If you are going to be at AWP, come check out Ashley Farmer, Casey Hannan, Dylan Nice, and Adam Novy read us a bunch of awesome stuff.
We will be at LUCIDLounge in Seattle at 8 PM!
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If you are going to be at AWP, come check out Ashley Farmer, Casey Hannan, Dylan Nice, and Adam Novy read us a bunch of awesome stuff.
We will be at LUCIDLounge in Seattle at 8 PM!
I'm very honored to be included among these fine writers/former classmates. Thank you, Amy Butcher!
the amount of lit is overwhelming
APRIL doesn't start until next Monday, but our friends are hosting a lot of great events this week!
Tomorrow, get some brews and books at Naked City Brewery in Greenwood. The event will feature readings from Adam Novy, Dylan Nice, Richard Chiem, and Cameron Pierce.
Thursday, join YesYes Books & Matthew Dickman as they raise funds for YouthCare, a non-profit benefitting homeless youth. The event will feature readings from Richard Chiem, Matthew Dickman, Elaina Ellis, Rachel Kessler, Sierra Nelson, and Corey Zeller.
Sunday, Paul Nelson hosts a discussion on the problem of the "Seattle nice" and the state of literary criticism in the Northwest. Panelists include Daemond Arrindell, Christine Deavel, Graham Isaac, and Kate Lebo. Plus, it's online so you don't even need to leave your couch!
Gary Lutz was the first writing teacher I had who showed me that the sentence was capable of art. He would underline good sentences and interrogate bad ones. Verbs would be circled and Gary would ask 'inevitable?' And no, the verb was not inevitable, and I'd never considered that concept before, inevitability. It smacks of the eternal, a text beyond the writer to which the writer submits. That was a concept I needed to be able to write well. The class introduced me to a tradition for me to practice.
Dylan Nice
The intensity of my sentence fixation varies from piece to piece. In drafting some stories, there’s no immediate need for me to preen over the sentences because there is a strongly felt thing driving the writing and demanding precise arrangements. The strongly felt thing is a helpful condition. It is a powerful arbiter of no and yes. Its exact nature is hard to pin down. It might be fear of death. When I can’t conjure a strongly felt thing, which is very often, the sentence can serve the opposite function. The sentence can look for it, can probe to legitimize its own existence. I find, though, that these sentences—even after they’ve tapped into something interesting—never feel as alive to me as their channeled cousins. The fakers hide well, but I know who they are. Both kinds go into all drafts, but some stories are charmed, others cruel. The big trick is fixing it so people can’t tell the difference.
Dylan Nice
The staleness of my house would lead me to the windows. I smeared the yard's colors through the bubbled glass. Things then were not substance, but the beauty children hide from the bones of adulthood.
Dylan Nice, thin enough to break
Dylan Nice on Pennsylvania's Allegheny Mountains: the surreal and remote beauty of the place, the region's influence on his work, and what it's like when Google Maps kills your hometown.
Full interview: http://www.litshow.com/archive/season-06/dylan-nice-interview
I try not to trouble myself all that much with meaning. A sentence of mine is a layout of language. What the sentence might be about is of no permanent concern. I’m mostly drawn toward art that resists exegesis. Donald Barthelme, paraphrasing Kenneth Burke in an essay published in 1964, wrote that 'the literary work becomes an object in the world rather than a text or commentary upon the world,' and a year later, Susan Sontag, in her essay 'On Style,' made an eerily similar statement: 'A work of art is a thing in the world, not just a text or commentary on the world.' Both writers eventually backed away from that position, but I buy it.
Gary Lutz