• About
  • Cats Dig Hemingway
  • Guest Bookings
  • John King’s Publications
  • Literary Memes
  • Podcast Episode Guide
  • Store!
  • The Rogue’s Guide to Shakespeare on Film
  • Videos
  • Writing Craft Discussions

The Drunken Odyssey

~ A Podcast About the Writing Life

The Drunken Odyssey

Category Archives: Poetry

Episode 467: Ciara Shuttleworth!

10 Saturday Apr 2021

Posted by thedrunkenodyssey in Episode, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Episode 467 of The Drunken Odyssey, your favorite podcast about creative writing and literature is available on Apple podcasts, stitcher, spotify, or click here to stream (right click to download, if that’s your thing).

In this week’s show, I speak with Ciara Shuttleworth about poetry, telling factions, limerence, running with the Muses, being open to delight, and the importance of daydreaming.

TEXT DISCUSSED

NOTES

Scribophile

  • TDO Listeners can get 20% of a premium subscription to Scribophile. After using the above link to register for a basic account, go here while still logged in to upgrade the account with the discount.
  • Consider donating to my birthday fundraiser for The Kerouac Project of Orlando.

  • Orlando locals, go see Orlando Shakes’s Lake Eola production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, now through April 17th.
MidSumNightDream0768-resize

Photo by Tony Firriolo.

  • Check out my literary adventure novel, Guy Psycho and the Ziggurat of Shame.

Episode 467 of The Drunken Odyssey, your favorite podcast about creative writing and literature is available on Apple podcasts, stitcher, spotify, or click here to stream (right click to download, if that’s your thing).

Aesthetic Drift #28: The Festival For Poets: O, Miami!

01 Thursday Apr 2021

Posted by thedrunkenodyssey in Aesthetic Drift, Florida Literature, Journalism, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Aesthetic Drift #38 by Avery Coffey

The Festival For Poets: O, Miami!

Coming from someone who has been in Miami for a total of three years, I still haven’t explored all that the city has to offer. There simply isn’t enough daylight to experience the ins and outs of it. However, one event I’ve heard mentioned in several rooms is that of O, Miami, a festival is for lovers of poetry, writers of poetry, and those who simply want to understand it!

O, Miami began in 2011 with the objective of spreading a love for poetry. However, the originators found that the love for poetry and art was already thriving throughout the city. Their only job was to give it a platform. Every summer, they host an open call for event and project ideas. Anyone can contribute, and they shuffle through every single one to mold the O’Miami Poetry Festival for the spring. These events and projects take place over the entire month of April.

Last year, the festival was called off due to COVID-19.

According to Melody Santiago, one of the festival directors, when preparing for this year’s festival, O, Miami had to delegate which events and projects from 2020 would take place this year. Ultimately, some had to be pushed to next year if they were not suitable for a virtual platform.

Mrs. Santiago recalled her introduction to the festival. As a Miami native, she believed she knew everything there was to know about the city. However, as she became involved with the festival, she quickly realized she hadn’t even experienced the true beauty of it. Her time spent with the organization has been dedicated to creating a space for everyone to enjoy literature. There isn’t a specific initiative for O, Miami. More than anything, she wishes for everyone to feel a part of the festival and live through it. Poetry isn’t something that you have to study for. Everyone, and anyone, can enjoy literature.

This statement flows through every project and event they are hosting this year. One of the programs, Something to Chew On, was named a project that Melody is looking forward to. It gives a platform to incarcerated people with a love for poetry. Found in gumball machines, their poems will reach masses and draw a bridge between Miami society and those serving time in prison.

O, Miami will kick off on April 1st with an Instagram Live featuring poet Campbell McGrath as he reads from his favorite book!

Campbell McGrath (left) and John King (right). Photo by Shawn McKee.

Sign up for their newsletter for updates and further information as April unfolds.


Avery Coffey is collegiate writer based in Miami, Florida. She’s always had a passion for creative writing. Since entering college in 2018, she has discovered a love for using her talents to explore current events and social issues, and being a voice for others.

Buzzed Books #92: Red Comet: Heather Clark’s The Short Life and Blazing Art of Sylvia Plath

30 Tuesday Mar 2021

Posted by thedrunkenodyssey in Biography, Buzzed Books, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

 Buzzed Books #92 by Jan Elizabeth Watson

Heather Clark’s Red Comet:

The Short Life and Blazing Art of Sylvia Plath

Sylvia Plath at nineteen, smiling broadly, her face scrunched into what Ted Hughes once described as a “tight ball of joy.” It was the photo on The Bell Jar’s back cover that hooked me first. Below that, a paragraph-long bio that ended with a terse, jarring mention of her suicide at age 30.  I needed no further enticement to check this book out from the library; I was fifteen years old, prone to despondency, and certainly on the lookout for a kindred spirit.

The reading of Plath’s poems came next. Then the journals. Then the letters home, carefully edited by her mother. Then the onslaught of biographies, each with its own agenda. Then the longer, unexpurgated journals and still more biographies. Somehow, the more I read about Sylvia Plath, the more I wanted to know. And in my blue-collar, small-town innocence, I had no idea that there were millions of other people out there who felt exactly as I did: those with an insatiable desire to have more of Plath, without being able to pinpoint exactly why.

What about Plath inspires such fierce, if misguided, identification? Is it, for some of us, a particularly female or particularly American desire for recognition and accomplishment?  Is it the incongruity of her public face, so exuberantly wholesome and beaming, measured against Plath’s writing voice: seething, theatrical, lethal? Is it the Grand Guignol nature of her late poetry, making the audience complicit in the inevitable course of her last days? Perhaps it is simply the question of looking at her life and her body of work and wondering where everything went wrong.

To satisfy this collective curiosity and appetite for Plath comes the biography that may at last be enough: Red Comet: The Short Life and Blazing Art of Sylvia Plath, by Heather Clark. A decorated and tireless scholar herself, Clark wrote this 1,154-page colossus with cooperation from the Hughes and Plath estates and aided by documents that no prior biographer was privy to. The result is as complete an account as one could dream of. And Clark’s agenda is refreshingly pure. Rather than attempting to hold Plath up as a feminist icon or as a victim, Clark’s intention (made plain in her preface) is to make the “peanut-crunching crowd” disperse at last, ending the mythology of Plath as a highly performative femme fatale and inviting closer inspection of her legitimacy as a writer.  And to some extent, this approach works. I say “to some extent” because Plath’s most famous poems may always be viewed as predictive of her death… a blueprint for her suicide replete with knowing winks to the audience. (Clark does her best to debunk this idea, showing that the real story of Plath’s final weeks, which were not self-destructive and defiant but hope-filled in some regards, which in many ways is makes for a sadder story than the myth.) This is not a book of what went wrong so much as it is a great celebration of the many things that went right in Plath’s life, particularly her complete dedication to her writing.

Like many women who came of age in the 1950s and early 60s, the real Sylvia Plath had a tidy exterior and an inner life that was anything but tidy. She was, as many might say nowadays, problematic. She was a woman who wanted to be a rule-follower who was also highly sexualized and impatient with sexual mores of her time. She wanted to be a good wife and mother and a recognized force in the fast and loose literary world of London in the early 60s. She wanted to be a fresh-faced all-American collegiate girl and a serious English lady of letters both. She drew people in with her vivacity, but had a sharp, judgmental eye that often resulted in tartly written depictions of the people she was closest to. With a remarkable lack of bias, Red Comet contextualizes the many faces of Plath and gives fair treatment to many of the key figures whom Plath eviscerated in her writings… including the much-pilloried Ted Hughes, guilty of infidelity but also in possession of great sensitivity and a complete paternal allegiance to his children that was unusual for an Englishman of his time. This biography respects Plath’s perceptions and feelings, but it also gives us a great deal else to consider.

Despite the push-pull of Plath’s deeply human contradictions, her writing ambitions remained a constant, and her efforts to strengthen her writing voice had a heroic single-mindedness. The child of two academics, her talent for language manifested itself at a young age, and Red Comet chronicles Plath’s evolution from teenage writer of magazine fiction to the poet whom Al Alvarez described as one of the finest who ever lived. Her fiction, too, was taking off toward the end of her life. One of Clark’s most fascinating revelations is her discussion of Plath’s destroyed, unpublished second novel—a sequel to The Bell Jar entitled Falcon Yard—and the possible existence of a third manuscript (long thought lost) called Doubletake, a “funny” and “wicked” tale about an American expatriate wife and her philandering British husband. The thought that this novel could yet see the light of day is almost too much to hope for, but if it does, one can only imagine that readers might gain a greater appreciation of Plath’s humor and view her infamous, doomed marriage in a different light.

Ultimately, we all have our own ideas of who Plath was. Plath had her own ideas, too, and it is these ideas that Red Comet attempts to honor at every turn.  Though lumped in with the “confessional” poets, Clark reveals that Plath saw herself as a surrealist, and perhaps we would be wise to begin to view her work the same way: premised upon wild, representational fantasies as opposed to a literal depiction of the life she lived. Had Plath lived to old age and enjoyed a long career, her surrealist leanings may have taken her to poems to even more ferociously imagined heights and left a different legacy for us all. Lacking that, we must be grateful for the prolificacy of her poems, the feverishness with which she documented her life, and the arrival of a biography like Red Comet that celebrates and observes in equal measure.


Jan Elizabeth Watson is the author of two novels: Asta in the Wings (Tin House Books, 2009) and What Has Become of You (Penguin Random House, 2014). She received her MFA from Columbia University, where she was also a Teaching Fellow. Originally from Maine, she now lives in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania and is at work on a third novel.

The Perfect Life #11: Risk a Verse

29 Monday Mar 2021

Posted by thedrunkenodyssey in Poetry, The Perfect Life

≈ Leave a comment

The Perfect Life #11

Dear Dr. Perfect,

My girlfriend always wants me to listen to her read her poetry. At this point, listening to her recitations takes up about ten hours every week. I don’t know how she can write so much verse. Frankly, the poems aren’t that bad, but her stentorian reading voice raises the hairs on the back of my neck. I’ve asked if I can just read them without the performance, but she let me know how insanely unsupportive I was. My alcoholism seems to be worsening. What can I do?

Signed,

A captive audience

———————————————–

Dear Captive Audience,

That sounds wonderful. With so much poetry at your disposal, you’ll never be vexed by the mysteries of life again.

Forgive my sarcasm.

I dated two rather accomplished poets in my younger years. One believed she was Emily Dickinson incarnate, and the other was a vegan transcendentalist who liked to burn things. Fine women, but I would always wind up as some abstract metaphor, slipped into one of their pieces. Something about the wispy strike of the serpent tongue or the piggish rankle of the beguiling bore. It wasn’t flattering, but what can I say? They became quite bitter toward the end. I, of course, have no room for bitterness in my perfect life. Holding grudges against self-absorbed exes who tried to publicly sully my good name would be a disservice to my loyal readers. The iridescent malaise of what she doth spew turns the tide of knowledge against her.

Your girlfriend needs an audience, a kind ear that will build her confidence. She might be a little overbearing in her delivery, as you suggest, but that’s what artists call “passion.” She’s also apparently prolific. A poet doesn’t want you to just read their work. You should know better. Recitation is half the effort. I recall accompanying friends to some beatnik bar in Greenwich Village during the seventies. They had spoken word and bongo drums and all the works. Some of those cats could go all night, I tell you. This isn’t to suggest that your “old lady” is part of that scene. That’s what they called female companions back then. She might be a classical poet, publishing volumes of lyrical soliloquies for your ears only. Therein lies the problem. There’s only so much time in the day, and you can’t spend it emulating an audience for your girlfriend’s radio plays. Poets are particularly sensitive, so I’ve heard. Writers in general are a mess. So, whatever scheme you employ will require more tactical planning than the Normandy Invasion.

The first step toward any well-meaning imposition is to establish ground rules. Certain people understand things like personal space and consideration and certain people don’t. Your poet extraordinaire might fit somewhere in the middle. For all I know, you’re equally annoying, but I make no presumptions.

My college roommate was a theater major who would demand my attention as he paced our dorm, practicing his solo-performance plays. Increasingly baffled, I asked “Are all of your plays just one big monologue?” He would never break character or give me a straight answer.

Limit the poetry in your life. Wean her from ten hours to five each week, eventually relegating her to an hour or less. You’ve recently embraced a new model ship building hobby that requires your utmost devotion. That’s what you’ll tell her. She might scoff at first but remind her that it keeps you from drinking. “You have your hobbies, I have mine,” you’ll say. After realizing that you’ve stepped into it by referring to her poetry as a hobby, you’ll apologize profusely and watch as she storms out of the house. This will give you an opportunity to rearrange all of the furniture in the living room while she’s gone.

Once she returns, attend to your model ships in the study, as though everything’s normal. She’ll ask what you’ve done with the living room. Remain oblivious and suggest that it’s all in her head. This is known as gaslighting, a favored tactic among sociopaths. It’s perfectly harmless in small doses. You’ll say that she’s overworked, that her many endless verses have transcended even the most open of forms into madness. Like Icarus, she’s flown too close to the sun.

The important thing to remember is to be happy. Life is too short to suffer silently through the doldrums of appeasement. Shorthand was designed to conserve time when writing. Emoticons have sped up communication. Perhaps your girlfriend is just looking for a 👍 to let her know everything will be okay. Award shows and speaking engagements have strict time limits for a reason. Artists would go on forever if they could.

I enjoy poetry as much as the next freak, but we all have limits. Poems are supposed to be brief and enjoyable. I even prefer the kinds that rhyme. To share one’s work is an intimate exercise. Your girlfriend values your opinion, and that’s not to be taken lightly. Maybe your opinion holds no clout and she just needs someone to listen. I don’t know. But I do know that you should take up some kind of model building. It’s the perfect activity to do while you drink.


Dr. Perfect has slung advice across the globe for the last two decades due to his dedication to the uplift of the human condition.

Episode 462: Denise Duhamel!

06 Saturday Mar 2021

Posted by thedrunkenodyssey in Episode, Florida Literature, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Episode 462 of The Drunken Odyssey, your favorite podcast about creative writing and literature is available on Apple podcasts, stitcher, spotify, or click here to stream (right click to download, if that’s your thing).

In this week’s episode, I speak with the poet Denise Duhamel about her latest book, Second Story, how to approach the long poem, the empathy gap in American life, and the Jungian concept of the necessity of play.

Photo by Amira Hadla.

TEXTS DISCUSSED

NOTES

Scribophile

TDO Listeners can get 20% of a premium subscription to Scribophile. After using the above link to register for a basic account, go here while still logged in to upgrade the account with the discount.

453: Carolyn Forché!

02 Saturday Jan 2021

Posted by thedrunkenodyssey in Episode, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Episode 453 of The Drunken Odyssey, your favorite podcast about creative writing and literature is available on Apple podcasts, stitcher, spotify, or click here to stream (right click to download, if that’s your thing).

This week, I talk to the poet and memoirist Carolyn Forché about her latest collection, In the Lateness of the World.

TEXTS DISCUSSED

NOTES

Scribophile

  • TDO Listeners can get 20% of a premium subscription to Scribophile. After using the above link to register for a basic account, go here while still logged in to upgrade the account with the discount.
  • Check out Netflix’s film adaptation of Lily Brooks-Dalton’s Good Morning, Midnight.

  • Check out my literary adventure novel, Guy Psycho and the Ziggurat of Shame.

Episode 453 of The Drunken Odyssey, your favorite podcast about creative writing and literature is available on Apple podcasts, stitcher, spotify, or click here to stream (right click to download, if that’s your thing).

451: A Panel of Debut Poets, with Tommye Blount, Ricardo Alberto Maldonado, & Joy Priest!

19 Saturday Dec 2020

Posted by thedrunkenodyssey in Episode, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Episode 451 of The Drunken Odyssey, your favorite podcast about creative writing and literature is available on Apple podcasts, stitcher, spotify, or click here to stream (right click to download, if that’s your thing).

This week, I share a Miami Book Fair panel of poets with debut books: Tommye Blount, Ricardo Alberto Maldonado, & Joy Priest!

NOTESScribophile

  • TDO Listeners can get 20% of a premium subscription to Scribophile. After using the above link to register for a basic account, go here while still logged in to upgrade the account with the discount.
  • Register with Miami Book Fair Online in order to stream its free events, including a debut poet panel moderated by yours truly.

  • Check out my literary adventure novel, Guy Psycho and the Ziggurat of Shame.

15 Tuesday Dec 2020

Posted by thedrunkenodyssey in Poetry, Sozzled Scribbler

≈ Leave a comment

The Diaries of a Sozzled Scribbler #23

Transcribed by DMETRI KAKMI

15 December 2020

I think of death. What must it be like for mortals to die? How must it feel? Is it scary or do you simply wink out, like candlelight, never knowing what happened or what it all meant? To make sense of it all, I have written four sweet, sentimental poems for all the dear departed. I hope they bring some small comfort.

Ode 1: For all dead mothers

Hundreds of vultures in the darkening sky
Hundreds of condoms on the beach
Hundreds of cars that go screeching by
Hundreds of drones in the sunny weather
Hundreds of abandoned panties to greet the dawn
Hundreds of lovers in the purple clover
Hundreds of butterflies in the stomach
But only one mother the wide world over.

Thank Christ for that

For who could live with more than one mama
Watching over them day and night?
Do this, don’t do that, twice over
So spare a thought for the kids
Who actually do have two mothers!
And when said combined mamas kick the bucket
There’ll be two pairs of eyes
Watching their children’s every move.

 

Ode 2: For a departed love one

Farewell to thee! but not farewell to me,
To all my indifferent thoughts of thee:
Within my heart they shall not dwell;
For you were ghastly unto the end.
Good riddance to you, oh tiresome bore.
And they shall cheer and comfort me.
If thou hadst never met mine eye,
If I may ne’er behold again
That form and face so loathsome to me,
Nor hear thy voice, still would I fain
It won’t be soon enough.
Thy grating articulation, the horror of whose tone
Can wake a migraine in mine head,
Creating feelings that, alone,
Can make my sphincter clench.
That sour eye, whose glowering beam
My memory would not wipe out soon enough;
And oh, that grin! whose depraved gleam
No mortal language can express.
Piss off, but let me cherish, still,
The hope with which I cannot part
That you won’t come back again.
And who can tell but Hell, at last,
May answer all my thousand prayers,
And bid adieu the future pay the past
With smiles for tears?

 

Ode 3: From a departed mother to her living child

Please, don’t cry.
I’m not really gone.
When you look out the window,
I’ll be standing on the lawn,
With an axe.

Please, don’t cry.
I’ll be standing over you
As you sleep,
Unconscious to the world.

Please, don’t cry.
I’m not really dead.
Just under your bed,
Waiting for you to fall asleep
So that I can crawl out
And eat your face.

Please, don’t cry.
I’m not gone forever.
Just lying in this box,
Smelling like meat gone bad.

Please, don’t cry.
Don’t run and hide.
When I shuffle up the drive
At twelve past midnight.

Please, don’t cry.
This is not goodbye.
So please, oh please,
Baby, don’t you cry.
I will be back again…

And then you will be sorry
For the arsenic you put in my chai latte,
You little shit. 

 

Ode 4: For a beloved ho

When you remember Emmett,
Don’t think of him this way.
Instead, remember the good times you had,
Or the funny things he did with his tongue.
Remember him sans pants,
How he loved the fragrant breeze.
Remember him in summer,
As the sunshine kissed his cheeks.
Remember him in autumn,
How he loved turning over.
Remember him in winter,
Watching his nipples freeze in the breeze.
But although Emmett surely loved you,
Remember, he loved just about everyone else as well,
And don’t lose heart because we’ll see him again,
When we reach that dank dark room on the other side.

À bientôt, mes amies.


The Sozzled Scribbler was born in the shadow of the Erechtheion in Athens, Greece, to an Egyptian street walker and a Greek bear wrestler. He is currently stateless and lives on gin and cigarettes.

Dmetri Kakmiis the author of Mother Land (shortlisted for the New South Wales Premier’s Literary Awards in Australia), and the editor of When We Were Young. His latest book is The Door and Other Uncanny Tales. He does not endorse the Sozzled Scribbler’s views.

Episode 449: A Very German Christmas Discussion (with Vanessa Blakeslee)!

05 Saturday Dec 2020

Posted by thedrunkenodyssey in Blog Post, Christmas, Christmas literature, Episode, Poetry

≈ 1 Comment

Episode 449 of The Drunken Odyssey, your favorite podcast about creative writing and literature is available on Apple podcasts, stitcher, spotify, or click here to stream (right click to download, if that’s your thing).

In this week’s episode, I talk with Vanessa Blakeslee about the excellent new anthology, A Very German Christmas, from New Vessel Press.

TEXT DISCUSSED

NOTESScribophile

  • TDO Listeners can get 20% of a premium subscription to Scribophile. After using the above link to register for a basic account, go here while still logged in to upgrade the account with the discount.
  • Register with Miami Book Fair Online in order to stream its free events, including a debut poet panel moderated by yours truly.

  • Check out my literary adventure novel, Guy Psycho and the Ziggurat of Shame.

Episode 449 of The Drunken Odyssey, your favorite podcast about creative writing and literature is available on Apple podcasts, stitcher, spotify, or click here to stream (right click to download, if that’s your thing).

Episode 445: A Discussion of The Selected Works of Audre Lorde, with Audi Barnes!

07 Saturday Nov 2020

Posted by thedrunkenodyssey in Episode, Essay, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Episode 445 of The Drunken Odyssey, your favorite podcast about creative writing and literature is available on Apple podcasts, stitcher, spotify, or click here to stream (right click to download, if that’s your thing).

On this week’s show, poet and scholar Audi Barnes and I discuss the uncompromising essays and poetry of Audre Lorde.

TEXT DISCUSSED

NOTES

Scribophile

  • TDO Listeners can get 20% of a premium subscription to Scribophile. After using the above link to register for a basic account, go here while still logged in to upgrade the account with the discount.
  • Starting on Nov 15, register with Miami Book Fair Online in order to stream its free events, including a debut poet panel moderated by yours truly.

  • Check out my literary adventure novel, Guy Psycho and the Ziggurat of Shame.

Episode 445 of The Drunken Odyssey, your favorite podcast about creative writing and literature is available on Apple podcasts, stitcher, spotify, or click here to stream (right click to download, if that’s your thing)

← Older posts

Online, shop here:

If you must, shop Amazon and help the show.

Audible.com

Blogs

Not forgotten

Categories

  • 21st Century Bronte
  • A Word from the King
  • Aesthetic Drift
  • animation
  • Anime
  • Art
  • Autobiography
  • AWP
  • Biography
  • Blog Post
  • Bloomsday
  • Buddhism
  • Buzzed Books
  • Cheryl Strayed
  • Children's Literature
  • Christmas
  • Christmas literature
  • Comedy
  • Comic Books
  • Comics Are Trying to Break Your Heart
  • Craft of Fiction Writing
  • Creative Nonfiction
  • David Foster Wallace
  • David James Poissant
  • David Lynch
  • David Sedaris
  • Disney
  • Dispatches from the Funkstown Clarion
  • Doctor Who
  • Drinking
  • Dungeons and Dragons
  • Editing
  • Education
  • Episode
  • Erotic Literature
  • Essay
  • Fan Fiction
  • Fantasy
  • Film
  • Flash Fiction
  • Florida Literature
  • Francesca Lia Block
  • Functionally Literate
  • Ghost writing
  • Graphic Novels
  • Gutter Space
  • Help me!
  • Heroes Never Rust
  • History
  • Horror
  • Humor
  • Hunter S. Thompson
  • In Boozo Veritas
  • Irish Literature
  • Jack Kerouac
  • James Bond
  • James Joyce
  • Jazz
  • Journalism
  • Kerouac House
  • Kung Fu
  • Like a Geek God
  • Literary Magazines
  • Literary Prizes
  • Literary rizes
  • Literature of Florida
  • Litlando
  • Live Show
  • Loading the Canon
  • Loose Lips Reading Series
  • Lost Chords & Serenades Divine
  • Magic Realism
  • Mailbag
  • manga
  • McMillan's Codex
  • Memoir
  • Miami Book Fair
  • Michael Caine
  • Military Literature
  • Mixtape
  • Music
  • New York City
  • O, Miami
  • Old Poem Revue
  • On Top of It
  • Pensive Prowler
  • Philosophy
  • Photography
  • Poetry
  • politics
  • Postmodernism
  • Publishing
  • Recommendation
  • Repeal Day
  • Science Fiction
  • Screenwriting
  • Sexuality
  • Shakespeare
  • Shakespearing
  • Sozzled Scribbler
  • Sports
  • Star Wars
  • Television
  • The Bible
  • The Curator of Schlock
  • The Global Barfly's Companion
  • The Lists
  • The Perfect Life
  • The Pink Fire Revue
  • The Rogue's Guide to Shakespeare on Film
  • Theater
  • There Will Be Words
  • translation
  • Travel Writing
  • Vanessa Blakeslee
  • Versify
  • Video Games
  • Violence
  • Virginia Woolf
  • War
  • Word From the King
  • Young Adult
  • Your Next Beach Read
  • Zombies

Recent Posts

  • Comics Are Trying to Break Your Heart #118: Swamps & Things
  • Episode 467: Ciara Shuttleworth!
  • The Curator of Schlock #349: Greyhound
  • Aesthetic Drift #29: Chewing on the Words of Miami’s Incarcerated
  • Lost Chords & Serenades Divine #20: Strange Lights Over Garth Mountain (2020)

Archives

  • April 2021
  • March 2021
  • February 2021
  • January 2021
  • December 2020
  • November 2020
  • October 2020
  • September 2020
  • August 2020
  • July 2020
  • June 2020
  • May 2020
  • April 2020
  • March 2020
  • February 2020
  • January 2020
  • December 2019
  • November 2019
  • October 2019
  • September 2019
  • August 2019
  • July 2019
  • June 2019
  • May 2019
  • April 2019
  • March 2019
  • February 2019
  • January 2019
  • December 2018
  • November 2018
  • October 2018
  • September 2018
  • August 2018
  • July 2018
  • June 2018
  • May 2018
  • April 2018
  • March 2018
  • February 2018
  • January 2018
  • December 2017
  • November 2017
  • October 2017
  • September 2017
  • August 2017
  • July 2017
  • June 2017
  • May 2017
  • April 2017
  • March 2017
  • February 2017
  • January 2017
  • December 2016
  • November 2016
  • October 2016
  • September 2016
  • August 2016
  • July 2016
  • June 2016
  • May 2016
  • April 2016
  • March 2016
  • February 2016
  • January 2016
  • December 2015
  • November 2015
  • October 2015
  • September 2015
  • August 2015
  • July 2015
  • June 2015
  • May 2015
  • April 2015
  • March 2015
  • February 2015
  • January 2015
  • December 2014
  • November 2014
  • October 2014
  • September 2014
  • August 2014
  • July 2014
  • June 2014
  • May 2014
  • April 2014
  • March 2014
  • February 2014
  • January 2014
  • December 2013
  • November 2013
  • October 2013
  • September 2013
  • August 2013
  • July 2013
  • June 2013
  • May 2013
  • April 2013
  • March 2013
  • February 2013
  • January 2013
  • December 2012
  • November 2012
  • October 2012
  • September 2012
  • August 2012
  • July 2012
  • June 2012
  • May 2012

Meta

  • Register
  • Log in
  • Entries feed
  • Comments feed
  • WordPress.com

Blog at WordPress.com.

Cancel

 
Loading Comments...
Comment
    ×