Standing on the deck feels like being at the edge of an empty picture frame, or on a stage upon which a show might be performed—or might not be, depending on your luck.
RECENTLY PUBLISHED
Narrative Arc of No One’s Gumara
That he spends more time narrating what he would do to you than doing most, if any, of it is the kind of intermittent reward used to create addiction in lab rats. You are the rat.
As the Hammer Fell
In my twenties I wasn’t sure I wanted to be a mother. When my friends started having kids, however, I worried I was missing out on something.
From the Archives: Romance, Betrayal, and Fucking
“Braunwyn is a fiction writer whose work I’ve known and admired a long time.”
The Lorikeet
My mother was the first to notice. She was always acutely aware of animals, nature, and cute things that cooed.
Self-Portrait Through Many Doors
Self-portrait because I once saw a door and knew not to open. Because behind every door is a mouth, and the tongue, a road.
Sidelined, or No Pain, No Gain
I think it was the first time it hit me that I was disposable, that we all were, that we players were on an assembly line of talent, and when we reached the end, it didn’t matter much whether we fell in the trash or not.
