Jaime Green

Jul 30

I went to a reading last night and everyone there seemed fancy. Like they blow-dried their hair, like they worked in publishing, like they worked in midtown. I couldn’t tell if I was reading the room right or if I’d just been surrounded by teenagers for the last several hours/days/weeks. I perched on a table and held my bike helmet in my lap, and the readings were great. I gushed to the writers afterward, and then talked with a woman who works in publishing but doesn’t scare me about the surprisingly long time that we’ll feel stuck between being fans and real people in the world. I ate a $2 slice of pizza and biked home. I sang “Let It Go” very very quietly to Brooklyn. I pulled up at a red light behind a man about my age. He turned around and looked at me. I returned his “hello” but then he turned forward again and kept talking, to himself, to his hidden phone, who knows. Who knows if the “hello” was even for me. I hung back behind him for a couple blocks to try to figure him out. But then I passed him and made the left onto Fulton without having to wait, which was really nice.


Jul 29
My 30-day unlimited expires tonight at midnight, and you can chart my happiness with life along with whether I need an unlimited card. August, you are mine. You are bike rides and coffices and working from home. You are syllabus-planning and revising and writing, you are a whole new set of readings for my class in the fall, you are Brooklyn and Brooklyn and oh god not spending three hours on the subway a day. That little 7/29/14 has been a little beacon every time I’ve swiped, and now it’s here, and August starts in just a few days.

My 30-day unlimited expires tonight at midnight, and you can chart my happiness with life along with whether I need an unlimited card. August, you are mine. You are bike rides and coffices and working from home. You are syllabus-planning and revising and writing, you are a whole new set of readings for my class in the fall, you are Brooklyn and Brooklyn and oh god not spending three hours on the subway a day. That little 7/29/14 has been a little beacon every time I’ve swiped, and now it’s here, and August starts in just a few days.


Jul 28

mysharona1987:

Some of the funniest book dedications ever.

Heroes, all.

(via harperperennial)


“I finished tonight and oh my god, tumblr is going to crash when reblog book club gets to that last chapter.”

- Jaime Green (via reblogbookclub)

I loved California. Edan was so completely lying when she leaned over and very visibly told Colbert that the book has a happy ending. The ending is so much more complex than happy or not.



Jul 25
danielleh:

Just a little mantra I stitched up. Framing it this week to put on my desk.

This is what we talked about in my workshop today. I fucking love teaching teenagers.

danielleh:

Just a little mantra I stitched up. Framing it this week to put on my desk.

This is what we talked about in my workshop today. I fucking love teaching teenagers.

(via jamiatt)


Jul 24
“The point of publishing is to make something public. You publish a book because you want to connect with an audience. If all you wanted to do was write, you would write in a journal and keep it in your nightstand.” Rachel fucking Fershleiser, in a book marketing roundtable on Scratch (the online magazine for writers)

(via nickdouglas)


Hi I think I was abducted by aliens and brain-wiped during winter break 2011-2012. (re: this)

Hi I think I was abducted by aliens and brain-wiped during winter break 2011-2012. (re: this)


"after agee"

I was looking for something else on my computer and found a file called “after agee” from my first semester of grad school. It’s a less-than-page-long document about living alone and the farmers market and cooking - I don’t even know what class this was for. I don’t remember reading any Agee in grad school! I see how little bits of it snuck into an essay I wrote a year later, how I’d been getting words ready for their ideas. But it feels like a stranger wrote this, too. This is how it ends:

There is a cat sleeping in the window, and my knife slices through stems, heavy and deft. Cutting into smaller pieces, down and down, and I am alone in the room and alone in my home, but I am alone in my head and the inside of my head is vast. I had never known this place before I spent so many hours quiet, knocked on some door with the rhythmic hits of my knife blade on the cutting board after it’s sliced through a stem.

The whole piece is in italics and I have no idea why.


Jul 21
amiwithani:

In process for us, ladies of the Internet. #crafts #cross-stitch #feminism

Time to bust out my lil hoop ‘n’ needles.

amiwithani:

In process for us, ladies of the Internet. #crafts #cross-stitch #feminism

Time to bust out my lil hoop ‘n’ needles.


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