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A White Male Writer

. The literary journal Your Impossible Voice has just published my story, “A White Male Writer,” which I hope that you’ll read either on its website or in the print edition. Here are its opening lines: . He was a white male writer, and—despite having kissed a few boys at a Halloween party last year, even letting one stroke his bare chest, despite the occasional fantasy in which other boys featured — he knew he was for all practical and self-image purposes straight. So there it was: he was a man with light complexion and heterosexual leanings who wrote fiction, and he… Read More »A White Male Writer

The Body Is an Object

. I’m happy to announce that Juked has published my story, “The Body Is an Object.” Here are its opening lines: . We grow marijuana in the summer and smoke it in the winter. It turns out it’s a lot of work to grow good pot, but we offset the difficulty of harvesting by hiring friends to come up from the city and help. They like the extra money, and we enjoy their company, seeing their tents out the window over the sink, if only for a few weeks. Some nights I stand outside the cabin, staring at the stars. It’s… Read More »The Body Is an Object

The Blood-Sex Iconostasis

. I’m thrilled to announce that my story “The Blood-Sex Iconostasis” was published today in Joyland San Francisco. Here are its opening lines: . . Night falls over town. The fog doesn’t recede. Sodium lights flicker to life. Some hold steady; others strobe on and off in lugubrious, neurotic cycles. The sky takes on the sickly orange glare of their light. The parking lot at Safeway empties. Cats are fed and dogs put inside for the night. Benjamin lowers the blinds and wanders from room to room with a candle on a drip pan. Beneath a bag of tealights in… Read More »The Blood-Sex Iconostasis

A Brume of One’s Own

. “At this moment, I expel a minor traveler’s flatulence (sorry), and with it, I experience the same chivalry he’d offered when putting Kate to bed, as he pretends not to notice. We escape its subtle brume, and I join my colleagues inside the bungalow.” — Sean Penn, Rolling Stone, January 9th, 2016. . . Joaquín Archivaldo ‘El Chapo’ Guzmán Loera, Altiplano Prison: “Subtle? That is the very last word that I would use to describe what happened in that room. When I was a boy I sold special birds at the market every day, because we were very poor.… Read More »A Brume of One’s Own

Mr. Buff

. This is the end of the line. All that’s left is Mr. Buff. And he’s in the middle of a mud bath.