Tag Archives: Sean Lovelace


3 Jan

This is one of the coolest contests I’ve seen: write a short fiction piece, featuring Matthew Salesses, short fiction writer, as the protagonist. Awesome prize list, rad judges, cool protagonist (check that interesting biographical detail list).

Still, if you enter, you better step it up. Just check out the first entry, by Sean Lovelace.*

Matt Salesses on Crowds

“There are lost crowds and then crowds of poets who read other poets who write poems for poets, you know, that type of thing. Sometimes, while giving a reading in the hub of Boston, I can sense whether a particular crowd is one thing or the other. Sometimes the mood of the crowd is disguised, sometimes you only find out after two or three or, you know, four hours of reading what sort of crowd a particular crowd is. And you can’t speak to them in the same way. The variations have to be taken into account. Some crowds like Tang lyric poetry, while others enjoy modern adaptations of the Tang lyric poem. Other crowds you try a flash fiction and they’ll seize you by the throat! They will rip the urinals out the bathroom walls and throw them at you! Understand? They want something long and slow and sustained. You have to say something to them that is meaningful to them in that mood.”

*(Full disclosure: I make an appearance, or rather a non-appearance appearance, my absence marked, in one section; still the story rules and such even with(out) me.)

Single-Sentence Review: Fog Gorgeous Stag by Sean Lovelace

3 Aug

Fog Gorgeous Stag by Sean Lovelace

Publishing Genius, 70 pages, 2011

A really awesome review of FGS over at Book Punch Reviews

Yes, this book stumbles through itself, in search of itself, learning to bend and snap, discovering the depths and directions of its voice and at the end pops out this layered clump, like a rubberband ball with a pulse, that bounces around us and stretches thoughtshapes in and out and back again and we get all smiley, not really knowing what to say or think.


Albino at Elimae

28 Jul

Sean Lovelace‘s blog referred me back to one of my favorites, Elimae, and their collection of Meg Pokrass‘ little fictions titled Albino, Mammaries, and Fido. I love, love, love it when bite-sized pieces punch me in the uvula. Here, read Mammaries:


“Nurse on me,” she said, “it’s very sweet.”
“How?” He liked her to show him exactly where, as though it were a secret.
“Just sip from here,” she pointed to her nipples. Her fingers on the left nipple, she pinched and didn’t wince. A drop of clear milk appeared. Bovine and fetching at the same time.
“Mmm. Mammaries,” he whispered.
The baby didn’t need them, had switched to soy.
The word “mammaries” made her giggle. They were oblong melons and would soon deflate from all of this.
Until he met her, his lips had been lonely and his ideas were faint. He believed he was shriveling — bones losing bone matter.
Nursing now, he felt blank, but not helpless.
“Babies cry because they don’t know,” she said.

See, don’t you want more now? Read more here.

SSR Countdown #1 of 15: They Could No Longer Contain Themselves

8 Jul

To help get everyone as jazzed as I am for the VouchedATL Launch Reading I have decided to do a countdown of Single Sentence Reviews of the books that will be carried at VouchedATL’s table. For the kick-off I’ve chosen Rose Metal Press’ flash fiction collection They Could No Longer Contain Themselves because I can’t either. (Neither can Christopher!)

Imagine John Jodzio, Elizabeth J. Colen, Tim Jones-Yelvington, Sean Lovelace, and Mary Miller standing in a line each singing their own melody in a round, and over time the five melodies bleed into each other and form an over-lying arc whose staccato’s burst so much that you can feel them prick your fingertips and whose legatos ring your insides dry and when the humming, whistling, and singing stops the five of them all leave but their tunes stay in your head for days.


SSM: “Briefly Concerning Flash Fiction” by Sean Lovelace

27 May

fiction that discusses, describes, or analyzes a work of fiction or the conventions of fiction.


Ever to confess you are tired means you have no inner resources. I am heavy tired.

I feel bad for the rest of the month. I feel bad for this story for how good it is, yet how tired I feel to write a good and worthwhile response to it. I will let Sean’s words do their own thing. It is a small, good thing.

The sky that day resembled the cotton from an asthma inhaler, and the winds sewed, weaved, and knitted the sand into one enormous Jupiter-ass sirocco, but most of this irrelevant, unless you just like weather. These days it seems everyone is into the weather. Probably something to do with control, mortality, or the absolute unpredictability of a tornado, of illness, a relationship, you know, like maybe your girlfriend an hour late, another hour (no phone call, no text), another, then gone.


Oh, but I remember the Tuesday she told me, “You know what? The energy of this relationship is all wrong. It’s like your standard incandescent light bulb.”

“What the hell does that mean?” I asked her.


And I’d like to say, right here and now, there’s not a damn thing wrong with a standard incandescent light bulb, or its energy distribution (90% heat, 10% light). We glow how we can, Sara.

Read the full story at Flash Fiction.

Wear Sunscreen: Videos of Vouched Presents, January

16 Feb

Nate had these videos posted a couple weeks ago, but with AWP and general slackery, I’m just now getting around to getting them posted here. At first, he was trying to cut them up into individual pieces, but that was taking way too long to render and upload, so he just cut them by reader.

The whole night was such a wonderful blur and all the readers were so good and energetic and charming, I don’t even know what highlights to…highlight. Just watch all the videos. Pay attention. Drink beer while you do so. Laugh. Pretend you were there. If you were there, remember you were there. Smile.

Sean Lovelace (after my horrible intro of him [sorry, Sean]), “Fireworks Series #1”

Sean Lovelace, “Fireworks Series #2”

Sean Lovelace, “Fireworks Series #3”

Sean Lovelace, “University of W”

Sean Lovelace, “Memphis Apartment, Downtown Poplar & Vine”

Sean Lovelace, “Snakes”

Andy Devine, selection from Words

Matt Bell, “The Cartographer’s Girl”

Aaron Burch, “Christmas Would Be in December” and “The Pain of Humiliation”

Vouched Presents – January 15th, 2011

20 Nov

Get ready.

T-Shirt by Michael Kimball

31 Oct

I stumbled upon this story over at BLIP today, a day where I wear my normal clothes instead of the assumed Halloween costume, a day where I’m finally washing four laundry baskets of shirts, pants, towels that I’ve neglected for three weeks, a day when I’m recovering from a weekend of trying to get comfortable and warm with my closest friends.

This story goes beyond being simple and clever, to really matter, to put this metaphor to work. I’m relating to it right now: I’m a guy, but I guess too I am a t-shirt of sorts. I’m just in love with the way this story strikingly matters.

Here is a neat excerpt:

For its whole life, T-Shirt has liked get ting pulled on and pulled off. T-Shirt likes get ting dirty and get ting thrown in with the other dirty clothes. T-shirt likes get ting thrown into the wash and get ting all wet and twisted up with the other wet clothes. T-Shirt likes how hot it gets tum bling in the dryer and how clean it feels in the laun dry bas ket after that.

Here are some links for other things I like at BLIP. Good work there:

John McEnroe Visits the 15th Street Diner by Sean Lovelace

Man With Cane At Shopping Center (art) by Cooper Renner

Three Poems by Bill Yarrow