Big thanks to Future Tense publishing and Kevin Sampsell for taking on my short stories. I am so happy to see this one make it’s way out into the world.
Future Tense site says:
Following her acclaimed novels Clown Girl and The Stud Book, Monica Drake presents her long-awaited first collection of stories. The Folly of Loving Life features linked stories examining an array of characters at their most vulnerable and human, often escaping to somewhere or trying to find stability in their own place. These stories display the best of what we love about Monica’s writing–the sly laugh-out-loud humor, the sharp observations, the flawed but strong characters, and the shadowy Van Sant-ish Portland settings.
210 pages, paperback ISBN 978-1-892061-77-5
$15.00 & $3.00 shipping.
I can only ship in the U.S., but if you’re in England, Amazon UK carries it! Huge thanks. M
I aspire to be the stoner
in the room.
To be the guy with the ripped jeans and the Morrison
hair. Who nods and says, “Cool.”
Who says, “Works for me.”
Who says, “Sure, dude.”
And it might be 1977 or
could be 2050 but he has his eye
on some hot bod somewhere else and
he’s flashing a peace sign
and he’s leaving the building
and he’s making like water, like vapor
He says, “Catch you later,” and
“American cigarettes taste like Florida.”
The world can smoke neurosis now,
smoke your striving.
Like a doctor, his first vow
the Hippocratic oath because this dude,
he will do no harm.
The lovely bit about laundry is finding poems in my child’s pocket.
Me: “Maybe I should scrap this book. I’ve got another I want to write, it seems so clear.”
Chuck P shrugs. “Yeah. They all do in the beginning.”
Yep. Okay. Not scrapped. Working on revisions. With that simple sentence from Chuck, that reminder, I got back to work.
So happy to go on a walk.
Dancing at the front door,
eager for the leash.
How do I tell him?
This walk is a trip to the dog dentist,
where he’ll be sedated and abandoned
but only for a while.
I’m home now, the house empty around me,
without the twirls of the rescue animal,
his beating heart
always glad his friend is home.
One night when I was barely twenty I went–alone, I think? Maybe with a friend–to see a performance at Cafe Oasis of a Cuban mime troupe. Cafe Oasis, up on NW 23rd, more often hosted open mic poetry, acoustic tunes. It was a narrow venue in an old wooden building with warped floorboards and mismatched ceramic mugs, a small spot for a group traveling from Cuba, but how much stage would mimes need? I didn’t have any idea. I took the bus then walked a ways in the dark. The mimes never showed up though. Cuban mimes, gone missing.
The Stud Book is set in part at the Oregon Zoo, in Portland, epicenter of Asian elephant sperm, which is seriously shipped around in the world in an effort to keep Asian elephants reproducing in captivity. While the elephant population dwindles and the human population doubles, a pack of lifelong friends navigate the shifting terrain of their own unsteady lives.
Hope you might read it, and love it! That’s my dream. Now out in Spain, from the indie press Blackie Books.
Thank you for taking a look!
My mother, daughter and I went to see a production of Othello. My daughter is young, but she’s seen at least three Shakespeare plays so far–Falstaff (fat shaming), Othello (domestic violence) and then Romeo and Juliet in a few different forms.
In the middle of Othello, my mom whispered, “Why is Iago evil? Do we know?”
Some people ask, I think. I never ask.
It’s a quote from Play it as it Lays, by Joan Didion: “What makes Iago evil? Some people ask. I never ask.”
I tell my mom, “We don’t know.”
The big question: Will Jonathan Safran Foer’s literary cups, at Chipotle, come with trigger warnings?