Tag: short stories

5 Favorite Books I Read in 2017

2017 wasn’t the year of the novel. Though I read many, I didn’t find any that spoke deeply to my heart. Instead, it was a year dominated by essays and short stories by women. If those genres are on your TBR list, here are my picks:

2 short story collections: Her Body and Other Parties by Carmen Maria Machado, and At the Mouth of the River of Bees by Kij Johnson.

Both of these stories feature otherworldly magical realism, unsettling elements, and lush prose. They’re stories you can chomp on and swallow whole.

2 essay collections: Moranifesto by Caitlin Moran, and Fear and Clothing: Unbuckling American Style by Cintra Wilson.

Both talk about larger societal issues — capitalism, feminism, self-expression — via the lenses of pop culture and fashion, respectively. Both authors have compelling, personable styles.

Nonfiction: The Architecture of Happiness by Alain de Botton.

This is a great beginner’s introduction to how humans interact with their architecture. What it means, how it feels, why people construct buildings the way people do. It definitely gives me a leg up on understanding the basics (the very basics) of architectural types and theory.

The books I’m looking forward to in 2018 are here. Fingers crossed for another great year of reading!

BLAH. Someone give me a GOOD HORROR MOVIE.

Despite the fact that I’m blogging about the following media, they’re “nothing to write home about.”


It Follows (horror movie, theaters).

Proposal: Cancel all Sex Education classes until the end of time. Show young people this instead.

Read More BLAH. Someone give me a GOOD HORROR MOVIE.

They’re screaming internally.

The frozen denizens of Snow Village are caught mid-breath. They halted mid-coitus, mid-skate, mid-job, mid-death-rattle. Their pets are trapped into loyalty.


It was supposed to be the pizza delivery driver’s last day. She lined up a new job working in the Flamingo Hotel’s cleaning staff with her aunt. It paid better. She would stop gaining weight from the restaurant’s in-house buffet. Her clothing was shrinking and contorting into painful shapes around her hips and stomach.

Snapping linens into place and vacuum-dancing would suck the pasty white from her middle and deposit it… where?

Did one poop out excess fat? Did it evaporate with sweat?

She had no one to ask; her mouth was porcelain-sealed shut. Her body was trapped in this form, her arms in this pose, her cheek singeing slightly from the air venting from the box.


People told him that an off-lead dog would become roadkill.

He hoped so.

The dog smelled like beef jerky, ass, and metal. He took the dog in the shower with him and felt-self conscious under the gaze of the sopping cotton ball at his feet. He scrubbed the dog with a special shampoo that smelled like coconut. The dog came out smelling like wet Hawaiian jerky, ass, and metal.

Its nose dripped. When he read the paper on the couch, the dog would rest its nose on his thigh. The wet stain spread as he progressed from the main section to the sports to the crossword.

His son wanted a bunny. Bunnies didn’t save boys from wells. He purchased the boy a dog, a solid American mutt puppy from the pound.

His son never played with the dog. His son joined the Navy.

People raved about how old the dog had gotten. People complimented his parenting skills. The dog lent him a reputation of dependability. The dog also oozed its smell and fur onto everything he owned.

The dog wouldn’t die, no matter how many times the man crossed the street.

Read More They’re screaming internally.