Monthly Archives: February 2013

High Art Haiku: Zander and Carleigh edition.

Haiku

We like to write communal Haikus, each participant contributing two letters a a time. Sometimes they make sense, sometimes they’re nonsense, but they’re always awesome. Here’s the latest.

Frank learned bar stool
Vie for collective signs
wind renders ears deaf

Crevices sulk grey
Icicle centipede slides
tarred with hungry hand

O, tinder box blue
To fold mirrored ice, sharp, I
suspend space like flame

Teaser.

I’m writing a novel about bees and crystal meth. (Not bees on crystal meth. Shudder.) Here’s a teaser.

beeeeeeee

Unlike me, Doug has no reservations about offering up his life story. “I jacked a car and needed to get away from the cops. I’m from Surrey. It’s a fucking war zone there, man. I was selling meth too, it was just a matter of time before I ended up on the inside.”

“Fascinating.” Donna hands him a smoke. “Ember here is getting away from drugs too.”

“Donna!” Traitor.

“Really?” Doug sneers. “You don’t look like the type. What was it, coke?”

“Ritalin,” I say somewhat sheepishly, though I’m not sure why.

“That’s a good drug,” Doug says.

“That’s what I said!” Donna chimes in.

“I’d be dead without it.” Doug grins at her.

“You and my son both, kid.”

They high five. I’m not about to explain myself to some thug kid from Surrey, so I take a bite of my sandwich. Now I’m almost positive he’s the lawnmower thief. How could he not be?

I don’t have to wait long for affirmation. “Thanks for not ratting on me with Meg by the way,” he says to me.

“So that was you.”

“Yeah, of course.” He shrugs.

“And you’re just gonna put it out there like it’s no big thing”

“Sure,” Donna says, “ride on mowers go missing all the time.”

“Would’a got away with it too, if it didn’t run out of gas.”

“What the hell were you going to do with it?” Donna says. “Sell it at the farmer’s market?

“Nah. Craigslist.”

We’re all quiet for a moment, exhaling smoke, wondering where to go next. With Donna, you never have to wonder very long.

“So, planning on stealing anything else while you’re here?”

“Nah,” Doug says. “That was just a relapse. I’m gonna lay low and just work for awhile. Thanks again, Ember.”

EVENT magazine interview.

EVENTI was interviewed by the lovely Jenn Farrell at EVENT magazine last week. We chatted about my subTerrain story, and how my time interning at EVENT was indeed time well spent!

“Any writer who is having trouble working up the bottle to send their work out needs to put in some volunteer time at a journal. Before I started at EVENT, I had no idea what would happen to my poor little stories once I’d pushed them out of the nest. I think a lot of us get kind of melodramatic about it, picturing a bunch of editors in a sleek boardroom somewhere, holding up manuscripts and proclaiming them unfit for any and all viewing. Maybe they’re hooking back flaming Sambuca too. Maybe they use the flaming Sambucas to light the particularly crappy manuscripts on fire!”

Read more at eventmags.com.

Bargaining Phase.

Okay, let’s be honest here, after nine years
of being high, is it any surprise that in your tenth
year, you get clean, look at the person you’ve spent
nine years being high with, and you want nothing
to do with him anymore? Who the hell is that guy?
I’ll tell you. He’s the guy you married on a cold west coast
beach, with bare feet and fog in your hair. You had to have
a morning wedding. Your bridesmaids played singing bowls,
rang a spooky tone across the sand as you and your dad
approached. I was the guy waiting there, in a suit with no tie.
No shoes. I was shivering, do you remember? The archway
we’d spent all night setting up? The enormous mole
on the officiant’s face? We’d been high the day before,
and we’d get high the day after, but that day we were clean.

Thai Travelogue (Facebook Files) Such a perfect day, I’m glad I spent it with you.

Very good day. We’re out of the Serenity Now and back at the lovely Lipe Beach resort, where we were greeted like old friends by the staff, and told we could pay for our room “later.” We’ve been on Lipe nearly a month, and people at the resorts we’ve stayed at and the restaurants we frequent wave and greet us when we walk down the street. “You’re like a local now!” people say, which of course is utterly untrue, but is the highest compliment an islander in any country can bestow on you.

So many characters. The kebab guy is a Greek with a mohawk that’s usually un-gelled, so it kind of looks like a hipster side-shave. He calls me princess and teases Zander because he always pays for the food-says if women want equal rights, they should pay up. Zander told him he has the money because he has the pockets. We didn’t tell him that all of the money is ours, because that wouldn’t be as much fun, but the last time we bought some kebabs, I pulled the money out of my bikini. You can imagine the reception that got.