Category: literature
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A New Kind of Hero : My Bride
In the eighth grade, I wrote a Modern Woodman speech on my hero. As far as I know, that’s still the topic for that particular school’s speech competition. I picked Carl Brashear and in retrospect, that makes little sense. I spent more time drooling over Nightcrawler than I did military personelle, and for good reason.…
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Why I, an Adult, Believe in Santa
As you prepare your Christmas lists, let me tell you a story… A long time ago in an oppressive empire far far away, there lived a Saint known to all as Nicolas. We know that Nicolas oversaw the diocese of Myra in Lycia (south-western Asia Minor) during the fourth century. Story goes that he rescued three…
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The Strain of the Mockingbird
for him who has ears to hear I’m a mockingbird with no new song to sing said Webb. I wanted not to mock, but to mimic the mockingbird, mimicking-mock her when I over heard her song ring through the vale: I have no meteres, fresh offrians, nothing neowe for you to sing save patches of…
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Why I Never Try to be a Dark Person
Many of the people I know, whether friends or acquaintances or neighbors, automatically give greater credibility to films, literature, plays, TV shows and the like when these things are filled with darkness. I don’t. These people, whether local or national or international, tend to say things like, “Man that was good. It was so dar-har-har-hark.…
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Casual Vacancy, Pop Fic & Rowling’s Intentions
Though I’ve yet to read The Casual Vacancy, I’m surprised at how often reviewers talk of Rowling as if she was born to tell kiddie lit alone. Last time I checked, Harry Potter fell into her lap. She intended to write for adults. In other words, I think of her as a literary author who…
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Sitting at the feet of : a Male Model
A decade ago in a town of eight thousand people two hours away from St. Louis lived a class clown named Logan McNeil. Logan always talked. Logan always entertained. Whether by photo bomb or family portrait, he loved getting his picture taken. “Never. I never thought those characteristics would lead to becoming a male model.”…
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On Reflection
I’ve never been one to slog through enormous philosophical tomes, but were I to ever trudge through something that thick, I think I’d pick Aids to Reflection by Coleridge. Don’t get me wrong, I would probably enjoy a conversation with diehard fans of Kierkegaard, Wittgenstein, Barth. However, I’ve merely sampled them like most of us—I’m…
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On Good Catastrophes
Pneumonia. Turns out, something does beat the shingles and it comes in the form of a needle thick as an IV and full of muscle-maddening antibiotic. That was last week, who knows what adventures this one will behold? Anyways, sorry to hide under a wet, cold dishrag all week but I’m back in the space-saddle editing…
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The Other Side 002: The Love Rally
As I carried our folding chairs, quilts and hummus down the hill into Landreth park’s outdoor amphitheater, multiple colors snagged my attention. Everyone who threw this party had stitched together a tapestry of sheets Technicolor and spray-painted with four red letters: L.O.V.E. What followed was the outworking of what I mentioned a few weeks ago,…
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Guest Post: “Cheese” by G.K. Chesterton
Today I’m happy to welcome G.K. Chesterton to speak to us on Cheese. Take it away, G.K.! Cheers, Lancelot. My forthcoming work in five volumes, The Neglect of Cheese in European Literature,’ is a work of such unprecedented and laborious detail that it is doubtful whether I shall live to finish it. Some overflowings from…
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Another Letter to the Literators: On Slowing Down and Drilling Deep
Dear Literators, I’ve got disagreeable news and wickedawesome news. The wickedawesome first: Business is picking up. I’m learning more about my craft than ever, and am even drawing up plans for massive collaboration with names bigger than my petty John Handcock. It’s a blast. Now for the disagreeable news: I’m running on fumes in my…
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Rabid and Danse Macbre
Over break, I started Rabid: A Cultural History of the World’s Most Diabolical Virus and I must say it’s one of the most brutal pieces of nonfiction to cross my desk. Wasik and Murphy headed up a research team for years, digging into the origins of the disease that took down Old Yeller. (Sorry to…