is the same as what Shakespeare's audience wanted--dastardly deeds by dark, despicable men and/or some generous blood-spattering and/or saucy wenches with pert breasts cinched up to be displayed like fresh fruit on a platter. It isn't rocket science, people."Read my book," the novelist said. "Are there breasts in it?" asked Brad. "Oh, just grow up," the man sneered. He didn't notice Brad's left hand reaching under the workbench for the .357 Magnum he kept taped there for just this eventuality. "I'm a serious novelist," the man said quietly, "and I've won many awards." But those awards weren't going to save his skin from some serious perforation now. No, sir. BLAM BLAM BLAM.
from Garrison Keillor: Chicago Tribune: She saw her pale reflection in the window. A.k.a. torture
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Ars Poetica #100: I Believe
by Elizabeth Alexander
Poetry, I tell my students,
from Garrison Keillor: The Writer's Almanac: Ars Poetica #100: I Believe by Elizabeth Alexander
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Everyone is Afraid of Something
by Dannye Romine Powell
Once I was afraid of ghosts, of the dark,
from Garrison Keillor: The Writer's Almanac: Everyone is Afraid of Something by Dannye Romine Powell
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First Cutting
by Susie Patlove
What is the hayfield in late afternoon
from Garrison Keillor: The Writer's Almanac: First Cutting by Susie Patlove
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Having Confessed by Patrick Kavanagh
Having confessed he feels
from Garrison Keillor: The Writer's Almanac: Having Confessed by Patrick Kavanagh
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Middle-Age
by Pat Schneider
The child you think you don't want
from Garrison Keillor: The Writer's Almanac: Middle-Age by Pat Schneider
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Peaches or Plums
by Alan Michael Parker
Oh, how I hate my mind,
from Garrison Keillor: The Writer's Almanac: Peaches or Plums by Alan Michael Parker
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Winter Afternoon
by Grace Paley
Old men and women walk by my window
from Garrison Keillor: The Writer's Almanac: Winter Afternoon by Grace Paley
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