As I mentioned yesterday, I’ve been hustling and hacking over here while I wait for some distant elderly wealthy relative who lived an epic life filled with basset hounds and fascinating lovers and private chamber music performances and a medium-sized, but totally manageable gambling habit, not a bad gambling habit, like a fun gambling habit, like an I-go-to-Monte-Carlo-and-date-princesses gambling habit, to die mercifully and quietly in his sleep and leave me a small fortune for some advertising work to come in, and so I’ve had a few pieces published recently, and here they are:
- I’m starting to do some books coverage for Metro, and my first contribution was on the rise of small presses. This actually looked really nice in print with all the book covers, and I think it was the cover story too.
- Two weeks ago, long before that NY Times memoir takedown piece had been published, I had set up an interview with Heather Havrilesky, one of the authors reviewed in the piece, about her audiobook. I couldn’t resist asking her about the piece, and why she thought memoirs were still important in general, and she answered the question like the bad-ass she is. I like this interview a lot, so please read it.
- I wrote my review of Hannah Pittard’s debut novel The Fates Will Find Their Way from five different angles and then I had one big long messy review that was obviously unprintable. Rosie helped me refine it and insisted I take out the very applicable but entirely distracting personal anecdote from my freshman year of college which involved some frat boy I had fooled around with earlier in the night pleasuring himself (grossest phrase ever) next to me in bed while I slept, and then me waking up and catching him in the act and shoving him out of bed and onto the floor, and oh boy it’s a doozy of a story (well I guess that’s pretty much it, minus some sound effects and the fact that I had to go to college with him for the next four years), but I’ll probably save it for a rainy day, or an essay, or a memoir, or maybe it even becomes something I mention awkwardly on a first date to subconsciously ensure that person will never want to date me again because sometimes I self-sabotage like that. Or maybe it just stays on this blog for eternity, which, sometimes, is its own form of self-sabotage. Anyway, here’s the review, and there’s still a lot of sex talk in it as it turns out. So no worries there. If you were worried. Which you probably weren’t.
