“But what if, as in our case, it is winter, so that the Sun has gone away and the grass lies deep beneath the ice?” – William T. Vollmann
The first paragraph of “Fox Hunters” by Breece D’J Pancake
The passing of an autumn night left no mark on the patchwork blacktop of the secondary road that led to Parkins. A gray ooze of light began to crest the eastern hills above the hollow and sift a blue haze through the black bowels of linking oak branches. A small wind shivered, and sycamore leaves chattered across the pavement but were stopped by the fighting-green orchard grass on the berm.
Adam Robinson—
It was my own mother, incidentally, whom I can scarcely recall ever seeing with a book in her hand, who told me one day when I was reading The Fifteen Decisive Battles of the World that she had read that book years ago herself–in the toilet. I was flabbergasted. Not that she had admitted to reading in the toilet, but it should have been that book, of all books, which she read there.
That’s Henry Miller, in his fantastic nonfic, The Books in My Life.
Shome Dasgupta has a similar thing going on over at his blog, The Laughing Yeti. A bunch of people talking about their reading habits, including Mike Young, Roxane Gay, Stephen Eliot (oh, and me).
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Literary Lessons from Metal Magazines: Goblin C*ck
This post is Not Safe For Work! Nor is it safe if you are a huge fan of Redbook Magazine. So, yeah. No need to read: