"I changed the channels. The news was on over and over. They were talking about that goddamned arsonist again. Someone had been setting crack houses on fire over in the black part of town. They had set another one just now. This made eight."
FICTION | NONFICTION | POETRY |
TRANSLATION
SUBMIT STORE DONATE OPPORTUNITIES INTERVIEWS WRITERS WE PUBLISH
"I changed the channels. The news was on over and over. They were talking about that goddamned arsonist again. Someone had been setting crack houses on fire over in the black part of town. They had set another one just now. This made eight."
"If I were to even write it today, it would be a very different book. It might be better in some ways, but it would be probably less emotionally true to how I was feeling."
The Fresh Voices Fellowship supports one emerging Black, Indigenous, Latinx, Asian, or other writer of color who does not have an MFA in creative writing nor an advanced English degree (MA, PhD), and is not currently enrolled in a degree-granting program.
“[The Daniels] work is vital because they each add a necessary extension to what it means to be human. And when grouped together, The Daniels offer a clear retort to that well-intentioned if ill-informed statement: ‘A lot of people of color don’t know their family history.’ Ultimately, people of color do know their families, especially if we continue to find and share the writers who make us come alive.”
“Writing really resists optimization and that’s partly why I love it. It makes me reevaluate how I conceive of ‘time well spent.’”
“This isn’t some soft, sad Subway sandwich. The bread has integrity and the filling is the consistency of the most robust tuna salad Susie has ever seen, rich from the ratio of mayo but counterbalanced by the crunch of blitzed banana peppers. It tastes like a late night snack and lazy lunch all wrapped into one.”
It is difficult to convey just how important the Tower Records at the corner of Broadway and East 4th was to the feel and pulse of downtown New York, especially in its early days when there wasn’t much of either south of 14th Street.
“Writing fiction is like controlled daydreaming, whereas writing nonfiction is more like putting together a complicated three-dimensional puzzle.”
“It doesn't get easier, I thought it would along the way.”
“With O.J. there was an abyss of recklessness I was willing to dive into, a waxing appetite for danger I was unsure I could swallow.”
“The door didn’t open every day, but every time it did, I pushed it as far as it would go.”
“The moth doesn’t hear him, flies right back to the dads’ flamethrowers and you can’t stop it, can’t stop anything. To the moth all fire is sun.”
Currently accepting submissions in prose, poetry, works in translation and art
“She is either the trickster god of the desert or a divine messenger. Neither option is welcome, especially now.”
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“In the spring of 2020, when the lockdown began, Liz still owned the ax that broke down her childhood front door…”
“under house lights you move / through hallways backstage like it’s a sin / to inhabit your own skin”
