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Joan Silber Headshot

Moving the Perspective: An Interview with Joan Silber

The first book that I wrote when I was vastly younger than I am now was based on my own family, but the point of view it took was my mother’s, a character, whom I would offer was often at odds with in real life. So I wanted to make that jump as something that writing could do, and I think I got some of that idea from Chekhov, whose writing I loved.

Moving the Perspective: An Interview with Joan Silber Read More »

The first book that I wrote when I was vastly younger than I am now was based on my own family, but the point of view it took was my mother’s, a character, whom I would offer was often at odds with in real life. So I wanted to make that jump as something that writing could do, and I think I got some of that idea from Chekhov, whose writing I loved.

gold sunlight on clouds

Apocalyptic Love Song

Apocalyptic Love Song Longing lengthens. The heart muscles over. What in the world is not a force of its own reckoning. We worship the sheen on the surface of the same lake that let our girls drown. How easily we trade our own breath for the idea that love is stronger when slipped inside the

Apocalyptic Love Song Read More »

Apocalyptic Love Song Longing lengthens. The heart muscles over. What in the world is not a force of its own reckoning. We worship the sheen on the surface of the same lake that let our girls drown. How easily we trade our own breath for the idea that love is stronger when slipped inside the

Water carriers in Cyprus in the early 1900s.

The Last “Water Carrier”

As [women water carriers] passed, almost like a ritual, the village men, especially younger ones, working in the nearby fields and farms would take a break from their work and line up on the sides of the road to watch them go by.

The Last “Water Carrier” Read More »

As [women water carriers] passed, almost like a ritual, the village men, especially younger ones, working in the nearby fields and farms would take a break from their work and line up on the sides of the road to watch them go by.

Hoarding Notes: The Uselessness of the Writer’s Notebook

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I had so many of these little notes that I would sometimes scroll down the screen just to see them riffle up, a blur of words that sang of possibility. They belonged to the future, and I carried them, clustered, in my pocket.

Hoarding Notes: The Uselessness of the Writer’s Notebook Read More »

I had so many of these little notes that I would sometimes scroll down the screen just to see them riffle up, a blur of words that sang of possibility. They belonged to the future, and I carried them, clustered, in my pocket.

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