I Often Felt Myself To Be An

At The End Of The Block Where I Used To Live In Coconut Grove In Miami, There's A Swampy Area, A No-name Alcove With A Little Mangrove Estuary. It's Beautiful.

You Don't Want People To Think You're Just Writing Stories For Children About A Pig In A Tutu.

Tin House Magazine Is A Port In The Storm For People Who Love Language. It Is Unfailingly Excellent, And Committed To Publishing New Voices In Addition To Delivering Freaky-fresh Work From Established Writers.

I Came To Hate The Complainers, With Their Dry And Crumbly Lipsticks And Their Wrinkled Rage And Their Stupid, Flaccid, Old-people Sun Hats With Brims The Breadth Of Saturn's Rings.

I Didn’t Realize That One Tragedy Can Beget Another, And Another — Bright-eyed Disasters Flooding Out Of A Death Hole Like Bats Out Of A Cave.