Summer Newsletter
I have become painfully aware that ten years training as a dancer and one season of high school cross country did not prepare me for team sports.
Witch, Please and the Affective Economies of Harry Potter
The same evils that produced Voldemort and the Death Eaters are not bugs in the magical world—they are systemic features
Where There’s Smoke
No wonder my eyes sting when I go outside; the air’s full of tiny demonic scorpions.
Marmalade Feminism
Somewhere along the way, I have become a jam-making fiend.
Papers I Didn’t Write in Seminary
Sin, in other words, might be where the rubber meets the road.
Not Working
“Gotta make hay,” we’ll say to each other as we stumble out of bed at six a.m. to milk cows.
The Jersey Shore
Rusty antennae form a kind of industrial crown of thorns, and the typeface doesn’t say “beach day” as much as “we interrupt this program to bring you a SEVERE WEATHER ALERT.”
Do Not Despise the Day of Small Things
Convulsions—shocking, kill-stand-rattling convulsions—are normal.
Smells Like School Spirit
You could smell the hesitant air looking for its next class in all the wrong buildings.
Terminal Restlessness
But grown women usually don’t wail on an eight-hour flight over the Atlantic.
