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Pulce: How Do I Love Thee, Let Me Count the Ways

For reasons I can’t explain, I am following a blog on how to speak Italian,The Art of Translation. It’s interesting—I like getting notice of the posts. Today, the topic was “Honey, Sweetheart, & Co.” Or, Italian nicknames for the beloved. I was looking forward to the topic. My husband and I call each other (TMI alert) “mon petit chou-chou,”...

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Something Different is Happening Here

I opened the hand-addressed notecard. The graceful penmanship thanked me for my short story. I flipped the envelope and read the address: the writer was my neighbor. She had read “Just Now” in Memphis Magazine when the story won its annual fiction contest. I tucked the note away with other notes I’ve received over the years,...

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When It Becomes Real

With my new novel, Jazzy, I’m writing about the destruction of New Orleans following Katrina. Yesterday, I traveled to Plaquemines Parish where Katrina made landfall. Now I’m writing about the destruction of Venice, the last point in Louisiana reachable by road before the Mississippi River pours into the Gulf. The community, “protected”...

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What’s Going On: The Summer of Love

Right now, at this very moment, we are five stories into a fourteen story experiment. Tomorrow, we will release a new story— “Drunk at the Foodland Again”—and we will be six stories in. Many of you are listening to these stories as they are released. Some of you have subscribed at YouTube. Some subscribed to the podcast feed at caintdonothingwithlove.wordpress.com,...

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You Know What They Say Dancing Will Lead To

“The trouble started earlier that summer, about a month after my mom died from cancer and left me living alone, my dad long dead. Friday night, I was at the ‘80s dance party held down on Lamar for the Memphis Museum’s Young Adult outreach program. The D.J.’s were playing the music and strobing the lights when . . .” Listen to the...

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And They Say Literature Doesn’t Matter

Tomorrow, we are driving to the ends of the earth. We’re traveling this path because, before us, Eudora Welty’s characters left New Orleans and drove to the ends of the earth: Venice, Louisiana in “No Place for You, My Love.” Earlier in my life, after I absorbed all books I could read about King Arthur, I tromped through England...

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