Usually by this time of the summer, I'm anxious to get back to work. Back to the students. Back to a routine. My house is spotless, my life is fully organized and ready to be tossed into turmoil once again.
That is not the case this summer. This summer, I'm feeling a little bit right now like I did back in May. Like I need a big, long, restorative, 3 month hiatus from the universe. So, I've decided that I need to arm myself against the typical onslaught of drama, chaos, stress and hooliganism (my new word since I read it in a news article this morning) that is the first month of school.
Tonight I scoured the Barnes and Noble self-help section, looking for a little bit of love. I found the following:
and
I'm kitten-sittin next week and am going to use the time at my friend's place to take a little vacation on my last week of summer. The plan is to read through each of these (except the Book of Awakening, which I'll take a bit longer to chew on) and hopefully gain some tools to deal with the work stresses I'm already being faced with before I even walk through the door. Fingers crossed, peeps.
Because I'm not reading Facebook status updates 24 hours a day, I've rediscovered my freedom to read, you know, actual books. Brilliant. Here are a few whose pages I'm turning these days:
I totally dig Augusten Burroughs. Friend A introduced me to him a few years ago, and this book arrived in my life at the perfect time. I'm reading it slowly, savoring each chapter/essay, and I know I'll go back and read it again when I'm done. If you've read Burroughs before, you're asking yourself (as I did), "Um, Augusten Burroughs giving advice? Are you serious?" Read the book. The guy has some seriously profound offerings gleaned from his life of trauma. You won't be disappointed.
I know, it's shocking. I've actually read this before--I've read the first 3 books of the Dark Tower series...but I've never read books 4-7 and, if I'm going to call myself a King fan, this is a serious hole in my fandom. So, I'm starting the series over again and, as always, loving it.
Written by a good friend of mine (and I will never tire of saying that!), I'm ashamed that I'm just now getting to read this amazing book. My only justification is that I wanted to read it during the summer when I would be able to do so uninterrupted. It's totally delivering as promised--amazing characters (the kind where you find yourself thinking about them during the day and then you're all 'oh, that's right, she's from that book I'm reading...'), great story....totally lovely.
So, that's on my plate right now. What are you reading??
I have an excuse for my silence, this time. Last Sunday a guy turned left into an intersection and creamed me and the late Grand Am. I got transported to HCMC and spent about five hours in the emergency room, but fortunately I was sent home with a few bumps and bruises, an inflamed rotator cuff, and some bruised ribs.
Now, I am really, really tired of laying around. I can do things in increments, but after awhile I have to stop, and that's really annoying. The good news is that I just bought Stephen King's new book Under the Dome: A Novel.
Though it hurts my ribs to lift it, I'm delighted that I have some time now to "relax" and read it.
This year was kind of interesting as far as a "book plan" goes. My original plan back in January was to read 100 short stories, and not worry so much about the novels. Last year I read 52 novels and felt pretty damn good about it. This year, I read just over twenty. Of course I also read about ten textbooks, so I think my word count balanced out well...
Anyway, here are my favorite books I read this year, in no particular order:
Ian McEwan's The Cement GardenMcEwan slid under my radar for a very, very long time.I can’t even really remember where I first heard of him—though it was a few years ago.He is who I go to when I don’t want to mess around…when I need a book that I know I will love.The CementGarden is a short novel—probably novella territory—but what it lacks in length it makes up for in psychological suspense.The novel shows what can happen to kids when there is a total lack of adult supervision, how they live their lives, and it does so in breathtaking prose.No word is unnecessary, yet the novel is rich and full.It is, at its core, a survival story of a family who must continue to endure when its foundation is shaken.
Ethan Canin's America America It’s still a book I want to reread since I’m almost positive I didn’t catch everything in it the first time.Canin’s plots, prose, and style keep me returning to him as often as I can.While this novel was a tough read for me, it’s not one I’ll ever forget.
Jay Asher's Thirteen Reasons WhyTeen suicide is really hard to write about.Really hard.It can come off as trite, as lecture, as completely false.Rarely does an author come along who can present it as it really is.Thirteen Reasons Why is a young adult novel, but it really should be read by everyone who knows a teenager.I loved it because it didn’t shy away from the icky, dirty issues that teens have to face every day, nor did it over-dramatize or cheapen them.
Stephen King's Just After Sunset: StoriesThis is sort of a cheat because I’m technically reading it now, and won’t finish it in 2008 unless I seriously apply myself in the next 2.5 hours.But, so far, I’m hugely loving it.I think King is in something of a writerly crisis at the present time, something I’ll comment on more in my review, but a Stephen King story is a Stephen King story, period.And this collection is long overdue.
Carolyn Parkhurst's The Dogs of Babel: A NovelThe premise of this book is simply brilliant: a man’s wife commits suicide and their dog is the only “witness”.Man—a linguistics professor-- doesn’t quite believe the suicide, so he tries to teach the dog to speak English so that he can find out what really happened to his wife.There are a few subplots that add a lot of layers to what could have potentially been a dangerously simple story.But, the full effect of all aspects of the story combined with the pacing and timing make it a memorable novel.
Mitch Albom's Tuesdays with Morrie: An Old Man, a Young Man, and Life's Greatest LessonI may be the last person on the planet to read this book.I finally bit the bullet and read it this summer following the death of a friend due to ALS.I vowed that I would read it quickly and not cry.I think what this book taught me the most and what I’ll remember about it is that a memoir doesn’t have to cover someone’s entire life.Sometimes it’s okay to just tell the story that matters.It’s okay to tell the what and contemplate the why without needing to teach or give any answers.Sometimes, there aren’t any answers.
Stephanie Meyer's Eclipse (The Twilight Saga, Book 3)I love this book.I loved the first two in the series, and I loved the final fourth book.I love them so much I’ll reread them in 2009.And, though everyone who thinks they “really know books” turns up their nose at this series, I think it’s brilliant.Not well written, mind you; I will never say that Stephanie Meyers’ writing is anywhere close to good.But, this novel (and the others in the series) scratched me right where I itched, in a place that hasn’t been touched since my V.C. Andrews and Beauty and the Beast days.
E.R. Frank's WreckedAnother young adult novel, Wrecked is the most interesting for its perspective.It takes the side of a teen driver who kills another teenager in an accident.The girlfriend of her brother, no less.The novel works between past and present, as most good young adult novels do, to give readers not just a solid plot, but rich characters who are not soon forgotten.
Sherman Alexie's The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time IndianThis book had me both laughing and crying within the first ten pages.Alexie has an amazing way of teaching readers about Native American tribes and traditions without being preachy, martyr-like, or acting like he’s on the History Channel.The novel centers around a narrator who transfers from the Reservation school to a “white school” in a nearby town.His angst and confusion about his identity are staples of adolescence, but because he is also Native American, the angst and confusion are spun in an entirely different direction.And it’s an entertaining read.
Stephen King's Duma Key: A NovelThis was my most highly-anticipated read of the year.It ended up being completely different from what I expected, and more of an acquired taste than I thought it would be.Stephen King needs to decide if he wants to be a literary writer or a genre writer; he’s good enough to do either, but when he tries to combine them it doesn’t work.Duma Key is a mix of literary and genre fiction, and my initial feelings after I finished the book were as mixed as the writing; now I’m thinking that, like several other novels, I may need to go back and reread it.
It started with a credit card I got when I was 15 to take to France with me for "emergencies." Seventeen years later, I'm in debt. Not frighteningly so, but it's getting pretty close. So, I decided that I needed an intervention. And, the only person who would do that would be me. So, I had a long conversation with myself about where I am now and where I want to be and how I'm going to get there. And I decided that I needed to simplify. I need to simplify my house, my budget, my debt...pretty much my whole existence.
Last week I did clothes. I cut pretty deep, getting rid of some 60 pieces of clothing. I'll probably get the same amount when I do it again for summer clothing. Yeah, it's not hard to see where the debt came from, believe me. Today, I went straight for my own jugular. My bookcases. I'll spare you the gory details. Suffice to say, I removed about 150 books from my stacks.
This is where you come in. I need you to reach into your pockets and buy my books. They make great Christmas gifts, I promise. And I'm not talking crap books, either...there are authors you'll recognize and authors you won't, but I promise you all the books are good. Well, someone likes them. They make bestseller lists and stuff.
Enough talking... here's the link to the ad where my books are listed. The shipping is free. And if you buy more than one I'll probably cut you a pretty good deal. And you can probably write it off on your taxes as a charitable donation, because this girl needs some charity right now. Selling my books off...can you believe it?
I'm not intentionally avoiding the blog, I swear. I had no idea a whole week had gone by. And before that, another week, and before that yet another. I blame my overwhelming desire to hibernate, statistics, a lack of yoga (leading to a total lack of clarity), and too damn much grading because it's the end of the trimester.
Today I spend most of the day sitting in the Great Red Chair of Sleep. I played mob wars, read Howards End (which I really feel should have an apostrophe and yet it does not), napped, looked at my book shelves and shook my head, ate popcorn, took the dog for a walk, and played more mob wars.
See why I'm not writing? I'm the most boring person alive right now.
Last night whilst hanging out at Champps with JennScheit, I saw my most awesome Stephen King on tv. The Red Sox are, of course, playing toward the World Series, and King is the number one fan of the Sox. So, I was completely tickled to see the camera pan to him sitting in one of the most spectacular seats in the place, since I wasn't expecting to see my man on the tele.
Then, my heart filled to overflowing when they panned to his lap...to the book that lay open there. See, in King's amazing book On Writing , he says that writers need to read ALL THE TIME. He says a writer should always have a book with her. In lines, in cars, at the dinner table...and a writer needs to learn to read in "small sips" as well as "big gulps." And to see him practicing what he directed in his book--caught on camera doing exactly what his advice to all of us writers was, well.... what can I say? The man rules.
I accomplished all of the reading I set for myself on my Friday "off" and, in addition, read the amazing Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay Asher. This novel is about a boy who gets a package in the mail from girl in his school who recently committed suicide. In the package are tapes and everyone who needs to listen to the tapes is, in some way, a contributing factor to her death. It's the best young adult novel I've read since Jenny Downham's Before I Die. I couldn't put it down, and the times that I forced myself to go do other things all I did was think about the book. It's so hard to handle teen suicide without being trite or overly dramatic or preachy, but Asher handles it brilliantly. Every teen should read this book so that they know it isn't just them--lots of kids go through the events and feel the feelings that the characters do in this book. Every teacher and parent should read this book so that they know what's really going on. It is going on, everything that happens in that book is believable, and most of it is pretty tough to swallow.
And I realized something as I walked into yoga tonight...I need to be very careful when I take time off. Time off is time inside my head, and that's not always a good thing if I don't have an outlet. I really didn't leave the house this weekend or socialize with anyone, and this morning I woke up feeling pretty crappy. Sad and irritated and just sort of raw. And I didn't know why. I tried to put names to what I was feeling, but I couldn't hit on anything that would equal how miserable I was.
Then I went to yoga for the first time since Wednesday. Second time in about two weeks. When I walked into the candlelight class, the heat was blasting and the lights were off, the room illuminated by candles. I was the first one in the room so I picked a spot by the mirrors and said "I don't ever want to leave." Suddenly all of the bad feelings I'd been dealing with all day melted away. I did my practice and have been fine ever since--better, even. One of the key parts of a guided practice is to dedicate the practice to someone--someone besides yourself, who you feel like could use some strength or energy or thoughts. Tonight I broke the rules and dedicated my practice to me. I needed it.
I have to remember that my head can be a dangerous place to be sometimes. Especially when I add to my normal thoughts those of authors through their amazing words. I can become very overwhelmed and angst-ridden about fictional problems. And, sometimes a break from work can do more harm than good. At least at work I have a focus, a goal, and I'm not trapped inside my brain. Balance...I think. It's all about balance.
For a variety of reasons (none of which need mention here) I am home today from work. So, the plan is to read all day. I have a pile of things that need to be read, that have been bugging me with their "read me!" stares and moans, and now it's finally time.
The first order of business is to finish Breaking Dawn by Stephanie Meyer. I'm going to miss these books. They're compulsive and addictive, and I really wish there were about a hundred more.
Next I'm going to finish Peace Like a River by Leif Enger, and write my review for MinnesotaReads (which today contains, ironically, a mildly scathing review on the first Stephanie Meyer book). I've been reading Peace Like a River for a hundred years. I like it every time I open the book...but I never seem to have a lot of energy to open it.
Finally I want to read Kelly Link's "Stone Animals." This was recommended to me by my quite-amazing former writing teacher, Dale Gregory Anderson. I have no idea what it's about except that it's strange, weird and good. Sounds like my type of story!
I also have a yoga philosophy book that I should be reading and I want to start a new book that I'm quite excited to begin. But...we'll go with first things first.
I'm sitting here in the Great Red Chair of Sleep with the entire day spread out before me. Gatsby needs to go to the vet and I need to go to the chiropractor, but other than that, the day is mine. I do not need to go to chemistry, take a quiz online, study flashcards, go to lab, or think of Normandale in any way, shape or form.
Bliss.
Tomorrow night is the Social Reincarnation Soiree---about 20 people coming to my house to hang and celebrate my doneness. I guess maybe I should spend part of this day of doing nothing cleaning the house. Hmmm..... or maybe I'll just curl up with Leif Enger's amazing Peace Like a River. Decisions, decisions.
Jodi blogged about Ethan Canin's new novel America America a bit ago and, based on her euphoric reaction combined with Ethan Canin reading tonight at Magers and Quinn, I decided to move it to the top of my reading queue.
America, America was a journey. That's the best way I can describe it. Not a "trip" journey, but a journey of the self where you go through an experience and you end up someone different at the end than you were when you began. Like the main character, Corey, I began America, America as a child, naive in the ways of journalism and politics. As he grew up, so did I. There are definite shades of The Palace Thief, echoes of corruption and power, who has the power and who REALLY has it, and the idea that the relationships we have aren't always the relationships we imagine we have. And while Corey was feeling his way through his life, I turned page after page, balancing my own assumptions with what was truly happening. I had to check my expectations fairly early on, because part of the art of Canin's novel is that we are all children when we begin this book. Everything you think you may know, everything you expect, will eventually be turned on its head.
True, there are parts where Canin plays "coy" as Jodi describes in her review, a serious charge to level against a writer. So much so, in fact, that I very nearly put the book down twice. Once when he used the sentence "In the distance, a dog barked" (a sentence so writer-workshop-cliche I actually gasped when I saw it) and again when I picked up on what I thought was a coyness and im-ed Jodi saying "If __________ happens I will not go to the reading." She said "Oh." And, of course, I was right.
But the most rewarding journeys are the most difficult to endure. There are places along the way where you want to stop and say 'forget it.' Either because you're scared and you know it or because you're scared and you're hiding it by pretending to know it all. My readiness to put down Canin's novel is how I sometimes want to handle hard journeys---stop immediately and go back to my comfortable life. I didn't, and thank God, because I would have missed out on one hell of a ride. America, America scared me because of how good it is. How real the characters are, and how, though somewhat predictable in parts, very true the events are. It's a fine line for the writer between what "rings true" to the reader and what is "I've seen this before." Canin mastered that line, though I didn't see it right away. Why did some characters and plot points seem familiar? Not because I've seen them in literature before--because I've seen them in LIFE before.
America, America is not light summer reading. It's a book that will change you. It will change how you see politics, how you see the news, and how you see the class system that thrives in our great country. It will change how you see love, family, and devotion to the people who fall somewhere in between those two. It is a long journey--bring your water--but also bring your camera because the view at the top is nothing short of spectacular.
Because you purchased Duma Key from Amazon, and for months -- months, I say -- Amazon has had a side by side comparison running of the Tin House story and the first chapter of the book.
:-)
Enjoy!
I checked it out and Troy speaks the truth. So I stand corrected, and humbly apologize to King for my earlier outburst. I should never have doubted you, Stephen.
Last night I was knocked slightly off-kilter when Jessie grabbed Blaze by Richard Bachman/Stephen King and said, "Hey, what's this about?". I looked at it, took it from her, began turning pages, read the back, read the inside flap, and finally gave up. "I have no idea," I said. "I don't think I've read it." As I allowed the shock of the idea that an unread King book has sat in my house for God-knows-how-long, I remembered that Duma Key was sitting on my front step, freshly delivered from Amazon.
Today after Jessie left, I cracked open Blaze and began to read. As I did, flickers of familiarity came over me and I realized that I had, in fact, read this book. Though it bothers me that I cannot remember the book, it's a consolation to know that I read it in a day. I'm not becoming addle-brained.
The unease stuck with me, though, as I cracked open Duma Key. That same tone of familiarity was sticking in my head as I read the first few pages of the first chapter. I kept thinking "I've read this. I KNOW I've read this." But of course that would be impossible, since the book has only recently come out.
Then I read this line: "It was what happened to Monica Goldstein's Jack Russell Terrier, Gandalf" on page 20. And I remembered. Monica Goldstein's Jack Russell Terrier, Gandalf, met an untimely end in a battle with a mustard colored Hummer in King's story Memory, which appeared in the summer 2006 issue of Tin House. I read it and it maintains its place in my world as the most emotionally horrific story I've ever read.
I was not prepared to re-read the most emotionally horrific story I've ever read, sitting here on a Sunday night when my ex-boyfriend got married yesterday and my favorite neighbor stopped over today to say goodbye because he's moving away. I was looking forward to some good old-fashioned horror. So please, Mr. King. Stephen. May I call you Stephen? Please, when you're going to repeat a story that is downright psychologically damaging, a story where a Jack Russell named Gandalf might as well be a Cavalier King Charles named Gatsby, a story that I vowed to never read again even though I loved it so, please give me a little warning. I don't need a phone call or a personal note or anything, but maybe something along the lines of "First chapter published as Memory in Tin House Vol 7 No 4"....think about it next time, would you? This Constant Reader would appreciate it.
Just as an aside, I'm on page 35 of Duma and, even with the emotional scarring, it's promising to be one Hell of a book. Pick it up, yeah?
Jodi posted a new meme on her blog, and since I am a follower I will also do the meme.
1. One book that changed your life?
The Great Gatsby. I didn’t read it until college and I don’t think anyone should read it until they’re about 25. Reading it too young ruins the experience. I fell in love with Gatsby and Nick, and then fell apart when their circle of friends did.
2. One book you have read more than once?
The one that always stands out is Misery by Stephen King. I read it in junior high something like 12 times. I would finish it and then turn back to the first page and start over again.
3. One book you would want on a desert island?
The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand. I wouldn’t get bored with it and it’s got enough layering to keep me reading over and over.
4. One book that made you laugh?
Hmmm. Well, recently was George Saunders’s In Persuasion Nation. Definitely humorous, but not all the time. It’s not a “funny” book.
5. One book that made you cry?
The Last Time They Met by Anita Shreve. It made me cry and cry and cry. Then I cried some more. I can’t say why, though, because it would ruin the book.
6. One book you wish had been written?
The 13th Janet Evanovich book. It will be written, but I wish it already had been.
7. One book you wish had never been written?
Another Planet by Elinor Burkett. It hurt a lot of people I care about.
8. One book you are currently reading?
Suite Francais by Irene Nemirovsky
9. One book you have been meaning to read?
Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides. Everyone I know is raving about it and it’s next on my list.
I just picked up the Tin House Summer Reading edition and it is FANTASTIC. The first story is "Memory" by Stephen King and it is the most heartwrenching, fabulously layered story I've read in months. I cried for a good ten minutes after I finished it, beamed with pride at the talent of my favorite author in the world, and have been thinking about it at least in part for the last eight hours.
You should be reading Tin House anyway but in case you don't, still do yourself the favor of picking up this issue. There's a ton of other good stories/poems/interviews in there that I haven't gotten to yet because the King story wiped me out, but I'll get to them soon.
There have been so many lately, it seems, literal and figurative. Tonight it stormed early, about 12 hours ago, but there's been steady lightning ever since. We went to the drive in and watched a triple feature as well as the lightning storm. I love watching the sky light up, cracks across the clouds. Nature is so amazing. This beauty in contrast, of course, to New Orleans and Biloxi.
A friend of mine is in a bad spot now, and it's been on my mind a lot for the last few days. So much, in fact, that it's causing my silence here. My friend's situation is all I seem to be able to think about, and it's not anything that can be posted here. I think about writing about my day, or about random thoughts, but my friend is the center of my day and the subject of most of my thoughts, random or otherwise. The fact that we're unable to communicate right now as well is tearing at my heart.
The rain has started again, pounding hard against my windows and I should go to sleep but I'm not tired. I think I'll curl up with Stephanie Plum for the evening. She's my speed.
Tonight I went to hear Chuck Klosterman read and answer inane questions from young twenty-something groupies. He was hilarious, I nearly peed my pants about ten times. He was really polite about answering questions, some of which were good, most of which were so dumb I twitched.
After about a dozen questions the Barnes and Noble lady steps in and says "One more question." In front of me sitting on the floor (I was leaned up against a shelf) is this young girl, probably 20 (shit, when did I start referring to a twenty year old as a "young girl"??) and her hand shoots up in the air. He calls on her and she says, "Can I have your address?" There's a twitter throughout the audience, and Klosterman is clearly caught off guard.
He says "What, like my email address or like, my mailing address."
"Your mailing address."
"Why?"
"So I can send you letters."
The audience is mystified by this. He says, "Well, uh, you can have my work address, yeah," and he looks out at the crowd and back at her, "yeah, I don't want to be a jerk or anything. Buy a book and bring it to me and when I sign it I'll put my address in there."
What I love about this man is that he's all "Sure, but you'll be buying my book. Nothing's for free, honey." Good lesson for her to learn.
So THEN, of course I'm in line to get my copy of Killing Yourself to Live signed. I'm innocently standing there and then all of a sudden my life blurs into a wild druggie adhd manic freakout. Someone says my name (it may have been Chuck or my friend Erica) at the moment that I hand my books to the Barnes and Noble chick. The girl who has been standing behind Erica and I says "Kelly Flanigan???" And I said, "Uh, yeah." And I turn and look at her and I recognize her but I have NO IDEA where from. Like zero. I don't know if I went to high school with her or college with her or competed against her in speech or had her as a student or ran into her at some other time. What I remember is her hair, and I remember her crying. She had this bushy bushy hair and she cut it short and it was so much cuter short, and I have no idea what the crying was about. She says, "Do you remember me?" And I'm not in the mood to lie. I said "I remember you, but I have no idea what your name is." So she decides to make a huge production about the fact that I don't remember her. She refuses to tell me how we know eachother. She said something about "like the most important person to her in high school" but it might not have been that. As I said, a blur.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Chuck has my books and is signing away probably wondering who the hell I am that I can't take five seconds out of my conversation to say hello and thank him for signing my book. I'm all "Hold up, I'm missing my moment here!!" and then things blur out a little more except I remember thanking Chuck for his reading and for the signings and telling him I'm a big fan and he was just laughing at me and then I walked away.
Strange girl that I know finally tells me her name, after completely screwing up my moment with Chuck Klosterman, and I still don't have the first damn clue about who she is.
I'm sitting on my patio enjoying a corona and typing by the light of my citronella candle. There's a magnificant breeze and, in spite of thunderstorm warnings in my area until 11pm, not a cloud in the sky. I've been working on a story about a boy who I think is about 11 years old. It's difficult getting into his head but I know there's a lot going on in there. I'm trying to remember what it's like to be 11. Ain't pretty, that much I know!
I've been reading George Saunders as well. Pastoralia. It's bizarre. I'm getting really excited to work with him, though, in Belize. He's got this way of making serious things humorous but keeping them serious at the same time, so at first you're not sure you should be laughing, but then he makes it so obvious that you know it's okay, then he brings it back around and basically says "hey, what are you laughing at, this is serious."
A small note....in spite of my not wanting to hear anything to do with the mentor series until the winners are posted on Aug. 15th, I've found out that phone calls have been made to winners. I, naturally, have not gotten a call. I'm still holding to my early philosophy, that if I didn't get it there's a reason for it and it's okay, but it's going to be hard to explain to everyone. Unlike a lot of other writers, I have an incredible support system of family and friends. They expect me to get in, and will be genuinely concerned that I didn't. I don't want to talk about it, and I don't want to keep explaining over and over again because then I will start to feel bad about it and that's just no good. Oh well. It's the price you pay for being cared about, I guess.
Yeah, so I know I haven't written in like a week. I was in the Bahamas. It was pretty fuckin' sweet. Mom took me on a mother/daughter vacation. We laid on the beach almost the whole four days (with the exception of taking an hour out of the day to get massages). I've never been to the Bahamas before; I'm a pretty big fan.
I finished the Brain book in a flourish after one day of beach reading. Then, having already watched The Ninth Gate with Johnny Depp, maybe the most kick ass movie ever, I began the short story reading marathon.
I read:
1. "Beverly Home" Denis Johnson 2. "Epstein" Philip Roth 3. "Open House" Charles D'Ambrosio 4. "The Hoaxer" Walter Kirn 5. "The Story of My Life" Kim Edwards 6. "A Record as Long as Your Arm" George Garrett 7. "China" Charles Johnson 8. "Smorgasbord" Tobias Wolff 9. "Rich" Ellen Gilchrist
My favorites were....well I pretty much liked them all. Very different stories. I liked the Edwards story because I think it matches my style of writing the most. This surprised me, but some of the lines as I read them I was like "hey, that's how I would write that." Gave me hope. I obviously loved D'Ambrosio's "Open House." I also really loved "Rich" and "A Recored as Long as Your Arm." Yeah, good short story reading session.
Now I need to bury myself in George Saunders. I also got D'Ambrosio's new collection of essays, Orphens. I hope I live to be a thousand years old so I can read everything I have on my list.
. 
It’s still a book I want to reread since I’m almost positive I didn’t catch everything in it the first time.
by Jay Asher. This novel is about a boy who gets a package in the mail from girl in his school who recently committed suicide. In the package are tapes and everyone who needs to listen to the tapes is, in some way, a contributing factor to her death. It's the best young adult novel I've read since Jenny Downham's