writer's residency

Image: An exterior view of the Mall of America in Bloomington, Minn. (Adam Bettcher/ Getty Images)

You guys: The Mall of America is looking for a writer-in-residence. According to their website, they want “a special scribe” to “spend five days deeply immersed in the Mall atmosphere while writing on-the-fly impressions in their own words.”

“It sounds like the dream of a 1990s teenager,” say our friends at Minnesota Public Radio. “Or the nightmare of anyone who doesn’t love crowds and the ever-present scent of Cinnabon.”

If you’re one of those dreamers, the application period ends March 10. So, you know, get to work!



I’m heading out west for a conference next month, so I’ve decided to turn my aversion to flying into an opportunity to create my own DIY Amtrak writer’s residency. My itinerary:

Chicago to Seattle via rail (Amtrak Empire Builder)
Seattle to Whidbey Island via ferry to attend the Thriving Communities conference
Seattle to Portland via rail (Amtrak Cascades)
Portland to San Francisco via rail (Amtrak Coast Starlight)
San Francisco to Chicago via air (Ugh …. but I’ve got to get home quickly at the end of the trip)

I’m really looking forward to the conference and my stops in Seattle, Portland, and San Francisco. What I’m most excited about, though, are my solo train rides. I’m finally going to have some uninterrupted time to work on the flash creative nonfiction project (which will eventually become a zine) I’ve been thinking about for a while. I also want to plot out the collaborative zine about Chicago food that I’ve been talking about forever.

forfutureglory  asked:

For the resident angst writer, #32 for the prompts. Gimme *chokes on tears* gimme all you got.

Kit, I apologize for what you are about to read.

Eleven sat on the swings by the middle school, the place that had always been “their spot” since she came back seven years ago. Mike had asked her to meet him there but he was running late, as usual. She lazily swung back and forth, foot nervously tapping. There was something she needed to tell him, and tonight was as good as ever. Soon she heard Mike’s call and saw him jogging over, hair flopping as he went. After their customary kiss, she quickly spoke up.

“I have to talk to you about something.”

“I have to talk to you about something. Wait, let me go first.”

She let him, she could wait another minute. But then he got down on one knee in front of her and the world started spinning. She heard the rush of blood in her ears, so loud it drowned out what he was saying. Her heart ached, physically ached, and she pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth in an effort to keep from throwing up. This couldn’t be happening. But then he stopped talking and was looking at her expectantly and she knew what he was waiting for.

“I can’t,” She whispered.

He froze, just his eyes widening. He clearly wasn’t expecting this response.

“Is it because we’re still young?”

She shook her head, struggling not to look away.

“But…I love you. Don’t you want to be together?”

She sighed. “I’m leaving Hawkins. That’s what I wanted to tell you. I applied for the Peace Corps. And they accepted me. I leave in a couple months.”

“I’ll come with you,” he said, his voice cracking and making it sound like a question.

“No. I have to do this alone. For me. I can’t go from being the lab’s property to Hop’s daughter to Mike Wheeler’s wife. I have to be me.” She took a deep breathe, trying to keep the tears at bay.

“I am…suffocating in this relationship. Haven’t you noticed anything?

“I thought things were fine.”

“I know. Because they should be. Because you’re perfect and we’ve been together forever and nothing is wrong. But I feel like I’m drowning and…and I hate myself for it. But I need something else. And I need to be by myself.”

He was sitting on the ground at this point, just staring off at the slide. He didn’t know what to say. He always knew what to say.

“I have to do this,” she repeated.

She had to get out of there. She couldn’t look at him. As she stood from the swing, his voice came one more time.

“Will you come back to me?”

“I can’t promise that.” She refused to look back at him, refused to lose her nerve, to stay where things were safe and warm and…and not enough.

“I love you,” he softly said. She couldn’t say it back. Instead she walked briskly out of the park.

Sometimes things don’t happen the way you thought they would. And sometimes things aren’t the same as when you’re twelve years old.

She roughly wiped the tears from her cheeks and continued to walk into the night.

Alcohol, Juggie, and his dad.

Did anyone see Jughead hide FP’s flask after the jam session, when he and Archie are talking?
Whatever you do, don’t imagine Jughead watching his father drown out his troubles with alcohol. Don’t think about how Jughead watched his dad fall into a spiral of doom, one bottle at a time. Don’t imagine Jughead despising alcohol for all it’s done to his family- tearing them apart.
Avoid contemplating whether Jughead dealt with a drunk FP Jones every night or so, listening to his liquor-induced ramblings about how he’s failed his family. Don’t wonder whether our resident writer spent almost every night worried that his father would drive under influence, and end someone’s life. Maybe even his own. Stop yourself from deliberating the number of bottles or flasks or secret stashes Jughead has probably had to hide.
Just don’t. Because I did, and I’m crying.

I’m meeting with the writer in residence tomorrow and like she said to me last week “I knew you were a real writer from the moment I heard you read your work”


- ̗̀ lily maymac ̖́- ruby morales, twenty, she/her has lived in madrid for seven months though they’re originally from brisbane, australia. in fact, they live in las letras. they’re blunt and introspective but also altruistic and eloquent. they spend their day as a freelance writer / translator. people know them as the paracosmic.

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OPPORTUNITY ALERT:  VSC has a special fellowship earmarked for black women! Get on it.  (And there are fellowships for other folks, too.)

Voices Rising Fellowship
This fellowship is for an African American woman fiction writer with demonstrable financial need. Given in honor of women writers of color such as Maya Angelou, Toni Morrison, and Zora Neale Hurston, whose voices have inspired so many, this award also comes with a $2,000 stipend to help offset costs associated with the residency, such as travel, childcare, lost wages, rent, etc..

More details here! http://www.vermontstudiocenter.org/fellowships


Dorian Pavus published his first novel a year ago, and it was a surprising breakout hit. Now, his editor is hounding him for his next manuscript - but he can’t come up with a single idea. When Thedastrak offers him a position as writer-in-residency for three months, he joins up, hoping that it might spark a new story.
Expecting a peaceful journey, he instead finds that his room partner is a loudmouth Qunari known as The Iron Bull. The two of them are immediately at odds, trading scathing remarks as their train wanders through the Ferelden countryside.
Dorian has no idea how such an idiot became a Thedastrak resident. That is, until he discovers that Bull is in fact Hisraad Ashkaari, the bestselling Qunari novelist- and Dorian’s favorite author.

Deals We Keep

Summary: Young Dan and Phil swear off of girls when they’re little. Some people people value it more than others.

Word Count: 2,530

A/N: Made by both @furiousicecream and @xinyanhowell at five and two am respectively (it’s entirely @furiousicecream ‘s everything okay I just helped a bit)

 F/I: WE MADE TOO MANY JOKES MAKING THIS um smut is something i make too many jokes about,,, oH and fuck spelling

X/H: SHHH u do not get to judge my life okay - the resident smut-writer and proofreader

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New York City

Chelsea Hodson is smart, has good taste, and writes very, very well. People often talk about vulnerability as a weakness, but the word’s deeper meaning does not mean being susceptible to attack — it is the ability to withstand attack, to survive, to endure. It is about being a boss in a deep and soulful way. In this sense, Chelsea Hodson’s work shows an unflinching strength and vulnerability in a way that is as intellectually vibrant as it is grounded in the body. 

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Aimee Nezhukumatathil is the author of three collections of poetry and, with Ross Gay, co-authored Lace & Pyrite, a chapbook of nature poems. She serves as poetry editor of Orionmagazine and her writing appears in American Poetry Review, Poetry, Tin House, and inThe Best American Poetry series. She is finishing a book of lyric nature essays and is professor of English at The State University of New York at Fredonia. In 2016-17, will be the Grisham Writer-in-Residence at the University of Mississippi’s MFA program.