She stops to look into her mother's face. It is smooth and blank as a stone. Nothing emerges; nothing shifts.
The author discusses her new book, Stag Dance.
“Don’t come out until I come back!”
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She stops to look into her mother's face. It is smooth and blank as a stone. Nothing emerges; nothing shifts.
The author discusses her new book, Stag Dance.
I worried I had broken the chatbot by trauma-dumping, and no one, human or machine, had the capacity to console me completely.
If he took a shortcut, if he made the creative process any easier for himself, the magic would be lost.
The author of Julius Julius on ad agency ghosts, shaming PSAs, and sexual harassment post-#MeToo
The popularity of the Storm Area 51 meme could easily be read as a cry for help—as though if we save the aliens from the government, they can, in turn, save us from ourselves.
The standard explanations for why things have happened this year have turned out to be as useless as the most far-out conspiracy theories.
I don’t have a title sitting in the car. There is anonymity in that moment, a complete lack of pressure. I’m just the driver, caught in a free, smooth space between eddies.
When I finally managed to get out of bed and return to my life, I was determined to be an expert on how to grieve. I was going to fuck grief up so hard.
In the aftermath of a video game, I find myself ready to emerge into 2020 afresh, anew, and aglow from a screen of pixels and a well-rested body crusted with mineral.
The days go so fast, you have to steal the nights, and when all the nights slip away, that’s it. I’m not ready.