Reading Jenny Offill’s Dept. of Speculation was like getting a love letter from a tree- delightfully unexpected and I believed every word. This is what it’s like to be me, I thought, even though I’m not married, don’t have a child, haven’t experienced a single event of mid-adult life. More accurately then, This is what it’s like to be in my head: bits of things poets have said, random facts that aren’t random about space and dead people and antelopes, the occasional prayer to Rilke. I read this book in an afternoon, nodding the whole time like a bobble head on a good drive, afterward wanting fifty more just like it. When you find the rare author who thinks the way you do, it’s like being given a private tutor. Before that point the classroom was a mess, confusing as hell and the crayons were melting, but when this person steps in you at least know the lesson plan, what’s being asked of you.

More about this book I’m obsessed with


Underlying belief behind doing prompts: writers have to practice even harder than professional athletes, and for much less clout. If you want to join in, share your writing below. (Fuck the prompt is always a prompt). 

I’m clutching it madly. My other hand is on the gate, though whether inside or outside, I can’t say. No one is manning the booths. We’re between seasons now. Occasionally, a man I loved walks by with someone new. Let’s do away with the roller coaster. Must be this high to ride this ride? Must be this high to stop. More of the metaphor please