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Tweet …and somehow I forgot to mention it on my own fucking webpage. I tweeted it. I Facebooked it. I posted it in the obscurer depths of a Nine Inch Nails message board, but I never mentioned that the interview is actually available online. Below, is the full-text. But I think the magazine probably wants you . . . → Read More: Amoskeag Interview Went Live… Tweet I’m excited and proud to announce that the spring 2011 issue of Amoskeag, Southern New Hampshire University’s venerable little journal, will feature my short story “[sic],” which has been looking for a home for nigh on five years. Of course, three of those years, I was too miserable to submit anywhere, but the story sounds more . . . → Read More: “[sic]” in Amoskeag: Victory Is Mine Tweet 1986 The arrangement that summer was as follows: Cyril St. John was allowed to assemble every day the yellow and sepia sofa cushions into the two sides and roof of a crude igloo; he could use the twenty-two-inch Pye Teletext to close in the fort’s front, and a second-hand, straight-backed cedar chair for a rear . . . → Read More: Revenants Tweet
Amoskeag: Your work, “[sic],” was featured in the 2011 Spring edition of Amoskeag. Tell us a little about the story behind this piece. How did it come about? James Black: I was discussing with a friend the importance of names. His stepfather’s birth certificate provided only “Baby Boy” as his first name, and we were laughing . . . → Read More: January 7th, 2012 Tweet Error’s mother was disappointed when she didn’t die as promised during childbirth. He knows this because she told him. He tries never to think of it so, of course, he always does. The story goes like this: Four months after he prolapsed her uterus during a difficult breech, Keiko swaddled her son in cotton sheets, . . . → Read More: Gehenna Tweet I. Two Dvaid stands staring at himself in the scuffed chrome of elevator doors. Craggy cheekbones strain at sallow skin, broken bristles of straw blonde hair hang in his eyes. Ratty, sleep-worn clothes are wrinkled and stiff: a far cry from the bolo-tied Eagle Scout David used to be. He flexes fists around a rumpled . . . → Read More: [sic] Tweet The color of your eyes is a complete surprise to me. I’ve never considered it. You’re sitting across from me and you’re brooding, bellicose. I have no right to be shocked, but your attitude is not the one I expected. When I spoke to you Tuesday you insisted, even sounded enthusiastic. But settling on your . . . → Read More: Here Is My Only Elsewhere |
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