fwriction

Used Furniture Review is one of my favorite journals, which makes me feel incredibly honored to be included in its digital pages. Thanks so much to David and UFR for being so damn awesome.

From “Don’t Forget You Love Me”:

She stopped at a wine shop near the house and bought bottles of Chenin blanc and Zinfandel. Days of snow had turned to a black slush along the streets, and the evening felt unseasonably warm. Hannah opened the window and turned off the heat, letting the car fill with the Locust Valley air. She took a deep breath and thought about the last time Ethan had made love to her. It was weeks ago. The act itself ended quickly, with very little buildup. Hannah had come home for lunch unexpectedly, and Ethan stood in the living room, as if he’d been waiting for her. He kissed her, severe and direct, biting her ear and leaving marks on her neck. Hannah could feel he was already hard, and he slipped off her underwear and took her on the dining room table. Alicia, he said, had gone to a friend’s house. He was assertive as he pushed into her. When he came, he dug his rough fingers into her thighs. She had bruises in those spots for days, and she traced them into the shape of Ethan’s hand. Afterwards, he smiled and kissed her and went upstairs. Hannah stayed on the dining room table for several minutes before driving back to work. She replayed the moment over in her mind as she pulled into the driveway, wine bottles clicking across the floor. The car refused to shift into first gear, grinding and whining with each attempt, and Hannah jerked and shoved until, finally, she left the car in neutral.

Today’s story of the day comes from Used Furniture Review, one of my favorite literary journals. Mark Reep, editor of Ramshackle Review, has written a lovely piece of flash fiction here, and I’m happy to share it with you all.

Say there’s a Berthier door somewhere. If you don’t know, look it up.

Are you enjoying Short Story Month? I know I am. 

Myfanwy Collins, who recently won Flatmancrooked’s 2010 Fiction Prize, has done it again with this story in Used Furniture Review. UFR consistently puts out great stories, and Collins’ continues that. Read this story of the day, and share it with a friend.

My mother had a bad experience, he said and did not elaborate. I pictured her backing away from dogs as they walked along the sidewalk. I saw her calling to him from the house, stay away from that dog. She was scared.

I knew about being scared. When I was a child we’d had a neighbor who had a phobia of dolls. We girls were under strict instruction not to bring our dolls out when Geeta was over for coffee.

In the basement, we would dare each other to walk through the room where Geeta was with a doll in our hands. The cruelty of children circles around humor.

I was always the chosen one. The youngest, I was also the least full of guile. Mostly, I was excited by the task. I wanted to see what would happen. So I did it.

This Valentine’s Day (which I hate), I thought I would share something fantastic, from a writer and editor who’s just kickass (which I enjoy). 

So, on this temperate Monday read a wonderful story, taken from Fifty-Two Stories (which also rocks my waffle): David Cotrone’s “The Continuous Yearning of Walter Rush.” Then, when you’re done with the story, check out David’s interview with Ryan Call in HTMLGiant. Lastly, go to Used Furniture Review, which David edits. It’s fucking brilliant.

from “The Continuous Yearning of Walter Rush”:

Still, Walter imagines this woman. He imagines the warm water lapping against her splotchy flesh. He imagines her hair wrapped up in a bun, her arms extended and her legs reclined straight out, her on her back, the sun beating upon her eyelids, so that from within her head she does not see the black of her closed eyes, but instead the color of rust. He imagines her feeling of weightlessness, of restoration, of salt.

I adore both Emma Straub and Used Furniture Review, so this just made my week.

UF Review: What does your revision process look like? How would you describe the writing life?

Straub: My revision process looks like this: a cup of tea, a cat kneading my stomach, the doorbell ringing, Facebook, Twitter, five solid minutes of work, repeat. I am a very twitchy person, and so it’s hard for me to sit still, especially if I don’t quite know what I’m doing. As for “the writing life,” I really couldn’t say. It certainly involves reading a lot of books, and reading about books, and going places where you find other people who also love books, and lots of sitting alone in a quiet room for hours on end. Mostly it’s the last one, sitting alone in a quiet room for hours on end. Some people can write to music, but I can’t, so it’s just me and the sound of the heat coming through the vents and the cat noises and the click-clack of my fingers on the keys.

I love Used Furniture Review and Emily St. John Mandel. This interview has me giggly:

“I love the solitude and privacy of writing. When I’m writing a novel, and I am always writing a novel, I have a private world that I can slip into. In that sense, writing and reading fiction have the same effect for me — what fiction does is it transports me.

I’ve never really wanted to write anything other than fiction, but writing fiction has always been more of a compulsion than a choice for me.”

I have a new online literary journal obsession, and it’s the Used Furniture Review! The simple, direct interface, strong writing, and fun interviews make this a journal I’m sure we’ll be hearing good things from for a long time.

Today’s stories of the day are three fiction pieces that rocked my waffle. Enjoy some Used Furniture Review:

“Beautiful Babette, the Wandering Nymphette,” by Roxane Gay

“She met a man, Fréderic, at the airport as they waited for their baggage. He offered to escort her to her hotel while they shared a cigarette at the taxi stand. She knew what he was after. She didn’t mind. Fréderic not only escorted Babette to her hotel, he accompanied her to her room and then he accompanied her to a mediocre orgasm but Babette was in Paris so she was feeling generous and she didn’t mind that either.”

“Fictioneer,” by Paul Lisicky

“And the Fictioneer lay back on his raft, dreaming as if he’d found himself on a sea in which there was no one to miss, and no one to miss him back.”

“Corrective,” by Julie Innis

“It’s a boyfriend who first points it out. Her nipples have grown wall-eyed, staring off in opposite directions. Distracting, he says, looking away.

I hadn’t noticed, she says, but after that it is all she notices. She keeps a shirt on and the lights out, but still, it bothers her, this problem. She is only twenty-five. What if this migration continues? By forty, she’ll be flat-chested and breast-backed.

Nip-tuck, the boyfriend advises, sewing at the air between them.”