Bombyonder at APR & God Damsel at B&N

Some selections from Bombyonder are in the July/August issue of the American Poetry Review:

What needed to be done needed to be done and this now would be a time for a renovation, reboot, an inspirational quote, pee break, an appointment and attention to that which still needed our attention.

The things that we lost: a feather, an orb, parrot, cat, donkey, status, privacy, Heath Ledger, our lice.

Reflection brought the freeze, I looked and it all stopped, I counted, I cried, I preserved, I slept, I woke practically a reptile.

In this issue there's also work by Lucia Perillo, Denise Duhamel, Charlie Smith, Marcus Jackson, W.S. Merwin, Amy Gerstler, Mira Rosenthal, Jennifer Grotz, Tony Hoagland, Lesley Valdes, Grant Clauser, Arielle Greenberg, Amy Small-McKinney, Bhisham Bherwani, Pamela Sutton and Laurence Lieberman.

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If you buy your ebooks from Barnes & Noble, God Damsel is now available. It's also available at Smashwords and Amazon.

Interview at BAP blog

illustration by Nin Andrews

Nin Andrews & I chat about No Tell, The Bibliomancy Oracle and my upcoming novel, Bombyonder, at Best American Poetry:

NA:  You have a new book called Bombyonder coming out?   Could you say a few words about it?  Provide an excerpt?

RL: Sure, it’s a novel. In the beginning I called it “Psychic Memoir” but people took that to mean it was a memoir of a psychic’s life. It’s also poetry. Here we go with labels again. Selections from Bombyonder have been published as fiction, novel excepts, poems and hybrid-texts. Whatever the editor wanted to call it, I said OK. But we’re calling the book a novel to lure new readers. Like when you sneak vegetables into a kid’s smoothie without his knowledge. He’s drinking broccoli! Don’t tell him that.

Bombyonder is about a woman who swallows a bomb in pill form (invented by her father) and the psychic fracturing that follows.

From Bombyonder:
The unplanned devised a plan to decide what was important and what was unimportant. Passed out the straws and realized they were one short. By luck or accident this was something that happened all unto itself. Perhaps it was a pregnant plan performing atrocities from bed.

It was about taking a stand.

And about shoes. I lost mine, then stepped on something sharp. On this hill even the grass was sharp and cracked.

Did I bleed?

Did it matter?

Dyeable shoes making do in a shit economy. Drab shoes. Sample shoes. Seasonal. Heeled. Sparkled. Sneaks. Tying on the discounted. Discounts for the hoard. You couldn’t discount how his political process creeped out his guests but nobody wants to be rude to the guy providing the dinner and booze. They all decided to keep things light. This is what they agreed. They will not think about pictures of his penis either angry nor sated.

What penis?

No penis to see here.

Exactly.

The pregnant carried weight. The pregnant had to go. Wobbly never won a beauty pageant.
Out-of-sight and off the scale.

A cart full of discounts and grimaces making way to higher ground. Maybe there was a flood coming or maybe I was there for the view or maybe I was taking my stand at a very reasonable price, albeit one with blisters.

God Damsel the Ebook

For less than 1/3 the price of the print book, my second poetry collection, God Damsel, is available as an ebook. Only $4.99.

It's available at Amazon and Smashwords (in all versions, epub, mobi, pdf, etc.). It'll be available at B&N, Kobo, Apple Store and most of the usual suspects in the coming days.

Since most of the poems have short lines or are prose, the formatting is good, so it's more than an acceptable way to read the book. I've checked it on several eReaders.

My novel, Bombyonder, will be coming out in October and will be available in both print and ebook. I recently saw a mock-up for the cover design and I'm quite excited. After all this time, it's just around the corner.

from the Cackling Jackal Vault

Since this one relates to what I just posted:

SATURDAY, JULY 08, 2006
Found # 2 - My Going Away Card Signed by AOL Co-workers (circa 1997)

"Reb, we will certainly miss your pessimistic face. Just kidding!"

Um, no you weren't. (1)

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(1) No, they really weren't.

from the Cackling Jackal Vault

WEDNESDAY, MAY 14, 2008

Dear Substitute Pilates Instructor, (1)

Tell me what to do with my legs, arms, hands, feet, back and butt. Tell me to lift my toes, wrap my thigh muscles, bend my elbows. Tell me to look forward. Tell me to stop shrugging my shoulders. You're the boss. I submit.

But don't tell me to smile. That's the one muscle I get to fully to decide what to do with. I'm concentrating on all my various parts. As a busy mom, I have not a second to spare on a smile. I have something called a "powerhouse" that I'm supposed to be engaging. Times like these, I must not be distracted with frivolities. (2)

And for that matter, where does anyone get off telling anyone else to smile? Nothing makes me want to stick a shank in some guy's gut faster than when a random stranger approaches and tells me to smile. Fuck you. What's next, telling me what to do with my uterus? (3)

Exactly.

My smile is my domain. My smile is sincere and true. Or I'm trying to trick you into being at ease and liking me. But that's my call. I decide when I'm false. You decide when I half-assed my elephant and whether or not I need to do it again.

Sincerely,
Little Ms. Frowny Pants with the Tight Hamstrings (4)

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(1) Eventually I returned to yoga. Pilates was too much like going to the gym. Loud and harsh. Not for me.

(2) Yoga instructors seem to want me to smile too, although at least they don't say "smile." Sometimes they ask me if I'm OK. Just shut up and teach. I'll let you know if I got a problem I care to share with the class.

(3) I feel even stronger about this now than I did back 2008. Seriously. Unless you're snapping my picture, don't ever tell me to smile. Actually, even if you're taking my photograph, don't tell me to smile. Just don't do it.

(4) Goddamn hamstrings.