Brett Kavanaugh’s testimony and hearing yesterday was the closest I have ever seen to someone who was brought up to believe he had all the privileges (all!) suddenly being asked to answer for his actions instead of being the one asking the questions, and suddenly feeling crushed under what he could only perceive as being denied the most extreme part of his extreme privilege: one of the most important jobs in the country for as long as he wants it. So all he could do was shout in anger, and cry, and try to demean those in front of him. Interspersed with singing odes to beer. And expressing disqualifying partisan views. Ralph!
I found this also very edifying: Kavanaugh is lying. His upbringing explains why, by Shamus Khan.
No wonder that, when the poor lie, they’re more likely to do so to help others, according to research by Derek D. Rucker, Adam D. Galinsky and David Dubois, whereas when the rich lie, they’re more likely to do it to help themselves.
Look at me! It appears that I will have not one (the much anticipated Deadsteam, edited by Bryce Raffle — I already received my author’s copy and it is a beauty!) but two publications coming out on October 1.
Another one of my short stories, “Ink Bodies” has been published in Twilight Madhouse Vol. 4, Dark Rooms Edition, by Schreyer Ink Publishing. The volume is ready for preorder now and will be available in both digital and paper format on October 1.
The scariest secrets are kept in the furthest rooms, and our deepest fears reside in the darkest corners. Venture deeper into the madhouse than you have before with eight new stories that explore dark changes, darker desires, and the places where the light never quite reaches.
Sounds good right?
It cannot be a legal practice! It cannot be ethically justified! It cannot be happening! But it is. Because women and their bodies and their consent are worth exactly nothing. Sure, let’s treat women like they’re subhuman, only for the advancement of medicine, of course. Higher purposes and all, said the men in charge. Sure. Women’s bodies always were and continue to be worth nothing. In case we had any illusions that feminism was making real strides.
Also found on Death Roots Syndicate Volume VI. (Death Roots Syndicate is a free digital download label specializing in the promotion of dark music including but not limited to country, folk, blues, rock, punk and roots music. First time I’m learning about them, but it all sounds so good, I want to listen to all their stuff.)
School is starting tomorrow and summer is going out with a bang (heat advisory). I don’t know how to feel about it. All year, all winter long I dream up such high expectations of summer and then somehow it just ends and looking back at it, there were so many missed opportunities, so much good weather wasted on work or other non-summery activities. It all feels like such a big portion of once-potentially wonderful, lost time.
It has been a good summer. A full one. A productive time. A time of being with loved ones who live far away. Regardless. It still feels like it could have been dramatically different, infinitely better. But it was only what it was. And we are healthy and full and our house is so much cleaner (seriously, it feels like it’s a different house, because of incredible grandparents who came in to help us with a ton of home improvements).
Demoralizing, exasperating, demotivating, patronizing, simply soul crushing calls for submissions:
Please send us your best work. Do not sent us stories that have been rejected by other publications.
Edit thoroughly and send us only your cleanest work.
Format according to these particular requirements: (a list of ten seemingly arbitrary rules follows).
Write a good, clean and well-formatted cover letter. Your story will automatically be rejected if the cover letter does not look professional. We appreciate seeing that you’ve put in some effort.
Address the letter to the right editor even if we don’t list the names of our editorial staff on our web page. Make it look like you are taking this job seriously.
Write a short summary of the story. Hard word limit: 250 words.
Also, write a long summary of the story. Not more that 350 words.
Include a bio for us. List all your publication credits.
Include a third person bio for publication. Leave out the credits but write something that is interesting about yourself.
We do not accept simultaneous submissions: please to not send us stories that you have submitted to other publications.
Our response time is six months. We try our hardest to respond within this period of time, but editing a magazine/anthology is a lot of work, and our staff is limited, so please allow some delay.
We cannot extend our regrets to all the writers who have not been accepted, due to very large submission volume. If you don’t receive any communication from us in six months, you can consider that your work has been rejected.
Do not write to us to ask about the status of your submission. We do not have the manpower to answer.
We’ll pay $0.01 per word, if our campaign gets funded. The authors will also receive an electronic copy of the publication. (The publication will also come in print, but the authors will have to buy a print copy for themselves if they want one.)
Thank you for reading the submission guidelines carefully. You have a better chance of having your story accepted if you read our past three issues, the editor’s interview about the theme of this anthology, and this eight-page essay about the vision of our magazine. Happy writing!
I could look at pictures of Julianne Moore all day for style inspiration. There is something about the clothes and the way she wears them, like they are hers and she is herself in them, that is very powerful and attractive.
But the clothes themselves! When she wears loose and somewhat edgy outfits, which she does a lot, they are amazing! And she is into black and white quite a bit, so you know, I’m in love.
I mean, lots of black, harem pants, Birks and clogs, baggy and oversized! So much to love. She is only 5’3″ but of course exceptionally beautiful, as Hollywood people tend to be, so no chance for most of us to look like her as hard as we tried. Still. “Would Julianne Moore wear that,” is now my clothes shopping mantra.
Dracula, 1958, with Christopher Lee.
I hail from Romania. so o, course. I remember watching this particular Dracula with my little sister, my cousin O (lifelong partner in horror-appreciation), and my aunt, O’s mother, at home. My parents were away for a wedding, probably. We all got so frightened during that movie that my aunt got us all off to her own place after the movie, in the middle of the night. Because none of us could sit for one more minute in the house where we had watched the film and where now obviously evil resided.
A more recent Dracula retelling that I really enjoyed was Dracula Untold. A beautiful, moving movie, I thought.
I owe a lot of my love of horror movies to my cousin O. This was the time of video cassettes, in Romania where there was no Blockbuster, but only tiny neighborhood shops with walls lined in pirated tapes, the name of the movies written by hand on the edge. My cousin lived in a bigger city and had an older brother, which afforded her more access to movies than I could ever have in my provincial little town. But we met on summer vacations and filled our time with stories. Many of them from horror movies. That is how, one of my favorite horrors from middle school I actually got to watch a couple of years ago. At the time I only saw it through O’s detailed retellings of every scene and in-depth interpretations of motifs and symbolism. I loved it. But I couldn’t find it for the longest time because the bootleg VHS that O had watched had the movie’s title translated as The Devil’s Cabin. Never to be found as such again. The movie, I later discovered, was The Evil Dead (1981).
As I said, this was the time of the videocassette renting and watching movies at friends’ houses, and as I remember it, every time my parents were out of town, we’d be in the mood for horror, which my poor kid sister endured stoically and with severe scarring for the rest of her life. She was marked by a particular one: the Omen (1976). The movie dwells heavily on the number of the Devil. My sis is born on June 6th, and we kind of convinced her that her birth time might have been 6 o’clock. 666. She’s still not over it, which makes me aware that I must not have been the loving and compassionate big sister I’ve always considered myself to be.
Time passed. I don’t remember a lot of horror watching during my early adulthood for some reason.
A strong memory, however, is watching Ju-on: The Grudge (2002) the Japanese production. I watched it in Mumbai, with my husband and his brother. Scary. The scariest thing I’ve seen. It took me a long time before I could watch The Ring, which was a Japanese movie remake, because I have made up my mind that I am not strong enough to handle Japanese horror.
I had a long time of being unable to watch horror, actually. During my pregnancies and while my children were small. Not for lack of trying. When my daughter was very little (or maybe I was still pregnant?) I watched The Exorcism of Emily Rose with my husband, in our suburban rental apartment. It was not good. The same night after watching the movie we were woken up by a strange sound in the apartment. It was a sort of deep thumping that reached into your stomach and made it seize. We discovered quickly enough that the DVD player had somehow reloaded the movie and there was a breathing sound on the menu screen, which kept playing in a loop. We turned it off and went back to bed, a little shaken. It was 3 am.
So yeah, that put a hard stop on my horror watching for a few years. But I am back and making up for it now. A couple of more recent movies that I enjoyed quite a bit are The Woman in Black and Crimson Peak. The first one was beautiful and very scary, the second one mainly beautiful.
Gothic horror will always have my heart, what can I say? Speaking of which, I thought Penny Dreadful, the TV series, was breathtaking. What could be better than having all your Gothic horror favorites playing together? Dreamy.
I could think of more but I am going to stop here, on this high note. What movies have been horrifying you?
The Paris Review has started this new column they call “Feminize Your Canon,” which looks like the best idea I’ve seen lately in support of women’s writing. There is a but, though.
It depressed me like nothing else. If you are an unsuccessful women writer, it will depress you too. I honestly didn’t need help in this direction. My personal desk drawer (just an expression, although I could rename my computer folder where I collect all the finished work) is filled to bursting with little malformed, rejected monsters who do a good enough job of reminding me that I am crap at what I do. So now I don’t know if I need, on top of that, to read these biographies and start identifying with all the unappreciated women who ever dared to follow a literary career.
The first article of this series is on Olivia Manning, written by Emma Garman. Now I don’t recall having read anything of Olivia Manning’s, but this piece makes her sound like a very hopeful, confident writer who never got, and here is the thing, what “she thought she deserved.” Emma Garman doesn’t really make it clear if she personally believes Manning deserves a place in the canon, but only that Manning herself was very confident that she merited recognition. Which obviously never really came.
So, yeah, abandon all hope ye who enter.
Copyright 2018 Lori Tiron-Pandit