Posted inGorelets: Unpleasant Poems Weblog Exclusive

Girl on Crutches

she won't say how she broke them but the boys don't hold the doors for her anymore and nobody signs her cast her armpits ache from the handles and she feels as hollow as the numb caverns inside the plaster that pinch her and the bones will set crooked -- her legs perpetually as bent as her mind -- and his wrung neck which neither splint nor plaster can hold fast or bind any stiffer than his own rigid musculature Explanation: I found that list of offbeat phrases in the "Strange Visitors" contest awhile back amusing, and began to think…
May 26, 2004Posted inGorelets: Unpleasant Poems, Weblog Exclusive
Posted inNot Dead Yet: Print Reviews

Conscience by John Skipp

As a writer, I always cringe when I hear other writers give the advice that a book should be "cinematic": that it should be written not only to give the reader the same thrill that they'd get at the movies, but also that it be custom-built to try to sell ancillary rights to a film company in order to rake in the dough. While I do think that most writers wouldn't be able to make a living without film option income, I often think that fiction is supposed to be fiction first. In fact, some of the best books in…
May 22, 2004Posted inNot Dead Yet: Print Reviews
Posted inBlather

Grilling the Mermaid

I love women, and I enjoy fish, but for some reason I hate mermaids. They're some of the most horrifying of animal-human hybrids. I mean, they're scaly. And they smell -- well -- like fish! I don't care how good they are at singing and swimming and strategically arranging their lengthy hair, they're gross little monsters. Yet their legend endures. We still get slurred reports from drunken sailors who spot them in the seven seas. And little kiddies everywhere believe in Ariel, the so-called "Little Mermaid" (who isn’t little enough to step on, unfortunately). But get this straight: if mermaids…
May 21, 2004Posted inBlather