“We were then young girls and our want was written on our skins. Between our legs and along our necks and wrists, our skin craved friction and more friction. We kissed calluses into the backs of our hands, murmuring comfort at the enflamed flesh, but still, our skin would not be satisfied. In the dark, we rubbed pillows against stinging nipples and curled knee to chin, hoping to keep the skin from flying from our bodies. Stay with me, we said. In the mornings, we woke to puddles of wet sugar in our beds and wrung moisture from our underwear.”—The Eager by Jen Palmares Meadows
“They slowed down Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony so it stretched over 24 hours. The effect was of a continual climbing, with no resolution – just an ever-building terror, the slowest imaginable scream. In a state of heightened time, everything reduces to fear, a sublime fear. If life has any meaning, it comes at the end.”—The Self Unstable by Elisa Gabbert, reviewed by Brian Pera
“I think I came to and still come to writing as a sounding board—and I mean that in both senses. As a way not just to record experience, but to be or to have one, to investigate one’s habitus. What’s that Oppen line: “There are things we live among and to see them is to know ourselves.” I think of it as a way of seeing more deeply.”—The Rumpus Poetry Book Club Chat With Emily Abendroth
“They slowed down Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony so it stretched over 24 hours,” Gabbert writes: “The effect was of a continual climbing, with no resolution – just an ever-building terror, the slowest imaginable scream. In a state of heightened time, everything reduces to fear, a sublime fear. If life has any meaning, it comes at the end.”—Brian Pera reviews The Self Unstable by Elisa Gabbert
“The ideal reader for Amy Rowland’s The Transcriptionist is stranded in public, waiting. I don’t mean to suggest that this novel is light, or lacks rigor, but simply that distraction—people milling about, talking, laughing, shouting—accents this book like music.”—Benjamin Rybeck reviews The Transcriptionist by Amy Rowland
“For a few months when I was eighteen I was having sex with someone who had faded scars all up and down his arms, small short scars from a knife, maybe a razor blade. I would look at them when he wore t-shirts and I would look at them when we were naked and I wanted to run my fingers along every single one. I touched them a few times, but always lightly, like I didn’t mean it. I don’t know, I thought I’d embarrass him. For a few months when I was nineteen I was having sex with someone with little stretch marks all over his shoulders and chest and stomach and I wanted to stare at them but I tried not to; I wanted to touch them but I was scared to make him feel strange in his body. Later that same year I had sex just once with someone who I met on the bus back home from school, who had straight blond hair and tattoos on his calves and no scars at all on his body. He bought me some beers at the bar out past the mall, then brought me back to his place where he put his hand around my throat and laughed and laughed. I stayed the night anyway, then left his house early in the morning and walked all the way home down Loudon Road and over the river, wondering how close I’d just come to dying, making a list in my head of what the pros and cons would’ve been.”—
Experienced in managing accounts on all platforms, but most specifically Tumblr.
Knowledgeable in the quirks and idiosyncrasies of hashtags for each platform, and knowledgeable on how best to network, interact, and cross-reference through hashtags.
Able to commit to at least an hour a day casual social interaction/blogging on Twitter, Tumblr, or Facebook (basically, you’ll be able to commit to at least an hour a day of sporadic retweeting/reblogging/posting links).
Have a proven track record with growing followers/subscribers/likes via social media (this would be the time to tell us about that cool fandom blog you run, that has 1500 followers).
Be excited and enthusiastic to interact with our team in our ‘digital office’, chat with us, contribute your ideas, and give us your 0.2 cents on the future of Quaint!
Be enthusiastic about the possibility of creating content for the Quaint social media accounts and blog, in the form of book reviews, short think pieces, quotes, and graphics.
“Baby powder is definitely the best powder. Baking powder and gun powder tie for second place, and then the movie Powder comes in third.”—TED WILSON REVIEWS THE WORLD #241. Baby powder gets 5 out of 5 stars.
“If Richard Haddon, the British artist whose marital struggles occupy Courtney Maum’s provocative debut novel, I Am Having So Much Fun Here Without You, played the board game LIFE, and somehow got to hopscotch over the plastic hills to the best-colored squares without ever spinning the wheel of chance, his real life still would be better. An experimental artist with great aesthetic freedom, married to a beautiful and wealthy French woman with whom he’s conceived a charming little girl, he should want for nothing. He should be endlessly grateful for his life. But perhaps keeping too close to the male cliché of perpetual dissatisfaction, Maum lets her hero stray. His seven-month-long affair with an American woman is at first a titillating secret, an eye-opening jaunt with a brazenly sexual Yankee named Lisa. The disaster that unfolds when Anne-Laure, Richard’s wife, uncovers a pile of Lisa’s scented letters sets up a fairly predictable narrative arc of domestic exile, desperate attempts at redemption (involving travel and a great loss of dignity), and, ultimately, reconciliation. Maum has not reinvented the centuries-old marriage plot that’s the cornerstone of both real and fictional societies. Her novel, though, does explore something new, and perhaps unique to our modern condition: our inability to withstand the quotidian, the mundane, the average.”—Jennifer Kurdyla reviews I Am Having So Much Fun Here Without You by Courtney Maum.
“The most famous celebrity in Ketchum is a dead man. His grizzled mug gazes out at you from signposts and store windows all over town. The elementary school is named for him, as are a half-dozen other small businesses and parks. He is buried in the local cemetery. Still, it was ten years before I realized Ernest Hemingway and I were neighbors.”—The Sunday Rumpus Essay: The Echo of Hemingway’s Shotgun by Eileen Shields
“[Readers] want the writer to have some sort of personal experience with the narrative. It’s bizarre. People are expecting fiction to be real. We don’t want our writers to write about magic without having grown up in a family full of magicians. The same thing happens when you put people in these boxes. I can’t think of a novel published recently that is a person of one race writing about another race that’s met with much critical success. Why? Why can’t we? That’s our job as writers: To step out of our skins and into other people’s. To the extent that we’re not doing that, we’re not doing our jobs.”—The Rumpus Interview With Jacinda Townsend
In Episode 15 of Make/Work, host Scott Pinkmountain speaks with trumpet player/composer Nate Wooley. Wooley’s playing has been widely praised by everyone from the New York Times and DownBeat to trumpet icon Dave Douglass who called him “one of the most interesting and unusual trumpet players living today.” He’s constantly performing and recording internationally with such folks as John Zorn, Thurston Moore, and pretty much everyone playing contemporary free jazz and improvised music.
“Romance writers do what they love, and they get paid for it. They hone their craft, like any other writer. They value their work, and they speak with an honest voice, telling the stories that they want to tell. I can’t imagine anything more feminist.”—Writing Romance Fiction Is A Feminist Act by Danielle Summers.
“Almost everyone in the novel disapproves of Carmen’s lowbrow affect and career as a physical trainer. She doesn’t care about art, or value the Posts intellectually, and therefore she is treated as a philistine. Straub cleverly pits the family’s snobbish attitudes toward Carmen against Bobby’s poor treatment of his girlfriend, which raises the question: what good is an intellect if you have a skewed moral compass?”—Kim Winternheimer reviews The Vacationers by Emma Straub
“I saw this quote by Steve Earle that said, “Write about what you know. Everybody knows something.” And that was it, that was my motto. It was just good to remember that I have experienced my life. I have questions about things, be they very mundane. So I was waking up every day and writing in the morning and then recording at night, and whatever I woke up with on my mind, I would write about that. It’s inexhaustible, you know?”—The Rumpus Interview With Luke Temple
“I signed off from Facebook at the beginning of October 2013. The feeling was that this would be temporary: a self-imposed, month-long break from the crowning time-suck network of the virtual world. But then a funny thing happened during that month. I didn’t miss it.”—
“I am seventeen years old, and getting drunk is still a novelty. It has only recently occurred to me that my mother won’t think to check my breath if I’m coming straight home from work, which, for the past four summers, has been at a yacht club’s gourmet snack bar on the Long Island Sound, where I serve buffalo chicken wraps to the children of millionaires. My boss, Jack, is a temperamental but otherwise fully functioning drunk who works the system to get himself fourteen hours’ worth of free beers every day; sometimes he is feeling generous, and he spreads the love around.”—Summer Job Diariest by Shannon Keating.
“To my surprise, I loved L.A., especially in January and February—months which, back in New York and Ohio, had always walloped me with a serious dose of seasonal affective disorder. So there was the sun and also—perhaps more importantly—there was KCRW, Southern California’s NPR outlet as well as the home of Nic Harcourt’s toweringly great Morning Becomes Eclectic every weekday from nine to noon. Each morning, Nic would unleash a steady stream of yet-to-be-discovered gems that—in those medieval pre-Shazam days—had you leaning in extra hard to catch the name of the song and artist in Nic’s soothing Aussie baritone when it was over.”—Josh Radnor writes about Dear Damien Rice’s Seminal 2002 Album O.
“The personal enthusiasm of Father Junípero”, Royce added, “who from 1769 until his death in 1784 was at the head of mission affairs, has earned for him since a great popular reputation for ability and saintliness, a reputation made permanent by the biography that came from the pen of his friend Palóu. And about Serra’s high worth as a man and a Christian there is indeed no controversy among those who know his career.” Controversy there may be in the 130 years since Royce wrote those words—due in no small part to Serra’s aggressive efforts to convert the Native Californians to Catholicism—but even today, Serra looms large in the popular imagination of California history. His is one of the two statues California sent to Washington, D.C., to represent the state in the National Statuary Hall on Capitol Hill (the other is of Ronald Reagan), and his name can still be found on schools and street signs, his statue in parks and in front of the very missions he built.
Nick Taylor’s new novel, Father Junípero’s Confessor, depicts convincingly the sheer willpower, the superior intellect, and the overbearing and manipulative personality of this missionary from Majorca.