In those days I began to see light under every bushel basket, light nearly splitting the sides of the bushel basket. Light came through the rafters of the dairy where the grackles congregated like well-taxed citizens untransfigured even by hope. Understand I was the one underneath the basket. I was...
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TITLEKIND
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04.04.19Writing to a Single ListenerIn Conversation
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03.22.19Saving Yourself from TimeIn Conversation
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03.15.19BorderlandsIn Conversation
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03.08.19The Erosion of CultureIn Conversation
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01.31.19In Place of Alternate RealitiesIn Conversation
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01.25.19The Love of FateIn Conversation
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01.11.19Structural OptionsIn Conversation
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12.06.18A Tennis OdysseyIn Conversation
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10.26.18Living in the Time of BeingIn Conversation
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10.19.18Finding the NovelIn Conversation
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10.11.18The Ethical Challenge of Writing ViolenceIn Conversation
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09.27.18The Fictions We MaintainIn Conversation
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09.20.18A Dislocation of RealityIn Conversation
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09.07.18Violating the FormIn Conversation
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08.24.18Opening Up a LifeIn Conversation
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08.10.18Putting the Medicine in the ApplesauceIn Conversation
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07.27.18The Lingering Colonial PresenceIn Conversation
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07.20.18A Life in LettersIn Conversation
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07.13.18Malzberg Reading Daniels Reading MalzbergIn Conversation
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06.29.18Amity and ProsperityIn Conversation