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PRAISE FOR ALL MY ANCESTORS HAD SEX: Susan Emshwiller's All My Ancestors Had Sex is not like anything you have experienced before—unless you're an eighteen-year-old girl named Izzy and have kidnapped your monstrously privileged little brother and driven off in a reconditioned Metro Van to criss-cross the U.S. on a wild road trip, pursued by private eyes, and seeking a way to integrate the fragments of your broken personality. Oh, yes, you'd also have to contend with a half-dozen of your squabbling ancestors, all of whom trail their own tragic histories. In other words, baggage. Find out how Izzy manages to unload it all in this funny and very serious novel—with a heart. Then go and do likewise. JOHN KESSEL, award-winning author of The Dark Ride and The Moon and the Other Susan Emshwiller’s new novel, I’m happy to say, lives up to its stellar title in every facet. It’s a rollicking, rocket’s blast chase caper, jammed with rich characters and affecting insights into the human condition. All My Ancestors Had Sex delivers a delightfully inventive cross-country thrill ride loaded with surprises and PTSD. RICHARD KRAUSS editor/publisher of The Digest Enthusiast Susan Emshwiller’s riveting novel, All My Ancestors Had Sex, exploits genealogy as a springboard for a wild, funny, fast-paced tale of misfortune, mayhem, and unlikely redemption. Emshwiller unfolds Izzy’s story with such credibility that the reader never doubts the preposterous premises about this ‘ugly duckling’ daughter of disappointed privileged-class parents. Is this a thriller, a mystery, a romance, a historical novel? Like Izzy herself, it's a little bit of everything. An exhilarating read!! ANNE ANTHONY, author of A Blue Moon & Other Murmurs of the Heart Do It Yourself Poem
This poem may fall apart in 5 years. I didn’t construct it to code or consult with experts. I just put it up for the shade. Writing the Beast
Writing. It’s kind of like-- You go after a wild or frightened beast. You dart around, anticipating its moves, cutting it off. You corner it and try to rope it. You yell and demand it “COME!” as it rears — eyes rolling. You may capture it (or eat dirt) yet you won’t necessarily get to write/ride. But sometimes if you sit on a rock with your back to the beast, ignoring it, doing other things, the big animal will slowly come up behind you, nuzzle your ear, and tell you its stories. Good Dog
When Amelia collapsed in the doorway and Chris called out, "Oh my God," I ran in from the bedroom. She was spayed out flat and had no heartbeat, but for a few seconds her eyes were still with us. I kept repeating "Good dog. Good dog," knowing that she understood it and knew it as praise. When I’m dying I hope someone will lean close and hold me and look into my eyes and repeat over and over-- if not something just as powerful, at least "Good dog." |
A New novel
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