Nervous Breakup A Short Story Collection

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  1. The Atlantic Crossword
  2. Self-Help (short stories) - Wikipedia
  3. Power Moves
  4. How To Get Over A Breakup

Eventually, you just resign yourself to the limits of a title. Maybe both of those things are true. And all titles are ultimately insufficient. There are parts of the country where you get four seasons in a day. I feel like, internally, I experience five seasons in a day. Or maybe ten seasons. You become LA weather, but not happy. Did you tweak these stories to reflect that change?

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When Bush was elected, I was sixteen or seventeen. There was this feeling of defeat and darkness among my few liberal friends in Tennessee.

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This felt like a crazy, exaggerated version of the election. Nobody really does anything. We just get this teeter totter of eight years of this, eight years of this, eight years of this. It made me think of the country as one big, horrible family going through these periods of time together, with different people feeling more or less like black sheep within that family. And sometimes, brutally outcast. You know how, when you taste a sauce, you know: oh, it needs more of this or less of that?

Why did you decide to write them as she and he instead of as people with specific names? You feel like you have an entire world with this other person. Their names become irrelevant. Sometimes it makes sense for that matrix of thought to be held by a female person or a male person. I had a big break-up two years ago and the anger that you can feel over how the other person will necessarily have a different narrative about what happened during the break-up and why you broke up and why you got together and what happened all those years is so potent and so visceral.

Sometimes you want to exaggerate certain things and tone down other things and see if you change the proportion of story that you experienced.

The Atlantic Crossword

By amplifying one aspect of it and turning down another, what does it look like then? I think it can be useful to understand that your perspective on your life is maybe not the most important aspect of it. I wanted to ask you about silence as a device. The way I teach my writing workshops, usually, is a bit different from the traditional workshop method. I always encourage the person to sit there as long as they want before answering a question, to decide how they feel about it and let the answer come to them under the awkwardness and duress of a room of people waiting on something from you.

I love multitasking and listening to music and absorbing a podcast and doing ten things at once.

Self-Help (short stories) - Wikipedia

Silence is an endangered species. So, maybe, what are the most unglamorous or mechanical parts of your writing process? I wake up most mornings, five to six days a week, and go away. And just go, drink some coffee and write. Last year, I was living in Mississippi teaching at the university there for a one-year residency. I need to work in public, because every time I work at home, I do the laundry instead of working.

Power Moves

I felt really comfortable there. I can write in the afternoon. I can write other times of day. She hates bagels. She hates the damn things well enough for us to never have had a bagel breakfast for the entirety of our relationship. We order the bagels and a couple of milkshakes.

How To Get Over A Breakup

I wait for her to start a conversation; anything will do at this point. She does the same. We awkwardly glance at each other, desperate for something to talk about. I comment on a painting on the wall of the place. And with that, we have run out of conversations to have with each other. Two people in love. Nothing to say.

Nothing to hear. Nothing to be. She shakes her head, unable to digest my responses. I smile. We have drifting apart for quite some time now? Have you met someone? Are you in love with this other girl? Does she make you happier than I do? I just told you that I want out.

Not one bit. Am I working too hard? Am I not around enough for you? What is it, my love? Please tell me, maybe we can work it out. I love you so much. I never want you gone. Because you dumped me.

I walk away, marveling at the color of the bright chrysanthemums by the pavement. Were they always this pretty?

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