I am in Stoked. Tyler Gobble did it. Other awesomes. Go read.



Don't forget to buy my girlfriend's book.



Also, HOUSEFIRE!

Mel Bosworth's, Freight

I loved Freight. I ate it up. Fast. I wanted to. It was easy. Such a tenderness. Such a way of looking at life in terms of carrying. Of putting down. Of throwing up. Boxcars and boxcars of everything we experience in this life trailing behind us like the heaviest of ants. Invisible, but so very there.

Freight helped me understand that I am not by myself in the carrying. In the putting down of things not always good for me, but yet, still choosing to put them down. Freight made me realize that as life gets longer and longer the carrying gets more and more and if you are smart, you can choose to throw some things up that you don’t need to carry around anymore or you can be really smart and not pick them up in the first place. Freight made me feel less bad about having carried a lot of heavy things in my life that were not my choice to carry. Sometimes kids are given the hardest, heaviest things to carry and do you know what that does to their little bodies??!!! It shapes them wrong. On the inside.

Freight helped me remember a lot of people in my life—both alive and dead—that I carry with me every day whether I know it or not. Like, yesterday, I walked into a bar I had only been in one time many years ago. I walked over to a tiny corner with a tiny table surrounded by stained glass windows where I spent three hours catching up with a dear, long lost friend one cold February night. We drank and spoke of everything in our lives, EVERYTHING, that had transpired since we had lost touch. It was pure joy. We were finally reconnected! I didn’t know then that it would be the last time I would ever see that person. Two months later he would never be 29. Two months later he was dead.

I still carry him.

I loved the voice of Freight. It was simple, sincere, kind, childlike, vulnerable and honest. I wanted to hold this book tight against me and tell it I understood. I wanted to thank Freight for reminding me—in such a beautiful, easy way—that I am not alone in all of the carrying. Even though my carrying might be different from your carrying or his carrying or hers, we are all still holding on to things, people, places, experiences whether we like it or not. All of us heavy with our freight.

Pretty sure I cracked one of my ribs. I have one hell of a cough.

My strapless bra binds me extra tight. I’ve stretched it to the smallest setting. It is field dressing for my cracked rib. It hurts.

Whenever I cough it’s a sharp pain under my left breast, just off to the side, a stab wound with a silver knife. A pretty one, that only ladies use. Something they would impale through the flimsy bread of finger sandwiches or use to impatiently cut off a lover’s corset.

I grip my side, brace myself, cough. Grimace.



If you care, my book is now available in e-book format at Amazon. It’s also available in the UK and in Germany. Feel free to spread the word if you are in those countries. Pass out flyers, spam your contacts list, skywrite, etc.

LOOK AT THAT FACE THAT FACE!

I WROTE A GUEST BLOG ENTRY AT CASEY HANNAN'S BLOG. YOU SHOULD GO READ IT.

I am in the new issue of The Reprint with some amazing writers like, Roxane Gay, Adam Moorad, Brandi Wells, Aubrey Hirsh and Kirsty Logan. It has a pretty cool introduction by Sarah Rose Etter, too. Thanks to Richard Mocarski (handsomeface) for including my prosething from Pank 5.





Specter Magazine goes live with its first issue. It looks pretty fly which means good which is an expression nobody uses anymore I think. And also i had drinks with the dude there while he interviewed me. Nothing happened. Or maybe a little.





I have a story in Monkeybicycle.




Also, I read a pretty amazing book this weekend called, "Normal People Don't Live Like This" by Dylan Landis. Wow. Yet ANOTHER amazing book I've read this year by a female author. Beautiful writing. Beautiful book.




Also, stupid Casey Hanan is amazingly bright at Hobart right now. Go eat his eyes.