I’d be pretty stoked with this kind of haul from a bookstore. What great company to be in!
My contributor’s copy arrived today! Isn’t it handsome?
Thanks to Amy Silverberg & the Los Angeles Review of Books for this review.
Thanks to Amber Peckham and Hippocampus Magazine for the review.
"Wendy Ortiz’s memoir Excavation (Future Tense Books, July 2014) is titled after a process not just of digging, but of exposing, laying bare artifacts in a way that allows researchers to study and learn from them. This is the exact task she is about as well, working the fingers of her direct, artful prose into one of the most painful periods of her past in an attempt to understand how it has shaped and impacted her present self. This may be the aim of all memoir, but Ortiz’s story and use of craft are both compelling enough to set her work apart.”
Tomorrow night I read in a mash-up of two of my favorite spots: 1) a library in 2) Chicago.
In which Poets & Writers magazine asks small press authors & publishers why we chose each other. Excited to be included.
One week from tonight:
The Rumpus presents A SCREAM WITHOUT A MOUTH: STORIES OF REACHING OUT at LitCrawl LA: NoHo!
Listening to Tod Goldberg, Julia Pistell, & Rider Strong talk about Excavation on Literary Disco. The book made them uncomfortable, but maybe not as uncomfortable as I feel listening to 3 smart people talk about my book on a podcast. Spoiler: they say some awesome things & stuff like, “This should be required reading for young high school girls” & “I feel like I lived my teenage years with this girl!” (Double spoiler: Two are Valley boys of my generation.) Julia also really liked one of the hardest chapters for me to write & Tod read from one of the chapters I’ve been reading in public lately.
Los Angeles: Sat. Oct. 4th, 7pm, @ Stories Books in Echo Park.
I drive the streets of Los Angeles in the car whose maker named it the “Pathfinder.”
This vehicle has traversed thousands of miles, sometimes outlasting newer cars; its bill of health was always proclaimed as “good” when I take it to the shop for routine maintenance.
The name of this car is never lost on me. I bought it a time when I was trying to make my own path with no maps, and all I needed, really, was a dependable something. When I came across it, black and shining in the sun, it was the first time I felt the affection people profess to feel for their cars. It was big, big enough to live in, and for some reason, this thought comforted me.
RIP this beautiful beast I’ve loved for 9 years, that drove me to the desert and back countless times, that is now deemed “a total loss” after being stolen then involved in an accident while out of my possession.
The above in italics was, yes, an actual beginning of an old essay in which I wanted to consider what this car propelled me toward since I’ve owned it, and how its name resonated with me.
I may never have another love affair with a car again—it’s not my way—but this one? This was a good one.