Tater. His real name was Willam Francis McKinny III, but he got the name Tater because he was about as useless as a potato on legs when he drank. His best friend Nick Plakowitz named him that soon after the two of them started stealing Jim Beam from Nick’s dad’s liquor locker in the basement that was set up like a pool hall. Nick poured water in the square booze bottle so his dad wouldn’t know.
Tater said, “He’s gonna know.”
“Nah, he don’t want to deal with it. He too busy with that paint business of his.”
Tater shrugged. Nick’s dad never said a word . . .
To celebrate the release of Prison Noir — the latest release in Akashic’s Noir Series and edited by National Book Award winner Joyce Carol Oates — we’re pleased to feature a guest post from contributor Eric Boyd, who gives insight into what it’s like to write while incarcerated.
Did you catch Akashic publisher Johnny Temple and Akashic authors Albert “Prodigy” Johnson and K’wan on NPR’s Weekend Edition? Click to learn all about how Infamous Books is reverse gentrifying literature.
Are you a parent going through the Terrible Twos? Did you live through them and survive? Terrible Twosdays is a place to commiserate over the unending shenanigans of your Darling Children (as the online parenting communities say). Nonfiction stories will be considered, so long as names have been changed to protect the guilty. Inspired by […]
A special preview for Primus: Over the Electric Grapevine is available now on iBooks! The preview includes an introduction by Matthew Bellamy and a sneak peek into two full chapters of the book, along with select photos and exclusive audio supplement. Click for more information!
To celebrate the release of Copycat: And a Litter of Other Cats, Akashic is featuring some of our favorite library and record store cats. Today, we’re spotlighting Blue Arrow Records and their nonprofit organization, Waterloo Alley Cat Project (WACP), a group of dedicated residents and business owners volunteering to care for and protect the homeless cats on Waterloo Road in Cleveland, Ohio.
The wind won’t stop banging the bougainvillea against our fence, and the tap tap tap is beating into my skull. My eyes dart around the bedroom, but all I see are hulking shapes. I know they’re our dresser and bookshelf, but at night they look meaningless.
