Could We Betray Our Parents By Going

It's Funny To Think About The Uncanny Reflexively, As An Author Who Is Perhaps Gradually Becoming Aware Of My Own Hidden Secrets. Accessing That Shadowy Territory Really Requires The Physical Act Of Writing.

Whenever Someone Asks Me About Fantasy Versus Realism, I'm Like, "i Don't Know, Guys. Did We Not All Just Descend Into Some Underworld, Watch Strangers From Our Past Kaleidoscope Through Us According To Some Pattern That Is Both Illogical And Has Its Own Strange Melting Truth, And Then Wake Up And Have A Pop-tart?" Why Are We Talking About Fantasy And Reality Like They're Opposed?

In A Way, I Think We All Want To Look To That Journalistic Voice As A Kind Of Global Omniscience, A Big Eye To Correct For Our Own Limited Purview: "here's A Realistic Accounting Of The World In Which We Live."

I Have Friends Who Are Capable Of Writing A Very Rough Draft And Then Going Back And Embroidering - They're Sort Of The Cathedral Builders Of Fiction. I Never Really Know What I'm Doing, And All My Pleasure's On The Level Of The Line. It's A Weird Way To Move Forward. It's Kind Of Like A Way To Caterpillar Your Way Through These Great Woods. The Best Ones, Whatever I Feel Like I'm Writing About, Some Other Secret Thing Will Begin To Come Into Focus.

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.