Roxane Gay says some really lovely things about me and about some of my favorite writers at She Writes. Roxane is an amazing writer and also one of the most generous human beings ever. And she has excellent taste. She highlighted two of my favorite stories, “A History of Heart Disease” and “The Chemistry of Objects.” Thank you, Roxane! I am blushing but grateful.

I just finished reading The Cave Man by Xiaoda Xiao, which is a quick but remarkable and intense read. The protagonist is imprisoned in Mao’s China for nine months in a tiny cell, and even when he’s released his life is a waking nightmare. It’s a shocking p, brutal, beautifully written book published by Two Dollar Radio. I’ve never read anything else in their catalogue, but after reading this I’m definitely going to pick up more from this fine small press.

The Soda Series is a bimonthly reading/conversation of writers at the Soda Bar in Prospect Heights, Brooklyn, hosted by Greg Gerke and John Dermot Woods. This particular installment will be a conversation with Matt Bell, John Madera, Jeff Parker and me. I feel awfully humbled to be included alongside these ultra-talented and ultra-prolific writers, and I’m hoping to learn a lot from them during this event.

Hope to see some of you there, too, if you’re in the area. And thanks so much to Greg Gerke for inviting me to participate in such a cool reading series.

Mother’s head whipped around. No, no, I yelled, kicking and flailing and trying to get away from the thing that was already streaming up out of the wet. It was hard to tell just what it was at first, but as the blood droplets joined up and the veins grew around the dark red river, joints formed, bits of cartilage clicked together like rocks, and then tissue draped over muscle draped over bone, it became clear that the thing was an arm. An arm still waiting to be made whole. It wiggled its fingers at me, and I screamed and scrambled, naked and wet, up and over the side of the tub, landing hard on my tailbone on the cold tile.

Read the rest here…IF YOU DARE. Mwah ha ha ha ha. (Thanks for publishing this, Zack!)

(Also, thank you, writer-in-residence Roxane!)

Anyway, my story is called “What Happened to the Bishop’s Daughter.” You should check that out too–I like it quite a lot, actually. And that isn’t always the case with my stuff by the time it’s published. Here’s a little bit of it to tease you with:

She emerges like a running joke, pushes her hair over her eyes and brows, and tosses the white coat out the window. Jalle has to retrieve the thing every day, because the Bishop, you know, isn’t made of money. (The Bishop sometimes rolls his eyes heavenward and prays for his daughter to be struck by sense or, absent that, a little divine fire. A light, crisp tongue of vermillion flame, licking at her silly feet and her pert little bottom. The Bishop enjoys dreaming this holy retribution.)

Thank you to Adam and to Alec, for publishing the piece and allowing it settle down and take root for a day.

At always-good Dark Sky, Mel Bosworth has been reading other people’s words, and rather capably, too.  Today he reads my little story, “The Wives Are Turning Into Animals.” I love his creepy-but-restrained reading.  I would post the video here but then you wouldn’t go over there, would you? And you really, really should.

One of your favorite writers and mine, Roxane Gay, is Necessary Fiction’s writer in residence for June! All month long, she will be featuring some of her favorite writers  and some of her own pieces and demonstrating why fiction is, indeed, necessary.

THIS is at the American Museum of Natural History. I have no choice but to go, given my one-century-too-late fascination with polar exploration.

Jen at JMWW has a terrific interview today with Dawn Raffel. (How come I don’t look that cool in any of my pictures?)

Did you love Lost? Throw things at your teevee during the last episode? You MUST read this fabulous essay, doubtless the most literary thing ever written about Lost, by Jennifer Spiegel. It’s more than great.

And remember, peeps–it’s Tuesday. TUESDAY. Get it straight.

Painting by mega-talented artist Francine Spiegel

I’ve got a story up right now, “Gone and Gone Already,” at the very cool literary website Splinter Generation. (Thank you, Alan!) Here’s a little sample:

I call them the remnants. They seem miles away from being anything like Kay and me, but maybe that’s because we’re young and losing time and they seem old and ancient as icebergs. Maybe it’s because we can’t stop talking and they can’t seem to start. Those remnants are mute and locked behind their own mental glass, even at the tables in the lunchroom. Even when they dress up for visiting day, they seem engulfed in nightgowns. Their smiles scream apologies. They seem always to be waiting, just hanging in the hall like houseplants.

Now go read the rest, if you dig that taste.

Go check it out if you want to know more about my paralyzing fear of winter and what would happen if all Yellowstone erupted.