I am a whore for this literary magazine. Every time a new one arrives I DEVOUR it. It makes me think I am not nuts. It makes me want to be a better writer. It makes me believe I am. It talks to me like a lover on a train going nowhere fast. It sinks into me and changes me and I like being liquid black and white, rubbing words over my skin and feeling uncomfortable, naked, raw.
Aldous Huxley said,
“But I don’t want comfort. I want God. I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin.”
I might be Aldous Huxley.
or maybe I am just a little writer girl who wishes she knew Miranda F. Mellis and could party with Stacey Richter.
PS. Here’s TIN HOUSE story for you mouse lovers/haters out there.