Like many of the entities and structures in the stories, I, too, am trying to figure something out or get something straight.
Yet for all the giddy uses of the archaic, “Life After Rugby” stays contemporary due in part to its odes to movies, singers, and celebrities.
Each excavation into a lost object revealed a hidden truth—a genuine regret. But it also threw into relief how lucky I have been, to have accumulated these regrets, and survived them.
I see that my own fears, like a misdirecting valve in the heart, can interfere with tenderness.
I wasn’t a cheater. A cheater was something more solid. I accepted the preferred reality as truth. Then, I forgot about it. I mean, genuinely forgot.
Like Kafka’s cockroaches, the Styrofoam head lives forever. Only we disintegrate to dust.
I wonder about the limp in my head, how long it’s been visible.
Cheers to 2018! We are excited to reopen our fiction submissions on January 1, 2018. Start out the new year with an acceptance from jmww! You can check our our […]
I must have heard the sirens, the entire town erupting in wailing chaos, but we never assume the emergency has anything to do with us.
“We live in an uncertain and mysterious world, yet we face so many pressures to act with incredible certainty. That tension, and the tension between urges and expectations, societal norms and personal passions, are where many stories are born, for me.”