I've recently joined one of those movie theatre loyalty programs, where you get to watch multiple movies over the course of a week for the cost of essentially two movies a month (which I would do anyway, so this works well for me). Because of it, I end up seeing a lot of films I... Continue Reading →
like fine print, so hard to read
Rian Corveau is fifteen years old. He lives about twenty minutes north of the border, speaks French better than he reads it (and he only does around his Quebecois family, anyway), loves hunting better than fishing, and has just had sex for the first time.
mirabilis in miniature
The first story my parents remember me writing (or starting, at any rate) was titled THE STORM. Its opening line? "It was a beautiful day at the beach." The first story I remember writing was in first or second grade, shortly after I'd had a teary tantrum over something, and I proceeded to write a... Continue Reading →
Writing without engagement (or: livejournal was really great, right?)
For the last several years, I've engaged in micro-blogging: Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr. All of these create an "active" online presence that doesn't have to actually create anything new (though many do) -- one can instead just like, or reblog, or provide a two-word comment, and be considered alive and well. The other day I went... Continue Reading →
The Invasion
It began on a Tuesday. Aliens arrived, in swirling disco-ball orbs that were very shiny, and started laying waste to everything in sight and more than a few things in important bunkers. Munitions were destroyed; surrender was denied; the destruction of the world was both imminent and inevitable.
The Words Are the Breath
Sunday school was one of the things that Sam was supposed to pay attention to. His mama walked him to the door every time, which didn’t match what the other parents did; it bothered him. He dragged his feet, trying to get her to stop and go back to her pew, but she thought it was because he didn’t want to go, and just kept moving. It was backward. She was getting it wrong and he couldn’t tell her and she wouldn’t listen anyway.
Honey, I’m the Best Time You’ll Never Have
There was a guy in a suit, big and fancy, a round silver piece on his watch chain that had to be worth at least five dollars all by itself just hanging there like it was nobody’sbusiness, and he was walking along Minnie’s piece of street like there was nothing to worry about on such a fine, fine Manhattan morning.
Fifty Silver Bells and Nine
It was one of the house-party days, the ones when Alex pretended he had a grand salon, a modern-day Algonquin Round Table with himself firmly in the role of Dorothy Parker. Becca had come by, and Sadie, and a few of the old crowd from college and the new crowd from the gallery, before Alex had had to quit. Thom’s role on days like this was, generally, to keep the food coming and provide the occasional set-up lines for Alex’s wit.
Après nous le déluge
“I feel like a stupid American,” Ben says, staring up at the glass pyramid in front of the entrance to the Louvre.
Well, it’s about time
I've finally gotten my own website. HOORAY. a member of my bug army
Katherine Crighton 