We lived in that house 15 years, and our kids came up just fine.Īnd just a couple of months ago, we moved. (I guess they weren’t very good drug dealers.) His wife had no teeth and only wore a bra on Sundays. The husband rode a very noisy Harley and cut his entire lawn holding a Weedwacker in one hand and a beer in the other. To the east was a family of folks who spoke little English, had obnoxious barking dogs, and always had parties in the front yard instead of the back. There was a house of worship a half mile in any direction from our house. We drove practical cars, and our kids went to public schools. We had a modest income, and a modest house. My husband and I raised our children in a suburban neighborhood of the sprawling Phoenix Metropolitan Area. I’m reminded of this funny thing that happened recently. In fact, she might just be my very favorite person ever (not that I know her personally, but I do follow her on Facebook, so I feel like that counts… anyway).
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To my list of favorite authors I’m adding Roxane Gay, Aimee Bender, Stacey Richter, Matt Bell, Dan Chaon, Tara Ison, Margaret Atwood, and so many more.īut for all my education, and my editorship with a literary magazine, and my degree in English and Creative Writing… I still read Anne Rice.
#Roxane gay hunger criticism scholar full#
And so now, my private library grows full of chapbooks and short story collections. In my few years in school, my professors helped nurture in me a love of the short story, and an appreciation for the craft of drawing them out of myself and others. I’m not much for martyrs, but I bought in. Writing classes and workshops introduced me to the short story, and the idea that writers who don’t get paid are somehow of more value than those who do. Memoirs? Whatever were those? Well, all of those English Lit classes filled me in, and filled me up to the brim with writing on every social topic I could imagine, and a few more besides.
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Even with all of the reading in my youth, there was much that I missed. Once I started my degree program, my literary world was blown open again.
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Because they’re good, and because I can get lost in the worlds they bring to my mind’s eye. Some of these authors I still read today. I devoured everything from Jean Auel, Piers Anthony, and Marion Zimmer Bradley to Stephen King, Dean Koontz, and Anne Rice. Once I could get books from the library that didn’t have the purple dot on them, my literary world was blown wide open. And now I’m saving them for my grandchildren, because I don’t think I was as successful as my parents were at passing down the love of literature.Īs I got older, I dove harder into genre writing. I still have many of them because I saved them for my children. There are a few in that list some might consider literary, but many fall into the category of good old genre fiction.
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Seuss, I enjoyed Roald Dahl, Laura Ingalls Wilder, Scott O’Dell, Louisa May Alcott, Franklin Dixon, Carolyn Keene, the Choose Your Own Adventure Series, and of course, Judy Blume. I knew that eventually the books on those shelves would find their way to our city library.Īs a kid, I was fairly well read. My family didn’t have a lot of money, so we didn’t buy a lot of new books there, but it was a thrill just to be there and look around. In any case, I do remember that prior to puberty, trips to the mall were exciting for two reasons: first, because I could climb up and sit in the conversion vans in the car dealership that was actually in our mall and second, we got to go to Walden Books. I don’t think that was entirely true, I mean, my Dad read books too. My Mom sits on the couch all day and reads love stories. On one of the pages it asks what my parents do during the day while I’m at school. Recently I found a crayon drawing and questionnaire book I made when I was in elementary school. I don’t know if this is my parents’ fault or not.