bellascribe

Taking a break from painting (living room walls & like interior areas) — which by the way is a good break from writing and has the special property of allowing me to slip into a sort of meditative state, from which inevitably new things come — and checking out this issue of Narrative Magazine. Piz Z. Ehrhardt has a nonfiction piece about step-parenting and parenting, that she may perhaps in some ways wish was/is fiction, in which she gets the emotional tenor and truth just right. Incidentally, but not to the piece, the setting is Myrtle Beach.

Matthew poured the rest of his beer into a Styrofoam cup he could take up to our room. “Christ. It’s ugly here,” he said when Rodney was gone.
This place wasn’t a beach. It was one arcade built on top of another arcade across the street from dirty sand and waves.
Clouds darkened and drew closer. The heat index was 107, and I hoped a thunderstorm would let go on top of us and stop all the sun. Rain would drive us all back inside to turn off the lights, grab a pillow, and order a movie.

After reading this, I had to turn to her (Narrative’s prize, 2005) story Famous Fathers. (Note: you have to register to read Narrative online — well worth it) Yes, it’s good. I haven’t kept up with Ehrhardt since a few years back when I discovered a story of hers, (maybe at Del Sol, in which the wife of a weatherman figured), which I had students read and deconstruct for an introductory workshop on writing scenes. But a glance at her website tells me I’ll want to come back — she recommends Mary Robison, for one, and if you know me or have studied with me, you know what I think of Robison. (If not, my MFA graduating essay on the trickster and Robison’s stories, for example.) One of the single most affecting stories I’ve read is Robison’s (3-page) Yours, from An Amateur’s Guide to the Night (Knopf, 1983).

The paint is drying in the brushes, roller, etc. More on this another time.