Read part one of DARK DAYS IN PORT-AU-PRINCE, our Haiti-set noir short story that was written by Haiti Noir and Haiti Noir 2: The Classics contributors in the style of an exquisite corpse, a collaborative writing process in which each author builds a story based upon what his or her predecessors have provided. Haiti Noir 2: The Classics contributor Roxane Gay kicks off this haunting short story.
Game World author C.J. Farley penned a blog post earlier today in response to the appointment of author Kate DiCamillo (Because of Winn-Dixie, Flora & Ulysses) as the new national ambassador for young people’s literature.
The Dolphin Tavern used to be a topless bar where junkies shook their loose limbs for dollars to feed their sickness. A hideout for regulars to marinate in Yuengling while their wives did loads at the Laundromat next door . . .
Game World author C.J. Farley recently appeared on CNN to discuss Justin Bieber’s supposed retirement from music. Watch the full video here!
Leaving you was like the way some doors have to be open a bit to lock. Meeting you was an accidental brush at the nape of the neck in a crowd: that thrum coupled with fear. To know each other, we need to take something in together; to trust, we must pass dangerous objects, sharp or burning, palm to cupped palm. We talk this way . . .
To celebrate the release of Colaterales/Collateral by Dinapiera Di Donato, winner of the National Poetry Series’ Paz Prize for Poetry, we asked Ricardo Maldonado, the translator of Colaterales, to talk about his process and his experience with the collection.
“Put them on,” says Alma, my wife’s aunt, extending a pair of pink and sparkly shoes with two Velcro straps that remind me of something my great-grandfather would have worn if they were a different color and weren’t twinkling like one of my daughter’s glitter projects . . .
“No, man, this heat ah try kill people!”
Goldine paused in her walk up the bumpy path to Pastor Williams’s house. She removed the straw hat keeping company with her soaking wet head kerchief; fanned with it, for all the good that did. She looked up the road to where the house stood alone, alabaster white against the green hills rolling away from it. The crotons, bougainvillea, pussy tail, and other foliage in the expansive yard looked limp . . .