On interrogating fear and what bats can teach about human connection.
The author discusses her new book, Stag Dance.
She stops to look into her mother's face. It is smooth and blank as a stone. Nothing emerges; nothing shifts.
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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 days go so fast, you have to steal the nights, and when all the nights slip away, that’s it. I’m not ready.
These people, these murder victims—the only thing separating their fate and mine is a thin hair of the intangible.
A dog could serve as another guard against the depression that I finally couldn't ignore.
The protests wound their way into the fabric of our days. Political struggle emerged naturally and sustained itself naturally.
The author of Who Put This Song On? on emo, mental health, and the Obama years.
The author of The Man Who Saw Everything on modernist structure, novelistic characters, and David Lynch.