…And With These Hats We Shall Fly (Extra Superspecial Review of Zee Bee & Bee)

(This review removed to make way for its forthcoming iteration in PANK. The section headings and photos remain, as artifacts, for posterity.)

1. "Shiver Moments"

2. "Thbbtpthbb" 

3. "DJK is Lorelai Fucking Gilmore of the Zombies"

We Are Trying to Fix Ourselves

In the week and a half since I last wrote, my good place was thwarted (as per norm) and I turned twenty-one. As of right now, as of this moment, I am wondering how vigorously one would have to scrub one’s face to make all of his recognizable features disappear. But I am actually sitting in the campus coffee shop instead and writing this blog post. Huh. INTERESTING.

OC Press is trying to hype themselves and their authors, right now by giving away free PDF copies of Five Days to basically anyone who visits their website. All you have to do is click the pop-up and put in your email address, and then boom, erotic novella, yours. At the absolute best price. Huh. INTERESTING MARKETING. Take one, I guess? While you can.

It looks like I’ll have a small piece in the online spring edition of Bluestem Magazine, so, super-psyched about that.

I recently had a break from school during which I recorded the audio for two of my upcoming stories, and it was really cool to do. My personal vow is to go and do some kind of reading at AWP next year, or just do a reading somewhere period. I’m getting there.

On Monday I angst-ordered a bunch of books, including Tiny Hardcore's Shut Up/Look Pretty and The Fullness of Everything, Ayiti, and Steve Roggenbuck's Crunk Juice. Cheers.

Issue Twenty-Two of the Safety Pin Review.

Flea Circus

Exciting news in the land of editorial! It’s official: I am now the Flash Fiction Editor of Flywheel Magazine. This is such an exciting honor, I can’t tell you. Not only because of the incredible quality of work they’ve published in just two issues, or that someone other than myself believes in my editorial skillz (spelled with a ‘z’ or not at all), but because it’s run by David James Keaton, whose writing mania I’ve been infected with ever since he sent in what turned out to be the Safety Pin Review’s sixth issue back in September.

David was one of the very first hands on deck with the SPR, and following him around has introduced me to dark corners of alternative lit that I’d previously been totally ignorant of. Plus, he’s seen basically every movie on the planet, which, I mean, come on. How can you not want a bossman with those creds? In any case, see me on the staff page, doing my best cthulhu impression.

Also, it was reported by David James Keaton last night that the Flywheel Twitter feed has gained sentience and is rampaging around the interwebs. See if you can help tether this beast by adding yourself as a follower. Bring yer harnesses.

In other news, J. Bradley makes his second contribution to the Safety Pin Review in its twenty-first issue, currently double-teaming around New York on the backs of Jack Cazir and @NoSexCity. Go look now at the Action Shots from last week’s issue, just to see some evidence of a solitarily awe-inspiring Valentine’s Day.

Speaking of which, Jack Cazir has crafted another great (and strangely optimistic) Thought Catalog piece, “104 Ways to Break the Ice,” to which I contributed two lines. You might be able to pick out which ones are mine, but only if you know me in person (or are just really perceptive). Yes. You.

I am in a pretty good place right now.

Tiny Fucking Hearts

There’s a Valentine’s Day sale at OC Press all throughout this week. 50% off all of their books, including our novella. All you have to do is enter "7DaysValentines" at checkout to apply the discount. And look, here’s a link: BUY THIS HOT STUFF RIGHT HERE.

If you’ve been procrastinating, now is the chance to buy. $0.99. Less than the price of an iTunes song. One mediocre song, or an entire erotic novella, written by two people with very tall mohawks. I know which I’d choose.

I get little slivers of royalties, too, so if you like my writing, this is one way of showing it. Get it and then send it to someone you have a crush on. There’s so much sex they won’t know what to think. SO MUCH.

We have peculiar ways of putting ourselves out into the open.

J. Bradley—a two-time Safety Pin Review contributor and one of the coolest and most prolific presences on the interwebs—is doing this thing over at his blog where if you Paypal him some drinking money for AWP he’ll write you a poem and send you a bunch of his chapbooks. It was payday last Friday, so I did that. He wrote me the most wonderful poem. I’m going to paint it on my wall this weekend. Eventually, I’ll post it here.

And, Issue Twenty of the Safety Pin Review is up. You should read it, or, hell, send us a story.

The Receiving End

My blog tour comes to an end, with this piece about Twitter and the word “almost,” at the Write Café, “How I Killed Writing.” There is no violence in this piece. It was a quiet death.

Exciting orchestrations happening over at the Safety Pin Review, which I’m not going to spoil here, but rest assured we should have a special treat for you come Valentine’s Day.

Also, Jesse Bradley is really, really making me want to write poetry. And go to AWP. Thank God it’s finally the weekend.

The Saddest Joke

What are you supposed to do with all the stories you’ve collected when the donor is distant but still at hand? Can you sell them? Do they move into the public domain? What am I supposed to do with all of this fucked up shit I’ve been given?

My fourth and most confessional post on this brief blog tour is now up at 4-Letter Words, called “Making Faces in the Dark.” The photo of the attractive man that crowns the post is not actually me, despite his furrowed brow and pen. He is actually a stock male. I, too, am a stock male, but not that kind. I am a different brand.

My Publications Are All Stock Photos

My third guest post is up at Getting Naughty Between the Stacks, a fabricated interview with a high school janitor who makes a tangential appearance in Five Days. He didn’t exist until the fourth draft. The more the universe of this novella is fleshed out, the more I realize how utterly insular it was to begin with.

In Five Days, there are only two named characters: Sam and Alicia. There is no one else. They interact exclusively with each other. These two lovers are the extent of their world. Reflecting on this now, I find it almost heartbreaking. How desperate was I?

Today I spent a surprising amount of time anthropomorphizing sock widows. They prefer narrow, hidden spaces where they can drape themselves in darkness and seclusion. More than that, they love it when you find them years later.