So honored that my story, "I'm Such a Slut and I Don't Give a Fuck," has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize by Smokelong. Congrats also to Tamara Schuyler, Raul Palma, Andrew Mitchell, Gwen E. Kirby, and Geoff Kronik! Crossing my fingers for everybody!
PS, you can read my story here.
Showing posts with label I'm Such a Slut and I Don't Give Fuck. Show all posts
Showing posts with label I'm Such a Slut and I Don't Give Fuck. Show all posts
Saturday, November 18, 2017
Friday, August 11, 2017
New Fiction at Smokelong
Thrilled that guest editor Sequoia Nagamatsu chose my story "I'm Such a Slut and I Dont' Give a Fuck" for publication this week at Smokelong:
...when it was all stoopid and fun, you were so high, just writing songs for each other. You and your girlfriends taped it on your boyfriend’s four-track so you could play it again later, for a laugh. You had ne’er a thought about the things that would come to define you.
I had been thinking a lot about how for musicians (and often writers, too) may write a song or an album or a novel of ill repute that really connects to a particular group of people during a particular time, and while the musician or novelist continues to grow and over time try to distance herself from it, successive generations of listeners and readers connect with the piece, and in a way, the artist is sort of frozen in carbonite like Han Solo, never allowed to break away from that creation, never able to grow, always tethered to their "opus and curse." Or, if you're the Rolling Stones, you don't give a fuck.
You can find the story at Smokelong here.
...when it was all stoopid and fun, you were so high, just writing songs for each other. You and your girlfriends taped it on your boyfriend’s four-track so you could play it again later, for a laugh. You had ne’er a thought about the things that would come to define you.
I had been thinking a lot about how for musicians (and often writers, too) may write a song or an album or a novel of ill repute that really connects to a particular group of people during a particular time, and while the musician or novelist continues to grow and over time try to distance herself from it, successive generations of listeners and readers connect with the piece, and in a way, the artist is sort of frozen in carbonite like Han Solo, never allowed to break away from that creation, never able to grow, always tethered to their "opus and curse." Or, if you're the Rolling Stones, you don't give a fuck.
You can find the story at Smokelong here.
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