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A group photo of the poets and fiction writers from last night's NeonLit Reading (L-R): Austin Ely, Brittany Bronson, Olivia Clare, Shaun Leonard (emcee), Amy Mayo, Dan Hernandez, Michael Berger.

Thanks to Trifecta Gallery and Black Mountain Institute for supporting NeonLit!

Photo by Marianne Chan

#neonlit #neon lit #poetry #fiction #unlv #unlv mfa #trifecta gallery #dtlv #Las Vegas

November NeonLit Anagrams, by Austin Ely

November NeonLit's emcee Austin Ely wrote these awesome anagrams to introduce the evening's readers. In case you missed the event last Friday, here they are:

In race as in hell, amen.

Marianne: elan chisel

Marianne, I lance hens.

Marianne Leslie Chan

Prime pajama jeers.

James, par, rime jape.

Jim, a spare jeep arm.

James "Jim Earp" Earp

Wry, I check ev'ry stanza.

Zach knits ev'ry wry ace.

Zach is Navy wreck Tyre.

Zachary Steven Wyrick

Beckon a best ice roar.

Rebecca is, or be, a knot.

Becki nears core boat.

Rebecca Kate Robison

Unparalleled, dim, keen, airy aim.

Dana may impel eerie lunar ilk.

Dana, like many, I rule prime ale.

Dana Marie Pauline Killmeyer

Necromancers exhale like an aged elk hid.

Michael can relax and ekes no hedger.

Michael Alexander needs anchor keg.

Michael Alexander Degnan Kroesche

#neon lit #UNLV Alumni #UNLV MFA #poetry #fiction

NeonLit: Halloween Edition

The special Halloween edition of the NeonLit Reading Series is Friday, October 25, 2013. Costumes are encouraged!

This month's readers:

Special Guest Matt Davis, 2013-14 Black Mountain Institute Bennett Fellow, author of When Things Get Dark: A Mongolian Winter's Tale

Brett Salsbury

Jean Ho

Aurora Brackett

Colby Gillette

Joan Robinson, graduating fall 2013 with her MFA in Poetry (congrats, Joan!)

Brittany Bronson will MC.

Trifecta Gallery in the Arts Factory, 107 E Charleston Blvd Las Vegas, NV 89104

Cocktails & snacks at 6:00 p.m. Reading starts promptly at 7:00 p.m.

#UNLV #UNLV MFA #fiction #poetry #neon lit

We Are Neon Lit, by Mark Lennon

It's Friday, January 25--the first Neon Lit reading of the spring semester. Only three nights ago, I had returned from a 5-week stay in Nicaragua. I am one of Neon Lit's three student coordinators, along with Mollie Bergeron and Rosemary Powers. Though I'm in charge of booking the space where we hold the reading (Trifecta Gallery in the Arts Factory on Charleston), because my phone was stolen in Nicaragua I am a little slow out of the gate this month. I had only contacted the gallery owner, Marty, the previous weekend. Despite this fact, we are set to go. I am used to this tightrope walk of irresponsibility and procrastination that I habitually create for myself, but every Friday before Neon Lit anxiety rises within me to a fever pitch. This Friday I am calm. I am calm even though the event has only been advertised for less than a week, even though I only sent out the Facebook event last night, even though, in addition to shopping for snacks, setting up, and making sure everyone is ready to go, I am reading tonight. Even though I am reading a piece that I only started yesterday, which isn't even close to finished or polished.

We arrive at 6, and Mollie is there already, talking with Marty and looking to get started. We begin to set up the room, which is hung with paintings and sculptures made by members of the various Cirque du Soleil shows around Vegas. Soon, friends and colleagues begin to arrive. Though I am usually very friendly, while I am working I am all business: a terse hello, a wave. This is true tonight, but where I usually feel hurried and anxious, tonight I just want to get through the preparation so I can think and watch.

Since I returned from Central America so recently, this is my first time seeing many of my friends. I sit to the side, excited but content to observe, until Doug Unger settles into a chair nearby with his wife. I haven't spoken to Doug much, since he teaches fiction and I am a poet. I've never been in his classes but when I see him around he tends to display the characteristics of the harried professor mixed with those of the mad scientist. My fiction friends tell me he's a genius.

I know that he has an interest in Spanish and in South America, so I mention the translations that I'm working on, asking him if he will take a quick look at the two that I am going to read. He does, and approves of most of my wordings, even many of the changes I've made. He has good suggestions and agrees to help me further during the semester.

It is part of my duties as co-coordinator to introduce the emcee, who, this month, is Sam Samson. She comes to the mic with her smile glittering joy. Sam's excitement and sincerity are evident in her beautiful introductions, beginning with Regina Ernst. Regina, a second-year fiction writer, reads a story that I have watched evolve, about a woman, dressed as a nun, who strikes her ex with her car by-accident/on-purpose. The first-person narrator builds pathos and humor as she loses her reliability, finally asking her comatose ex to help her get rid of an unwanted suitor by making out with her in front of his workplace, habit and all. I know that the ending of this story had given her the most trouble, and the audience's laughter made this effort worth it.

Jessica Durham, a second-year poet, reads next, her beautiful and solemn voice bringing us into her life, intimately, and for a time completely. She exposes her love, her time in Europe, her Mother. Telling the subjects of a poem means nothing, and I neglected to write down any lines, but at a reading the voice can be everything, as hers was.

Joleen Long, one of the first-year students reads a story of voyeurism and bondage. Fatal attraction, violence, obsession. The audience becomes the voyeur in the story as I observe their breaths catch and pant. She leaves them confused, disturbed, wanting more.

We break, I for a cigarette and another beer, then back inside for Jean Ho, a second-year fiction student. I have heard an earlier draft of this piece, a creative non-fiction story about love and the way she learned to speak in clothing. Jean's trademark cynicism is there, but stripped bare, admitted for what it is. I am touched by her honesty.

I read now, and because my pronunciation is terrible, I ask first-year fiction writer Dan Hernandez to help me with the Spanish. He reads first, and I follow with my translations, and in his reading I am back in Leon, lost in the fluttering rr's and dancing vowels. We read two of these, then he sits down and I read the beginning of a longer narrative poem of my experiences in Nicaragua.

The last reader is Doug Unger, Neon Lit's special guest for the evening. He reads a short section of the novel he is currently working on. It involves the intricate dance of the heart, performed by a drunk, mooching father and ex-husband, a step-father, a mother, and their daughter. It is filled with brutal intelligence, tempered irony, and tenderness. As good as the other readings were, there is no doubt in the room that we are hearing a master, and thankfully, a mentor.

After Doug's reading, Sam and I bid the guests farewell. The audience leaves slowly, filtering their impressions through excited conversation and sharing the good tidings of the break. We are together in this moment, in this night, sharing our ambitions and our friendships alike. I hear more than one person say that this was the best reading yet, a sentiment I've heard before and hope to hear again next month.

Neon Lit is a monthly reading series, featuring the creative writers from the UNLV MFA/PhD program. The event is student-organized, and takes place on the last Friday of each month at Trifecta Gallery in downtown Las Vegas.

(Photos by Brittany Bronson, Dan Hernandez, and Jean Ho)

#Neon Lit