My First Book’s Coming Out. Cue Panic?

My first book releases March 31st. This isn’t the post I thought I’d write about such an occasion, but then– this isn’t the book I thought I’d write, either.  Here’s a confession. Publishing this book is easily one of the most terrifying things I’ve ever done. Writing it involved excavating and articulating stories, fears, and beliefs…

Dear God. If in the End

Dear God. If in the End we had no internet no hot water in the kettle no books riddled with notes or bedclothes yellowed by the lamplight If in the end you were as close to me as I am to knowing every star, marking each with naked eye, reciting cinematic names and vectors If…

Poetry read over Pop Music: YES.

Confession: I’m utterly delighted by these poems read over pop music: [bandcamp width=100% height=120 album=2740518272 size=medium bgcol=ffffff linkcol=0687f5] Click the forward arrow above for more greatness: track 1 frank o’hara & drake track 2 alice notley & justin timberlake track 3 dana ward & katy perry track 4 dylan thomas & miley cyrus track 5 william carlos…

(In which Rilke nails December. And depression.)

It’s been a dark December. I mean this metaphorically, although (oh god) it’s raining again. It’s the kind of December to which one should invite Rilke, post haste. Particularly since, 100 years ago, Rilke was having a rather dark December himself. So for you fellow depressives, grievers, broken folk… from Melville House, this today: Rainer…

4 Reasons to Write the Hell out of (What’s Left of) 2013

Ok so it’s almost Thanksgiving. If shopping, family drama, travels, and/or assorted year-end hells are killing your writerly motivation, here are four reasons you’ll want to go write anyway. Like, right now. It’s my latest for Ploughshares Literary Magazine: Consider yourself kicked in the ass.  (you’re welcome)   PS. If nothing else, you can always employ your…

And then there’s the time you go off Cymbalta.

Not because you no longer need it, but because it may be doing harm. Not that you know; it’s an experiment. A new doctor playing fast and loose with neurotransmitters. Famously terrifying to quit, Cymbalta loves and leaves with jerks and starts, fuzzy rods between your eyes, hilarious nausea. Blurred and frozen, then unfrozen. Cymbalta…

(listening to Russian poets)

“For to live means to sing, to love, to rage, and to tear things to shreds, while…faces look on and pupils burn.” –Nicolay Aseev (Choosing to ignore for a moment that Aseev wrote this in a bullfighting context.) (Because advice is advice amirite)