember watching you dwell so lovingly on the creases of theatrical emancipation. / SP: Yes, that was a sorrowful packaging. / BP: I’m the sort of person who needs order in my life. / SP: Well, so am I—why do you always assume I thrive on chaos?

JAT: Ah. Also nice. And dialogues. I see. So that is what you are getting at here.

JAT: In part, yes. Guilty.

JAT: Not a very clever guise.

JAT: I know. Sorry about that. I feel a little bad.

JAT: Don’t feel bad. It happens sometimes.

JAT: Sorry anyway, really. But These here Separated—is an interesting book and I think Adam Robinson has done the right moves in bringing this book out of print and back to life.

JAT: Dr. Frankenstein.

JAT: A bit, yes.

JAT: Halloween and all–

JAT: –right, right–

JAT: –sorry–

JAT: –don’t worry about it—

JAT: So there is a new cover and the text is good. Anything else?

JAT: Yes—the DVD. Six films that accompany the texts. Six films that are very artistic, frail in their maneuverability but thick in their endeavors and a really dynamic way for readers to begin having a conversation with Barber’s book. You read it and then you watch the DVD and re-read it as you listen / look. Or you pop the DVD in and you let it read the book to you, while you skim the pages. Or you watch the DVD without reading the book and then read the book later. There are a variety of ways to go about These here Separated— and that conversational push is really what I wanted to talk about here.

JAT: Back to the dialogue again huh?

JAT: Jesus, yes. But come on, I mean it makes sense.

JAT: No, no, I get it, it’s just–

JAT: –a ploy. True.

JAT: But so long as we’re getting Barber’s book talked about–

JAT: –touche–

JAT: –but really, is your review of These Here Separated— any different now from what you said about it in that 2009 issue of Mud Luscious, where you said that—though the pseudo-plays are a good show of wit and wordplay, they also tend to minimize the intensity of Stephanie Barber’s writing, pretending triviality or lightness when in fact her style gravitates more often to bustling and intricate fiction. Thankfully, these interruptions of prose are frequent enough to confirm the complexity and innovation of her word choice and phrasing—

JAT: I still hold to that, though on this reading I found myself seeing less triviality and more artistic haunts in her writing, which is perhaps what has drawn me back to this book again. But yes, the “bustling” and “intricate” descriptors are still absolutely correct in my opinion.

JAT: If we cannot trust ourselves, right?

JAT: Absolutely.

JAT: And if people want to check out more on this book?

JAT: Right here.

JAT: Thanks J. A. It was nice to talk with you. We haven’t talked in awhile.

JAT: Agreed. We should do coffee.

JAT: I’ll text you.

JAT: Okay.

J. A. Tyler interviews J. A. Tyler: A Re-Review of Stephanie Barber’s Re-Release of These Here Separated to See How They Standing Alone Or the Soundtracks of Six Films

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JAT: When did your original review of Stephanie Barber’s These Here Separated— appear in Mud Luscious?

JAT: Issue six. It went online January 2009.

JAT: And this was part of your full-press review of Publishing Genius Press right?

JAT: Right.

JAT: So why have you chosen to re-review this particular text?

JAT: Publishing Genius Press has just released their second edition of Barber’s book, with fantastic new cover art and a re-mastered DVD. Plus, both their re-publication and my review are a bit of paying homage to the beginnings of a press that has come quite a long way in a pretty short time.

JAT: We don’t have to talk about Light Boxes again do we?

JAT: No.

JAT: Good. I mean, come on, dead horse and all.

JAT: I totally understand…it was a good book though.

JAT: Sure, sure. Absolutely. Just–

JAT: –no. I totally get it. No need to explain–

JAT: –good.  So, you’ve read Barber’s book at least twice now—what is different this time around?

JAT: The cover is the most apparent change, and it is enormously different and much much better in my opinion. I love the work that Publishing Genius puts out—

JAT: –You did say this was a kind of homage—

JAT: –Right right. And it is in a way. And this cover is a good way to highlight that. It is the first Publishing Genius book to use endpapers—

JAT: –to clarify for folks who don’t know, that is a different colored paper that appears between the

JAT: –between the cover and the start of the book and between the end of the book and the back cover–

JAT: –beautiful.

JAT: Yes. And this one is bright lime green and matches the titling perfectly. And it is these kind of small touches that make me appreciate Publishing Genius even more every time I engage with a new title. Not that everything should be relegated to aesthetics, but this is something that I think indie presses can often do even better than larger houses, and Publishing Genius does it right on this book for sure.

JAT: Nice. So the new cover is beautiful, but what about the interior. Are there changes to the original?

JAT: None that I can see, none that seem overt or large. Maybe some minor tweaks in typography or some small line-edits, but I am really happy about that because I think the original text was solid and just perhaps needed a new skin in order to appeal to more readers / viewers.

JAT: Can you give us an idea of some good text within These Here Separated—?

JAT: Sure. How about this from “The Inversion, Transcription, Evening Track and Attractor”: Well, we are not sitting on chairs in the middle of the ocean with prosaic fingers ticking time. / Computer tomography scanners and radio telescopes. / A chemical affixed to paper or metal whose properties are changed upon encountering light. Or the utilization of a sensor array like Bayer’s and like so many tiny pools catching and storing light. / Sometimes we look at a photograph to see if something is actual (happened).

JAT: Interesting. And is this passage indicative of the style / vibe of the entire book?

JAT: In a way, yes, in that it is interestingly written, uses a fluid mixture of technical-sided language and yet straight-text. But in another way, no, in that all six texts here are very distinct and vibrant in their own bodies. Some are more poetic, some more ethereal, and some are curt dialogues between characters. Like this from “The Play”: SP: When the show was over we folded up our expectations of greatness. / BP: Yes, carefully—I remember watching you dwell so lovingly on the creases of theatrical emancipation. / SP: Yes, that was a sorrowful packaging. / BP: I’m the sort of person who needs order in my life. / SP: Well, so am I—why do you always assume I thrive on chaos?

JAT: Ah. Also nice. And dialogues. I see. So that is what you are getting at here.

JAT: In part, yes. Guilty.

JAT: Not a very clever guise.

JAT: I know. Sorry about that. I feel a little bad.

JAT: Don’t feel bad. It happens sometimes.

JAT: Sorry anyway, really. But These here Separated—is an interesting book and I think Adam Robinson has done the right moves in bringing this book out of print and back to life.

JAT: Dr. Frankenstein.

JAT: A bit, yes.

JAT: Halloween and all–

JAT: –right, right–

JAT: –sorry–

JAT: –don’t worry about it—

JAT: So there is a new cover and the text is good. Anything else?

JAT: Yes—the DVD. Six films that accompany the texts. Six films that are very artistic, frail in their maneuverability but thick in their endeavors and a really dynamic way for readers to begin having a conversation with Barber’s book. You read it and then you watch the DVD and re-read it as you listen / look. Or you pop the DVD in and you let it read the book to you, while you skim the pages. Or you watch the DVD without reading the book and then read the book later. There are a variety of ways to go about These here Separated— and that conversational push is really what I wanted to talk about here.

JAT: Back to the dialogue again huh?

JAT: Jesus, yes. But come on, I mean it makes sense.

JAT: No, no, I get it, it’s just–

JAT: –a ploy. True.

JAT: But so long as we’re getting Barber’s book talked about–

JAT: –touche–

JAT: –but really, is your review of These Here Separated— any different now from what you said about it in that 2009 issue of Mud Luscious, where you said that—though the pseudo-plays are a good show of wit and wordplay, they also tend to minimize the intensity of Stephanie Barber’s writing, pretending triviality or lightness when in fact her style gravitates more often to bustling and intricate fiction. Thankfully, these interruptions of prose are frequent enough to confirm the complexity and innovation of her word choice and phrasing—

JAT: I still hold to that, though on this reading I found myself seeing less triviality and more artistic haunts in her writing, which is perhaps what has drawn me back to this book again. But yes, the “bustling” and “intricate” descriptors are still absolutely correct in my opinion.

JAT: If we cannot trust ourselves, right?

JAT: Absolutely.

JAT: And if people want to check out more on this book?

JAT: Right here.

JAT: Thanks J. A. It was nice to talk with you. We haven’t talked in awhile.

JAT: Agreed. We should do coffee.

JAT: I’ll text you.

JAT: Okay.

The Queer Issue is Here and… Queer

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Several months ago, I forget quite when, we thought it would be a good idea to publish a guest-edited issue of queer writing and there was only one man for the job, Tim Jones-Yelvington, who has assembled a truly unique collection of words that spans the spectrum of queer in ways we could have never imagined. Both Matt and I want to thank Tim for the immense amount of time and effort he put into curating this issue. I normally hate when the term curating is used in reference to editing but here that is truly the case. The  word curate actually comes from the Latin cura, the spiritual charge of souls, and that seems fitting too.

We have, more than once, been asked, “Why a queer issue?” We don’t have a profound answer to that question. My first response has always been, “Why not?” It is not that we are trying to create a “pink ghetto” for queer writing once a year. PANK is always open to queer writing but we also thought it would be interesting to have an issue where the sole focus was on queer writing.

Oftentimes, when you sit down to read a given issue of a magazine, you know you’re going to recognize a good percentage of the writers involved. That wasn’t the case here. As we looked over the work Tim selected for us, we were particularly excited to see so many names we simply didn’t recognize, writers who are new to us.

This issue includes work from: Crystal Boson,  Mike Buffalo,  Doug Paul Case,  Elaine Castillo,  Abhishek Chaudhary,  Dennis Cooper,  Sarah Einstein,  Ben Engel,  Holly Jensen,  Adam Jest,  Tim Jones-Yelvington,  M. Kitchell,  Rickey Laurentiis,  Paul Lomax,  Dennis Mahagin,  Robert McDonald,  Christopher Phelps,  Sofia Rhei transl. by Lawrence Schimel,  Maureen Seaton,  Kevin Simmonds,  Rachel Swirsky,  Simon Sylvester,  Andrew Tibbetts,  Julie Marie Wade,  Robert Warwick,  Robert Alan Wendeborn, and  B.G. Will.

In his introduction to this issue, Tim writes, “Queer picks at “normal” like a scab, then eats it. Queer negates labels or else queer embraces many labels. Queer asks what the fuck is a label anyway.”

You’re going to read poems and stories and essays and work that defies labeling. All of it, however, tears away at scabs, eats them, savors the taste.