first published in

I was accepted to the Vermont Studio Center in a stagnant October. I couldn’t remember applying and I only agreed to attend because I’d been staring at the blank expanse under the title of my new novel for weeks. Once I became preoccupied with residency logistics, I started figuring out the novel’s plot. Or maybe that’s too voluntary. Ideas, lost in the post-MFA haze, evaporated in the assembly line rhythm of New York, began popping all around.

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