A breeze blows through the window in the middle of the summer night. Jean-Michel, lying awake beside Brigitte, raises both hands, feels the air against his palms, closes his fingers into fists.
Every other Sunday night, dad manned the rudder while we rowed the one-eighth replica Viking ship east across the bay.
I meet my boss for lunch at Kaya Sushi House in Mar Vista. It’s not quite Venice Beach and not quite Culver City either, somewhere in between the two. I’m in a plaid skirt and a grey muscle tee with my leather jacket. I’m trying out the badass LA look, which I feel confident enough today to pull off.
Place built THE CONCRETE and the characters in it. The southeast side of Grand Rapids is the biggest villain in the book. It’s an area of drugs and violence, a place one must survive. While revising I was constantly looking for ways to use language to make it come alive …
Literary movements spark and evolve, ebb and flow together without ever warning the writer. By the time one knows what is new, all too often that new has already become old. Yet there is a sentiment emerging now, wondering aloud—though still quietly—
Personally, I blame the internet.
No peppermint candy filled stockings or pine scented candles to mask the smell of her mother’s Marlboro Lights. Boys crept into her window and fondled her pubis, twisted her tits.
In less than a second your entire head could explode and just about every thought or feeling you had would be rendered almost completely insignificant. Your skull’s circumference, just a broom sweep of ashes.
ONCE UPON A TIME, in the heady days of economic collapse, a number of French malcontents got together, christened themselves the Invisible Committee and wrote, ‘It is useless to wait – for a breakthrough, for the revolution, the nuclear apocalypse or a social movement. To go on waiting is madness. The catastrophe is not coming, it is here. We are already situated within the collapse of a civilisation. It is within this reality that we must choose sides.’