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The postman has never penned a letter. Not on paper. For the postman a letter has always been a prayer sent upward from head to heaven. He has also never left home. Now, Mother rests abed, breath labored, bedsores hot. For supper, he serves her mashed potatoes and coleslaw, and afterwards he reads from Pearl S. Buck.

– from “The Postman’s Mother” by Megan Savage, published in Spork, 2006

There are no letter “i”s in this piece, a convincing nod to George Perec’s A Void, which I find very impressive. Try to write just one sentence like this; it is very difficult. This was originally published in 2006, but deserves a fresher read. Read the rest here.

Do they hate us or is it us that hates them? Probably a little bit of both, but sometimes it’s just nice to relax.

[Guest post from contest winner David Swider of Kitty Snacks.]

Kitty Snacks contributors Mary Miller and John Brandon sat down (at their computers) and emailed each other back and forth for about a week discussing different topics from writing to hanging out in their respective towns in Mississippi. John Brandon, the author of Arkansas (McSweeney’s), lives in Oxford, Mississippi (the home of Kitty Snacks magazine) where he is the John Grisham writer in residence, which means he gets a sweet house to live in, a few classes at the University of Mississippi to teach, and time to write. He has a new book coming out on McSweeney’s this summer. Mary Miller is the author of Big World (Hobart) and lives in Hattiesburg, Mississippi where she studies under Frederick Barthelme at the University of Southern Mississippi. Both writers were featured in Kitty Snacks #2 and they both have stories forthcoming in Kitty Snacks #3, which is out in a few weeks. — DS

Mary Miller asks John Brandon 7 questions

1. I was particularly interested in your story “Naples. Not Italy.” (which was published in Subtropics) because it’s excellent, but also because I’m currently writing a story in first person plural.  I thought this POV was obscure but it seems like I’m finding it all over the place lately, particularly in flashes by contemporary writers.  Do you write in this point of view often?  What do you think you’re able to achieve using this perspective as opposed to first person singular, or third person?

John Brandon

I went on a first person plural kick.  I wrote three stories in it, if that’s a kick.  I think there’s something mysterious about that POV because the reader can’t pinpoint the origin of the information they’re receiving.  And there’s an authority to it.  Somebody may argue with you, but will they argue with you and a bunch of your friends?  I read a Tom McGuane story where he uses first person plural to characterize a town’s sensibilities.  I think that’s when I became interested in it.  Yeah, mystery and authority.

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Finnegan’s Wank — despite qualms over the possessive apostrophe — has been published by Annalemma. So good to see such vivid evocations of Finnegans Wake in jesusangelgarcia and William Walsh’s contributions, while P. William Grimm throws us back to a more restrained a la Dubliners version. Good job everyone! (Artwork taken from Eric Fischl’s  “Sleep walker,” 1979.)

Self Portrait, William Gaddis

If you’re going to write a book, who asked you to? It is, in fact, quite an act of ego to sit down in a room, while others are getting on trains and subways, and put one’s vision on paper, and then ask others to pay to read it. Not only to pay but say, “Isn’t he brilliant.”

– William Gaddis (1980)

Seems hypocritical since, um, he wrote a bunch of books, and thick as hell I might add. It is interesting that he evokes transportation to work (trains, subways, etc.), as he struggled at a full-time job (he was a clerk at a law firm) during his early career. A little resentment goes a long way, as if Gaddis is solemnly nodding to his past approvingly, almost preferring his indignation.

In author bios, you never read “[So and so] works at [company name] as a [profession],” apprehensive about the “reality” of one’s day job, as (unless you’re successful or broke) most of us have. Good for the adjunct, lecturer, or professor who teaches writing, seriously, I mean that. But the unspoken thing is most of us have unrelated day jobs, which is never mentioned, ignored like Down syndrome.

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1. Passive Aggressive

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P.G. Wodehouse

“I just read in this morning’s paper that [P.G.] Wodehouse says that they give him $104,000 for doing nothing at Hollywood they keep him there but they do not use what they ask him to do.”

– Gertrude Stein, from a letter to playwright Thorthon Wilder (1936)

—

“It is a good rule in life never to apologize. The right sort of people do not want apologies, and the wrong sort take a mean advantage of them.”

– P.G. Wodehouse

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by Chris Killen is the winner of HTMLGIANT & Annalemma’s “When Writers Get Off” contest. Congratulations Chris. Some notes from judge Chris Heavener of Annalemma:

First of all, yall should be ashamed of yourselves and your filthy, disgusting, brilliant minds.

Outstanding In the out-of-control category:
– Jesus’ Cum
- 1984 = Nineteen-tranny-whores
- The Diarrhea of Anne Frank

Outstanding in the fucking hilarious category:
– Twats Heating Gilbert’s Grapes
- Leak, Mammory
- Dong of Solomon

Runner up: The Magic Mountin’

Winner: Finnegan’s Wank

Gives a new definition to masturbatory writing. Submit 250 words of this nasty novel and we’ll post on annalemma.net soon.

CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS: Annalemma will be publishing a collaborative effort entitled “Finnegan’s Wank,” a work of fiction containing multiple accepted pieces. Each writer is to submit ~250 words; one submission per writer, and, as succinctly offered by Chris, “No furries.” This is a private venture, independent of HTMLGIANT’s influence, and will be moderated autonomously henceforth. Thanks for playing along.

Matthew Simmons and Eddie Vedder are from Seattle. They are both musicians, pro-choice, and own the album Ten. Matthew Simmons, when he was in high school, identified with Jeremy, the protagonist in the song “Jeremy.” When Matthew told his mom he wanted to shoot himself in front of his class, she said “that’s a banana, dear.” Matthew Simmons’ tongue is not as long as Gene Simmons’, and neither will his career be. (Ouch.) When Pearl Jam was on SNL with Sharon Stone, Eddie professed to smelling her garments in the dressing room. I remember thinking “go pervs!” When I read Matthew Simmons’ posts here, I think “insane is okay.” Thank you Matthew Simmons for being you. I can mail you some unwashed articles for you to sniff. My B.O. Boxers in your P.O. Box — get it? Moron.

Per Annalemma Editor/Publisher Chris Heavener’s comment in the “When Authors Get Hungry” winner post, HTMLGIANT and Annalemma are joining hands for a “When Authors Get Off” contest, to be judged by Chris, who will procure the generous prize—the current and all back issues of Annalemma (or, if you’ll allow me the spirit, Analenema).

In the same fashion as with our preceding contest, name some porn parody titles (Girl with Curious Pubic Hair; Go Down, On Me, Moses; Howard’s End, etc). A call for submissions will also follow this contest, for a collaborative piece named after the winning title, edited by Chris and published online at Annalemma. Details forthcoming here with announcement of the winner.

Po-boy’s Complaint by David Swider, of Kitty Snacks, a venture located in Oxford, Mississippi, whose southern hospitality has hosted many Po-boys (also Po’ boy, Po Boy, short for “poor boy”), a southern sandwich featuring deep-fried seafood.

Of the many awesome entrees (White Nicoise; A Jello Course; Ulyssauce; 100 Years of Soul Food; A Handful of Crust; The Remains of the Danish; Babka on the Shore; Yeast of Eden; Romeo and Julie ate), PoBoy’s Compliant struck me as the most intuitive, playful, and unexpected.

Mississippi is still pensive about those Jews Mr. Roth, so let’s thanks David Swider for initiating this assimilation; it’s just a matter of time they’ll have you sitting next to good ol’ William. (Go Down, go Through, Moses — same difference.) David, congrats, I’ll be in touch with you regarding a free post on htmlgiant.

Death in Venison

War and Peas

The Flan Almost Rises

The Unbearable Lightness of Beans

Chow Mein Kampf

Moby Duck

Finnegans Wok

Animal Farm 2

Freshly rejected from McSweeney’s lists, oh how we all try. Figured I’d do something productive with it. More please — the person who does my favorite gets a “free” guest post on whatever they want, so long as it’s not mean spirited and not “not safe for wok.”

Many hands write The Economist, but it speaks with a collective voice. [...] And some articles are heavily edited. The main reason for anonymity, however, is a belief that what is written is more important than who writes it. As Geoffrey Crowther, editor from 1938 to 1956, put it, anonymity keeps the editor “not the master but the servant of something far greater than himself. You can call that ancestor-worship if you wish, but it gives to the paper an astonishing momentum of thought and principle.”

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Baby Hedgehogs and American Apparel Dogs by David Fishkind is self-described as an “epic poetic narrative,” which is what it is — if one considers one’s life since conception (“I was nothing and then I was two and then I was one”) to the present to be “epic,” a word hopefully employed by the 19 year old with a little sarcasm. It’s easily readable and generous in its candidness. There is a trend of hyper-aware self-conscious writing among younger (I use this word as a description of age, not qualifier) writers which is either the last course of irony, or its propagation. There is a difference between the self-consciousness behind, say, Notes from the Underground and Fishkind’s, the former being a philosophical device, the latter more of a collection of tweets. I don’t say this in derision, only to suggest that our recent technologies (iPhone, myspace, youtube, etc.) have altered our orientation with “the self.” But that’s okay. Fishkind describes autobiographical prosaic experiences (getting erections, going to museums, being in love) with refreshing stoicism met with thoughtfulness:

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