3:03 PM
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8:07 PM
59 comments
at the table is a moose, a bear, a cow, a hamster
all have neutral facial expressions
the bear reads its short story
the room is small and when the moose moves it makes a hole in the wall
and goes through the hole to wyoming, where it lives
the cow sits and falls because cows can't sit
the bear sits on the cow
the cow squirms a little
the bear pets the cow's face and the cow stops squirming
the cow is afraid
the bear scratches the cow's face a little
a human comes in
'is this the MFA in hamsters?' the human says
the human is nervous and begins to read his short story
the bear claws the back of the human's head and the human dies
blood gets on the hamster
the hamster shakes its body
this has been the MFA in hamsters
if you like what you have heard please fill out a FAFSA form to determine if you are eligible for financial aid
the MFA in hamsters is a two-year residency program which culminates in the submission of a creative thesis
with the spirit of an arts colony and the benefits of the research university of which we are a part the MFA in hamsters continues to foster and to celebrate american literature in all its varied forms
we look forward to working with you, especially if you are a talented young hamster with cultural and political awareness, an interesting background, and a sort of half-assededly nihilistic worldview that can, ultimately, be interpreted by michiko kakutani, benjamin kunkel, and whoever the current fiction editor of the new yorker is as 'life-affirming,' 'refreshingly optimistic,' and 'free of the crippling irony that plaques much of our younger writers'
3:31 PM
6 comments
all these people should become friends with one another, start a plan to move to alaska, a small house in alaska, a two-story house, and then move there, and write poetry together, in a tent, nearby a frozen tree, with a polar bear on a glacierrosie sharp
mallory coppenrath
matthew simmons
mike young
richard grayson
ellen kennedy
5:36 PM
18 comments
the person says i can read for twenty minutesSunday, March 19 ~ 6 PM
Cannibal Release Party
Jim Behrle, Anthony Hawley, & Tao Lin
The Fall Cafe
307 Smith Street
Between Union & Pacific
Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn
F/G to Carroll Street
10:44 PM
12 comments
1:02 AM
19 comments
noah cicero blurbed my poetry book, which i want you to pre-orderThat A Public Space, the Famous Magazine, Exists Causes More Pain and Suffering in The World Than if A Public Space, the Famous Magazine, Did Not Exist
this one should be all facts; each line will be a fact; after enough facts, the title will be proven; that's the poem
Salman Rushdie Likes Baseball More Than Writing
this one should have quotes from salman rushdie of him talking about baseball; they can be real quotes from interviews or ones you make up, using your imagination
Scott F. Fitzgerald Got Sad Sometimes And He Liked Hunting
this one should talk about the phenomenon of people who are melancholic, and sort of whiny about it, yet are able to go hunting and kill animals and do other stupid things, acting like assholes to people all the time, thereby proving, despite their emo-y type feelings, their masculinity, bravery, superiority, real existential anguish, etc.
noah is the author of three published books, which is more published books than anyone reading this site right nowNoah's blurbs made me want to email myself into the world of his blurbs.In the world of Noah's blurbs no one is an asshole. Everyone is sad and they go around talking shit about assholes, saying things that don't make sense but are funny, and kicking things on the sidewalk and kicking like buildings, cars, and talking shit about SUVs and jumping over plants and things like that.
there's moreI enjoyed it
I like that there soft lines juxtaposed next to terse ugly lines involving vacuums
He is like if Lorrie Moore and Charles Bukowski had sweet but dirty sex and had a little Tao baby
This book is like some things, but this blurb is not saying hi to me, and I'm going somewhere and someone has emailed and it a long email and this blurb is not saying hi to me so please leave me alone
There are no boat and sea poems in it. Which makes it better than 99.9 percent of poetry books that have come out since the Beatniks all died
You can tell he went to college but he doesn't know why
I am positive now that I will never have kids after reading his poetry book
The only critique I have of this poetry book is that Tao Lin is from Florida and there is no mention of Disney World
3:30 AM
17 comments
I'm in a hurry now but I just wanted you to know I read the whole MS straight through (not planning to at the time) and loved it.
I'll get back to you with more soon.
[...]
I accidentally read Tao Lin's table of contents as a poem; it's a hilarious poem and it hooked me right away. This is also how his poems work—they are aggressively mundane. But behind that aggressive pose those poems are real and free. And really funny. There's a confidence in them that not only undercuts their surface pose, but makes that pose something meaningful.
7:37 PM
7 comments
None of what A Public Space does has anything to do with public space.
You pay to read it, in private. You pay to have Rick Moody talk to you
about JT Leroy and James Frey. Regular people like me, Gene Morgan, do
not get to talk about JT Leroy and James Frey in A Public Space. That
makes me upset.
Let me win this argument with a basic fundamental comparison of
mission statements. Bear parade doesn't have some sort of mission
statement based on opinion, because mission statements based on
opinion are almost always full of shit. Compare and contrast:
bear parade: "electronically published collections of poetry and short
fiction. free for everyone."
All fact. My "mission" is just fact. No one can debate me without abstraction.
A Public Space: "A Public Space is the new independent magazine of
literature and culture, founded by Brigid Hughes, the former Executive
Editor of The Paris Review. In an era that has relegated literature to
the margins, we plan to make fiction and poetry the stars of a new
conversation. We believe that stories are how we make sense of our
lives and how we learn about other lives. We believe that stories
matter. Four times a year, we bring readers a collection of new
authors and established talents. We encourage writers to get away from
their desks and investigate what intrigues them, explore, snoop
around. There are no boundaries, and we will support writers wherever
they take us. "
I mean, fucking barf. This is all just code for 'our magazine pays
money to really famous people and you should pay us because of that.
We're creative! We're semi-inclusive! Look at our famous editor!' A
Public Space will always want money, plain and simple. It needs money
to survive. No subscribers? No A Public Space. Is that so altruistic?
No. Inclusive? Not really. They need to put famous people, regardless
of relevance, on the cover of their magazine, and I'm sure a great
deal of their money goes to that. They do not state this explicitly in
their mission statement. This makes me confused.
Maybe, one day when Tao is Rick Moody, he will write for A Public
Space. I will not fault him for that, they probably pay nicely. My
point is, the pretense that comes with calling your magazine A Public
Space and requiring subscribers and tons of money is laughable.
We already have A Public Space, it is called the internet, and I am on
it right now, I have seven websites. Bear parade is one of them, and
is free, like all of the others. So read it. I promise not put anyone
famous on my website unless they are relevant (to me) and willing to
take the $50 I pay for a book.
Maybe I should put that in my mission statement.
5:58 PM
28 comments
philosophy: a public space's philosophy (GREAT TASTE) will cause pain and suffering in the world; art is like self-expression, which is like a person's personality; to think that one personality is 'better,' has more 'worth' than another is to have prejudices, in the world, not unlike hating black people, hating gay people, thinking that men are better than women, or thinking that having hobbies like collection stamps or building cars is somehow 'less good' than, like, hunting, being a professional swimmer, or being in an 'indie-rock band'
the environment: bear parade uses 100% less paper
publishing people who are famous and who are already going to get published: a public space publishes haruki murakami and charles ambrosio and marilynne robinson, three authors who appear like twice a week in the new yorker; this is fascism, a kind of fascism of taste; this, combined with 'GREAT TASTE,' is a terrible kind of fascism
no one will go to jail for this kind of fascism because the damage will be emotional
etc.: james chapman's novel, stet, talks about some of these things (criticism in art, criticism of hitler's art, etc.) and when i blog about james chapman's novel, stet, i will blog more about these things
8:20 PM
27 comments
8:02 PM
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11:23 PM
16 comments
We are the roommates in question here and here. Both of those stories are the result of *this email exchange, begun by me [Tao: THE EMAIL EXCHANGE IS A FOOTNOTE AT THE BOTTOM OF THIS]. I will discuss that in more detail later on.My parents are rich. So are yours probably. I told Jami Attenberg she was rich. She denied it. Everyone denies being rich. If you are not homeless, if you can afford to eat out, then, to me, you are rich. I'm tired of people denying they are rich. When I have like $200 in the bank I go around saying that I'm rich. If I buy blueberries I eat them thinking, ‘I am rich.' If you can buy things you are rich. A homeless man is not rich. I think my parents are in debt somehow. Or else they’ve declared bankruptcy. Still, they are rich. I tell them all the time they are rich. They deny it too. If someone is carrying a twenty-dollar bill I will say, ‘You are rich.’
Last week, on the same day, you and I both got book deals with separate independent presses. I was pleased, even though we made almost no money. We made almost no money because you didn't want to write about the trials of the immigrant experience and I didn't want to write a potboiler about college students investigating a pseudo-historical mystery. And neither of us has rich relatives who run publishing companies.
I didn't try to get publicity on a gossip blog. I have no interaction with gawker. I sent an email to a classmate at the New York Daily News.I was not so excited at a book deal. A book deal means the book will be there. Life is boring. About two people have ever appreciated my writing in the same way I do. Not that being appreciated in a concurrent way with my own appreciation is so exciting. It isn't. It just feels good. Maybe there is no basis in reality why it should feel good. What is good about thinking the same way as someone else? I’m not sure. It might just be the same thing as thinking that homosexuality is ‘ewwww. ewwww. ewwww.’
I was there when you told Jami Attenberg she was rich. It was pretty awkward. You didn't say it like, "You, Jami Attenberg, are rich in the sense that all people who have their health and can afford to eat are rich." It was more like, "You got a book deal for many thousands of dollars and now you're rich. I didn't, and I'm not."About Jami. Yes, it may have been awkward. But this feeling of awkwardness is, again, I think, the same one one might feel for, say, homosexuality. The discomfort comes from kinds of preconceptions, which come from history, books, TV, society, the government, etc. not from concrete reality as un-screwed with by those things I just listed. If I think she is rich, so what. If one thinks clearly, then me saying, ‘You are pretty!’ would be the same as me saying, ‘You are rich!’ Where does the awkwardness come from? Probably from guilt. No one wants to be viewed as ‘rich.’ Rappers like to be called rich, I guess. If I call certain people ‘homosexuals’ they will take that as a terrible insult and beat the shit out of me. And kill me.
But now you do have a book deal, although not for many thousands of dollars. Same with me. You wrote a surreal story collection about people who seem to be dying, and giant squids washing up on beaches. I wrote a surreal novel with herds of deer wandering through a burning suburb, and a person locked in a basement for ten years. Your collection is called Bed; my novel is called Fires. I wrote the first draft of this novel three years ago. I don't know when you wrote your collection.
Everybody feels discomfort, except for a heroin addict with an unlimited supply of heroin. Could there be such a thing as a Platonic supply of heroin? I can't write slowly. I write fast or I get bored. Lately I'm mostly occupied by drafts of stories and manuscripts I have already written. I've been entertaining myself though by writing very short stories late at night. Here, for example, is one I wrote just before I fell asleep last night.Lately I've been feeling 'fucked.' My pleasures in life are now (1) expressing this 'fucked' feeling in poems and my novel, (2) eating, and (3) vandalism. I have about $1600. Jobs give me despair.On Tuesday I was thinking about the things that have affected how I write. Not necessarily the things I like the most, but the things that have most directly influenced my ideas. Those things are Calvin and Hobbes and the Marquis de Sade.I dug a clot of hair and teeth out of my arm this morning. After I cleaned off the blood and bandaged the wound, I set the wet little thing on the table and examined it with proprietary amazement, like a cat sniffing something it has just coughed up or killed.
Wow, I thought. Now there's something you don't often do.
A summer rainstorm had recently passed, and the cool air coming in the kitchen window smelled fresh and earthwormy. I touched the thing on the table with my fingertip. It was small—nothing more than two smooth, tiny teeth about the size of dried peas plus some thin, wrinkled hairs, all of it gummed together with unidentifiable grayish tissue. Looking at the thing made me sad.
Once I thought about it, of course, I knew whose hair and teeth had been buried inside my arm. (Buried is a good word. The effect of discovering them—or, rather, realizing who they belonged to—was the same as if I'd torn up the floorboards of my house and found the corpse of a long-forgotten aunt stuffed in there, mummified and smelling of death.) After all, the teeth were unnaturally small, almost dwarfish.
I got a warm, familyish feeling in my heart.
My little brother!
You (I mean you personally) don't need a full-time job, except maybe for health insurance. You don't have student loans, so you only need money for living expenses. Jobs give most people despair. I work as an assistant in an office. I’m grateful to have a job.I do not need a full-time job. You are right. Two people have told me to get unemployment. I do not have student loans. This is embarrassing. The embarrassment is irrational, has no basis in concrete reality. Therefore I won’t let it be there. But I will let the guilt be there. Guilt for reasons like being alive. Is it absurd to feel guilt for being alive because it precludes the possibility of someone else being in my place? Maybe the unborn should feel guilt for not existing. Depends on perspective. I sound like Joy Williams. She says that. ‘The unborn.’
I have stopped eating, just about. I've been unwell for some time and I have no appetite. I just eat a few handfuls of cereal a day and maybe an egg.
I wish I had the skills to charm people easily. When I meet someone who I don't like but who I have to pretend to like, I feel as if the smile I'm trying to hold in place is going to jump off my head, grab a kitchen knife, and stab that person through the brain.
That's how I felt around many people I went to college with.
I haven’t read Kunkel’s book and probably won’t.I feel nauseous dread. Yes. I saw those tables but did not comment. I do not comment. I drink my soymilk and walk to my room and sit on my bed.
We live, with a third roommate who shall go unnamed out of respect for her privacy, in a one-bedroom apartment divided by fake walls.
The apartment is essentially a long, narrow, dark corridor. Almost no natural light gets in. Does its resemblance to a birth canal ever fill you with a sort of queasy dread? How about my codeine-influenced fingerpainting (I call it "Norman Rockwell Headbirth") that covers an entire wall? We really need to paint over that.
Also, I found some little tables in the refuse room this morning as I was leaving for work. They're perfectly fine. I put them in the living room.
Let's dispel a wrong impression that this guy (and by the way, I wonder who emailed him) seems to have: while you are my roommate, you are not a yale alum. You went to NYU. We should clarify this--first because most people don't like "yalies" and second because I would not be inclined ever to have one as a roommate again. (My last college roommate, an alcoholic with certain other addictions to boot, wept constantly, smashed windows, and punched holes in walls. When I said something like, "Listen, stop punching holes in the walls. Maybe you can afford to lose the deposit, but I can't," he said, "It's okay, we'll just hang a picture over it. That's what we do at home when my dad punches a hole in the wall.") So, you are from NYU. There is no collegiate connection between us. We met because we both had stories published in Opium Magazine.I still think your parents are rich. My parents were poor in Taiwan growing up. My dad ate like one bowl of rice a day. Still, if I saw him eating that rice I would call him rich. Anyone not a boy in Africa, one of those you see that look like skeletons, is rich.
Also, almost everyone I knew from college is now living off their parents' money--doing nothing or working in some sort of fun unpaid internship on mom and dad's dime. Unfortunately, you are wrong--my parents are not rich. One year when I was a kid, my dad, who I love and who is a musical genius, made $15,000 in the whole year. Now they're doing a lot better, but before that, when we lived in New Orleans, he would go around and paint houses or something. Then some people dumped our car in the river and threatened to kill us, so we moved out of New Orleans. I was four. As soon as I finish paying off my own debt (did you know that when you graduate, yale gives you a little clay pipe and some soap to blow bubbles with? this is true.), I'll start helping my parents pay off theirs. Which is all to say that I don't socialize with my former classmates much, the exception being [name removed], who you've seen around the apartment from time to time.
In the “big,” sense of starving people in Africa, yes, we are all rich. That, obviously, is not the sense I am talking about. I fear debt more than death or injury. I don’t know why, but it’s always been that way.People need more guilt in the world. Start at the bottom, at the most miserable of conditions, and let the guilt come up but from the top to the bottom. I like it when a writer writes in the ‘big’ sense all the time. When they don’t ever exclude any information. Don’t block things out, don’t create a context less than the universe, which is a mystery. Therefore don’t have a context. I'm tired of everything I think, by the way, right now.
I was unaware that you've been vandalizing things lately. Don't get caught. We need your share of the rent. I haven't done anything illegal since college. Here the chances of getting caught are higher and I have a lot more to lose.
In the real world, it often seems like you would like a form of conventional success. You talk a lot about advances other writers got, etc. When I first met you, we would be walking down the street or something, not speaking, and suddenly you would be like, “I need to sell a book,” and I would be like, “Yeah.” That happened more than once, like maybe six or seven times. I’m not criticizing that. I was probably thinking the same thing, just not saying it out loud.You are right. I do say that. I do want conventional success. But not as an ends in itself. I want it in order to have more authority to call people on their bullshit, to undermine the kind of success that is an ends to itself, and to get interviews in, like, The New Yorker where I can say things that I currently say on this site to about two hundred people to like two hundred thousand people.
1982, Janine. People's Act of Love. These are some books I'm reading and liking right now.I like about eight books. Writers are assholes more than other people are assholes. Does there even exist a book, in the world, that does not contain a cliche of language ('in the face of,' 'at the top of her lungs,' 'the small of his back,' etc.)?
Cliches can be manipulated to great effect. Some books use phrases like the ones you mention and it's fine. Not every book is purely about language or mood, which most of your stories are concerned with. That would be boring. Some books are purely about story or character, and that's fine. I don't share your indifference to plot. My favorite books have every element in balance. Books like Ada or Waterland.You are right. Me thinking badly about clichés probably has the same basis in reality as someone thinking badly about, like, the color blue. I like it when someone calls me on my shit. Here’s a quote from a band called Propagandhi: ‘I’ll call you on your shit / Please call me on mine / We can grow together / Make this shithole planet better / In time.’
Oh, why don't you talk about your NYU research project on - what was it? Fact-checking in blogs?I lied to Gawker and Curbed to have fun because life was boring and stupid.
Why has it been so fucking cold lately? Are my violent shaking spells normal? Should I see a doctor?The flu made me sad.
Seriously, about once every couple hours for the past week I've begun to shiver so violently I can't pick up a glass until it's ended. It's definitely not withdrawal, since I'm too poor to buy drugs that aren't prescribed to me. Onset of nerve disease, perhaps? This is true.I have a poem about this. I don’t want to post it here. Joshua Beckman’s new poetry book is called SHAKE. It’s good. One poem he’s like, ‘Put down your cell phone. I’m sad.’
We don't have publicists. We probably won't ever have publicists. And we don't have useful connections, family or academic or otherwise. So we better do something ourselves if we don't want our books to vanish.When I'm interviewed I'm going to call Kate Braverman, Susan Sontag, etc. on their bullshit. This will interest all the gossip people. Maybe I can mud wrestle Susan Sontag’s corpse and get shot out of a cannon through a rainbow. The rainbow connection. I don’t know.
I heard a guy named Nicholas Christopher say in a lecture that Susan Sontag was a plaigiarist, but what is Kate Braverman's bullshit?I feel tired of explaining people’s bullshit. I will save this for other interviews. No one will believe me anyway. I use only facts, yet people try to argue with me. I think a large percentage of people with ‘educations’ view the world through abstractions, preconceptions, and other things that don’t actually exist. Each abstraction, preconception, or thing that does not exist exists because some information in the universe has been excluded from that person’s brain, I think. For writers, this percentage goes up somehow to like 98%. Writers not like this are I think Joy Williams, Fernando Pessoa, and that’s about it. Some I can’t know since they don’t have a lot of rhetoric in their fiction.
I wasted my time in college. Instead of working on novels alone in my room, I should have pretended to like the people who I didn't like. Things would be easier for me if I had faked like I was interested. I only began to realize that at the very end.In college for about a year and a half or something I did not hang out with anyone, only wrote BED. My writing professor, Sophie Powell, said my character's existential despair could be solved if he believed in God. She wrote that on the story. I also argued against her and the rest of the class that Woody Allen is not a bad person for marrying his step-daughter. Everyone disagreed with me and I lectured them. Sophie Powell said, ‘Marriage is sacred.’ The definition of ‘Sacred’ should in the dictionary be ‘Ewwww. ewwww. ewwww.’ The only person who would’ve been on my side that day was Mal Coppenrath but she did not go to class that day. Mal Coppenrath has a poem forthcoming in 3 a.m. magazine called ‘fuck starbucks.’ Mike Young has a poem forthcoming in 3 a.m. magazine called ‘don’t fuck mcdonald’s.’ i told him to write one called ‘fuck mcdonald’s’ and he finally wrote one called ‘don’t fuck mcdonald’s.’ Mike Young is the literary editor of Noo Journal.
Woody Allen is not a bad person for marrying his step-daughter. But who cares? I mean, who cares that he is not a bad person? Even if I thought he was a bad person, I would still think that Crimes and Misdemeanors is one of the best films ever made, and that Deconstructing Harry is wonderful and amazing. Woody Allen gets it right. The end of Crimes and Misdemeanors is perfect and chilling. The religious man is blind and happy, blindly dancing with his daughter. The filmmaker is weak and disregarded, pitied by the woman he loved. The thoughtful, “normal” man murders a woman and escapes unpunished, even by his own conscience.I don’t understand this ‘separate the art from the artist’ thing. Why? Why separate anything, ever? Yes, you can get pleasure from the art and ignore the artist. But why ever ignore things. The art cannot cause pain and suffering in the world without the people. THE PEOPLE. Never mind. I’m not going to argue this. Maybe in some other interview.
To further explain my “who cares” question, I think that while Roman Polanski may not be a bad person in general, he once did a very bad thing by fucking a young girl at a party. And I understand the argument that he is a bad person. But that doesn’t affect the way I feel when Chinatown ends and the woman is shot through the eye. It doesn’t affect the shock I felt when I watched Repulsion and the mirror swung around to reveal a glimpse of a hiding rapist.
Anyway.
I get manic sometimes, or maybe panicked is a better word, and send a hundred emails to a hundred different people at once, because I get suddenly overwhelmed with the belief that no amount of talent or skill that I have or can develop will help me, and the only thing that will help me is pretending I get along with people.
A while back, someone from school told me I ought to email a kid who worked at the new york daily news. So I did. Our correspondence is linked to earlier in this interview. The only missing email is the last one I sent to him, which I've accidentally deleted. I told him to take Mylanta for his stomach and politely agreed that he did owe me.Here's what I think about Gawker. People think badly of you because of that email because people are stupid and do not think for themselves.
I was obviously startled by what happened--the email mysteriously getting from him to gawker—but like I said, I guess I was asking for trouble. Later on, several people pointed out that Chris Rovzar (who, I will say, at least seems sincere in those emails, doesn't he?) is somehow affiliated with a book by a recent yale grad that I mauled in a yale herald review a while back. A lot of the author's friends were upset about that review, apparently. Oh well.
As this guy says, karma is a bitch. But people who worry about karma while writing book reviews do not make good book reviewers.
(Actually, two minor notes about the review as I look at it again now, for the first time in almost a year. One—I didn't write that garish title, though I didn't raise an objection to it, either. And two—in the opening paragraph, some herald editor deleted the word "sex" after the word "oral," so instead of "swallowing after oral sex," it says "swallowing after oral." I don't know why that annoys me, but it does.)
Also, somebody else contacted me yesterday me and said that gawker's intern is a yale girl (which I did know, actually, though I'd forgotten) who happens to be friends with the author of that novel I reviewed so unfavorably. I met that intern once. She seemed like a nice person. Still, before I jumped in the water I should have checked to see what was swimming in it.
So it goes. I've been on the wrong side of weird grudges before. That reminds me, did I ever tell you about the jar of fermented juice and rotten meat someone left in my dorm mailbox with a threatening note? There was an earring attached to it. I think I was supposed to recognize the earring, but I didn't. Or maybe they got the wrong mailbox.
A couple things, though. Once it’s up there, you don’t get a chance to defend it morally, philosophically, and politically. It’s just up there with a bunch of insults from people whose job it is to be insulting, plus our names. For example, compared to how many people read that posting, almost no one is going to read this interview.Still. There’s no need to defend it. The facts are there. I mean, you’ve gotten a post there on independent presses instead of JT Leroy's pet dog's fake toys, or something.
Also, if I’d known it was going to end up posted for thousands of people to read, I would have spent more than 90 seconds or so writing it.
I felt more confusion than discomfort. Mostly because things happened without my knowing them. Like I saw that Mediabistro article the day after it appeared, and it says “no one seems willing to confirm” that I sent the email. When I read that, I sent them an email that said, “I’d have been happy to confirm.”---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Now I’m going to go watch part of Deconstructing Harry, which you can turn on at any point and still enjoy, then go to sleep, then go to work. It’s 4:41 a.m.
On 27/02/06, Rovzar, Christopher wrote:From: Nick Antosca
Hi Nick –
One question – YDN or Herald?
Chris
On 27/02/06, Rovzar, Christopher wrote:On 27/02/06, Nick Antosca wrote:
Yipes.
So I forwarded this email to my co-worker at the column and she forwarded it on to our friends who write the Gawker.com website. The editor, Jessica Coen, posted it.
I'm so sorry that happened – really, I am. But a lot of people read Gawker, so it's good publicity!
If you want her to remove your name, just let me know.
Chris
On 27/02/06, Rovzar, Christopher wrote:From: Nick Antosca
Ok, his name will be off, too.
Maybe that's why they posted it?
Again, really, sorry about this.
On 27/02/06, Rovzar, Christopher wrote:From: Nick Antosca
Apparently they can't take stuff down, but book names, etc, will be removed.
Again, so, so, so, so sorry.
From: Rovzar, Christopher
Date: 27-Feb-2006 12:43
Subject: RE: fiction from yale
To: Nick Antosca
No, you should have hit me up. I'm very good about helping people out – especially Yalies who are working at being writers. I really think we should all help each other out. You weren't asking for trouble. This was an honest mistake on my part. People email me all the time about help, either advice, or with mentions in the column.
Quite frankly, all publicity is good publicity (I'm not saying I'm not sorry that it happened this way, because I am, very much so, and feel sick to my stomach about it). People say that because it's true.
Again, I'm really very sorry, and I'll try to make it up to you. Meanwhile, nobody will even remember this tomorrow, I promise.
Chris
4:52 AM
14 comments
reading povel to me is the opposite of reading, say, 'the great gatsby,' a book whose symbolism, melodrama, and tone makes me want to push people into rivers at nightpre-order you are a little bit happier than i am from me for $11
9:46 PM
5 comments
author of a poetry-collection, COGNITIVE-BEHAVIORAL THERAPY (melville house, 2008), a novel, EEEEE EEE EEEE (melville house, 2007), a story-collection, BED (melville house, 2007), and a poetry collection, YOU ARE A LITTLE BIT HAPPIER THAN I AM (action books, 2006)
