The endless room for creativity in fiction makes it difficult to bind it to a definitive set of rules.
It's really important to have this kind of representation for our culture, because there's not a lot of it out there.
What if Circe could tell her own version of the story? Madeline Miller explores this possibility within her novel Circe: a story that transcends just a simple rewriting of The Odyssey.
As I’ve gotten older, busier, and generally more stressed, I’ve noticed something sad about myself: I seldom read for fun anymore. When I was a growing up in the truly riveting hubbub of Morro Bay, California I would make a conscious effort to sit myself down and read a gosh darn novel or even just … Continue reading Finding Time to Read for Fun
Oh what soft sweet merriment That carries with it such a beauteous glint In the hearts of all those who feel its wonder To cross their paths to make them ponder On the love that dwells In their souls as deep as wishing wells Upon silken soft delight Oh these creatures of the light! Reflected … Continue reading Artwork: Baby Birds
Teachers always told me to write like Hemingway. With that lesson in mind, I feel the need to preface what follows: I apologize for, amongst other things, my long-windedness, loquacious garrulousness, bombastic verbosity, rambling blabbiness, general predisposition towards being voluble, and distaste of the laconic and brusque. Chiefly, I apologize for possessing a thesaurus. One eleventh … Continue reading On Brevity, in Writing
A pop, a rattle and a shake. I hear the all too familiar sounds. Pop, rattle and shake She’s attempting it again. Pop, rattle and shake. Another bottle. Week after week it is the same routine: break-up, get back together and break-up again. I run to the usual location, the bedroom closet, hoping it’s not … Continue reading Short Story: Attempts
The trees are wet. Joey can see this through the small window of his room. For hours he has been roving, mentally, across the moist pavement and stilled cars outside. The sun is rising now, dragging itself out of its bed of clouds; soon its malignant rays will be creeping up his wrinkled sheets. Picture … Continue reading Short Story Excerpt: Harper
Ritsa watched the witches gather. The yew forest behind the hills bordered an absurd shade of green and were scattered with wildflower growths from the spring, which trilled with laughter in the warm dusk breeze. In a small valley within it there was dirt—a great brown clearing of soft decay that felt the absence of … Continue reading Short Story: The Beltane Fire
While it’s easy to forget stories, their details, characters, and perhaps even the imagery so painstakingly created for the page, it’s unnervingly difficult to forget the impression it leaves upon you. Cold, slippery, and often creeping into your thoughts long after the story itself has been filed away and stored in memory, old emotions from … Continue reading Artwork: Whose woods these are I think I know…