Exhibit 1.9.1

A Primer on the Rules of Cricket, Pt. 8


 Cricket Field


71. The Idiot shall in no way have his path impeded nor his cries ignored as he makes his way round and round the field in search of ever greater terror in the faces of men whose lives he cannot possibly understand at such steep angle from his own. Also, he shall wear a bouncy hat bespoke with bells. Many bells!

72. There shall be no farthingales allowed to pope the waists of the gentleman players lest their corpulence exceed that of three lampreys as measured by three lampreys chosen at random from the lamprey barrel.

73. At least one fully stocked lamprey barrel need be at-hand for such measurements and provided by the home team as is the hooper to maintain the aforementioned lamprey barrel. The hooper shall be paid with his choice of the spent lampreys.

73 addendum. The lampreys must be unseasoned lampreys. Or, as the bio-alchemists would have it, freshwater lampreys.

74. In the event of fire, someone’s a witch and the king must be protected at all cost. Should the king not be in attendance, queue up the following in order of protection from the witch: the wicket keeper, the wicket, the meat pies, the time warden, the witch herself, the hooper, the Treaty of Gaul, and the masques for the post-fire ball at which each eligible lady shall have the chance to have her fortune told by the witch.

74 addendum. Each lady is allowed to trade her fortune for another’s only thrice.

75. Should a batstenant hit the ball into the south quadrant–or “The Wickedshire” as commonly known–play shall cease until a halfman might be found to quest for it with a party of great diversity and ineptitude.

76. No Welsh.

77. Some balloons.

78. Play shall cease in the event a babe of under eight timepence finds its way on to the field provided the babe displays the proper colors of its peerage. If improper colors are displayed, the babe shall be given the opportunity to form a team of one and challenge all other teams on the field. Should the babe fail to win, he shall be given to the player with the highest number of tallies. Should the babe win, he earns his choice of colors provided babes at such an age can even see colors, a fact which bio-alchemists currently disagree upon.

78 addendum. Should the babe be a commoner he must never know what he’s seen.

79. The first ball shall not bowled until the pitcher has been bathed in the Thames by the water brigade at which point the gentleman or lady–but definitely gentleman–shall be allowed to toss the ball with no more than daisy’s worth of dew remaining.

80. There shall be a fee to trade players from one team to another though this fee shall only be known only to the ledgerswain until the time of the player’s demise at which point it shall be made known to the player in the leaves of his final cup of tea upon the morn of his death at which point it must be balanced or the one in question shall never die.

80 addendum. The fee shall not exceed one jackpence.

80 addendum two. The player may in fact die, argue the bio-alchemists.

Comment / Posted in Cricket, Primers, Rivers

Exhibit 1.8.27



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So I can’t remember what I’ve told you about, but I know these things have happened:

* I have a review of Lucy Corin’s One Hundred Apocalypses and Other Apocalypses in the new Permafrost Magazine. It’s really good. Both the journal and the book.

* I have a short short in the newest Ninth Letter and it includes a really awesome card with a relevant phone number you can call if so inclined (872-221-0006). It’s easily the coolest, most unexpected thing a journal has ever done with something I’ve written. I made Dave call it in a bookstore in San Francisco when we found a copy there. He was not amused. I was.

* I answered some questions for Switchback when I was at USF for the Emerging Writers’ Festival.

* I finished my term as the Kathy Fish Fellow at SmokeLong Quarterly with this piece here. It’s got a turtle in it. Thanks to everyone there for a great (if busy) year.

* I’m trying to use Instagram. Like the kids. Right here. I took that tree photo. You can expect lots of tree photos. I’m trying to warn you. About the trees. They’re coming. Slowly.

Comment / Posted in Fiction, Unanswered questions, Writing

Exhibit 1.8.26

My Career

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Has been going great in my absence from this blog. Apparently I published a book on business process management. Fire away with any questions on that. Which I know about. So much.

Comment / Posted in Business, Careers, Routinized

Exhibit 1.8.25

New Volume



“The two Noras met because of the alphabet, principally…”


We Hate to Lose You, Mr. Lowlsy
Winner of our 2013 Contest

By Susan Woodring
Now Available

1 tape-bound volume
Book Design by Todd Seabrook
Cover by Greg Houser

$15/year subscription
$5 individual volume (shipped)


A story of disappearance, reincarnation, and living at the brink of a void, We Hate to Lose You, Mr. Lowsly is about how lives blossom and fade. A teacher slowly turns blue, two girls in a cornfield find a bottomless hole, a principal ready to retire not to another city but another life—Woodring’s world feels familiar only in its traumas and disappointments. Contest judge Kevin Wilson calls We Hate to Lose You, Mr. Lowsly “a story with a high degree-of-difficulty. The unexpected shifts in the narrative, each time bringing on another kind of magic, could easily have overwhelmed the sensitive and complicated work being done, but, in the hands of this writer, it pushes the story instead into a more wonderful and thrilling place. The ending, as perfect as it is strange, really blew me away.”

Read an excerpt here.


Susan Woodring is the author of a novel, Goliath (St. Martin’s Press, 2012), and a short story collection, Springtime on Mars (Press 53, 2008). Her short fiction has appeared in Isotope, Passages North, turnrow, and Surreal South, among other anthologies and literary magazines. Her work has twice been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and her short fiction was shortlisted for Best American Non-Required Reading 2008 and Best American Short Stories 2010. Susan writes and homeschools her two children, Abby and Aiden, in western North Carolina.


The best way to enjoy The Cupboard is to subscribe for the year which is only $15. You can and should do so right here.

Comment / Posted in Do, Misters, The Cupboard

Exhibit 1.8.24

The Lazarus Project


The Lazarus Project Hemon

I bought this in Powell’s looking for something to read on the flight, mostly on the long ago recommendation of my friend Colin. Colin’s a smart guy, I thought, and I’m pretty sure I’ve really enjoyed the stories of Hemon’s that I’ve read. Also it’s right here in front of me and this store–though awesome blah blah–is huge and why not.

It was a nice call by the verystoppable duo of Colin and my giveupatude. Hemon’s a dazzlingly sharp writer, and here he pulls off that layering of modern malaise and historical poignancy that so many writers of the 9/11-era seem to drawn to. I’m sure someone has written about how the greatest horrors of the 20th century keep showing up in the “big” books of the 21st, and so often authors seem to want to highlight those incalculable sums by contrasting them with contemporary cuteness. Hemon, however, does it better than most by keeping the focus not on those massive death tolls but on the death of one man.

And what makes the book great is that the story of Lazarus Averbuch–a real-life immigrant killed by the chief of police in Chicago–is the secondary story here behind the journey our mostly inept Bosnian-American narrator takes to investigate him in Eastern Europe where we confront not only the Balkan Civil War but an entire century’s worth of violence that has not stopped (or become magical or precious). It’s then, when we get full access to Hemon’s humor and melancholy, that the book becomes bigger and more relevant than so many of the works this might sound like in summary. The failure of memory. The depth of displacement in immigration. The limitations of American aloofness. The self-destruction in European imaginations. The power of marriage. The impotence of marriage. It’s a big book with big ideas hung around some very small, self-deprecating shoulders.

Similar in some ways to O’Neill’s Netherland in its portrait of a fracturing identity after immigration and marriage, like that book, Hemon’s is one very firmly taking place in our century where Lazaruses still abound, always dying, coming back, dying again, making a pretty compelling metaphor for a man searching for himself in a country searching for itself in a world entirely indifferent to searches.

Comment / Posted in 2013, Fiction, Lazaruses

Exhibit 1.8.23

Most of the Reviews Agreed


One Dog Show


that Brett’s one-dog show went awry by misreading the basic tenor of “What Does the Fox Say.”

Comment / Posted in 2013, Brett, Foxes

Exhibit 1.8.22

The Cloud Corporation




So I’d read most of this book in various sittings before, but I’m reading it again while working on a new project. It’s the best. If you don’t believe me, go read the first poem on The Poetry Foundation’s website right here.

The thing I’m writing now sort of comes out of this last stanza:

I won’t be dying after all, not now, but will go on living dizzily
hereafter in reality, half-deaf to reality, in the room
perfumed by the fire that our inextinguishable will begins.

You’re damn right it’s a Kansas City Royals season preview.

Comment / Posted in 2013, Clouds, Poetry

Exhibit 1.8.21

Things Leading Me to Believe the OK Cupid First Date Occurring Next to Me Will Not End in Two Souls Discovering Simultaneously Their Missing Half in the Other and Needing to Heal This Wound They Did Not Even Know They Had with a Lifelong Commitment and to Confirm It with the Propagation of the Human Race with the Unstated but No Less Real or Essential Goal Being Not Only a Tangible Expression of This Love but the Future Transcendence of Man’s Historical and Biological Limitations Leading to a World that So Closely Resembles Traditional Notions of Heaven that Generations Will Pass without the Knowledge that It Is Not


* One party spent 10 minutes explaining dubstep to the other


Comment / Posted in Dates, Future, Hellos

Exhibit 1.8.20

New Cupboard



Becoming Monster
by Christopher Higgs
63 pages. Tape-bound.

Cover and Book Design by Todd Seabrook.


An essay in nineteen parts, where writer-critic Christopher Higgs investigates how a monster is not born but formed. What are the circumstances that can turn a person into a monster, and what are the ramifications of becoming one? Scanning art, philosophy, literature, and television, Higgs is on the hunt not just for the world’s monsters, but for the monstrousness that hides in the depths of human nature. Then again: “What do we mean when we say human,” Higgs asks, “and what do we mean when we say nature?” These unstable definitions are as dangerous as any monster hiding in man’s stories. Part treatise, part warning, Becoming Monster is a critical study of the very nature of the grotesque. The Cupboard is thrilled to put the beastly thing in your hands.


About the Author
Christopher Higgs wrote The Complete Works of Marvin K. Mooney (Sator Press) and assembled ONE (Roof Books) in collaboration with Blake Butler and Vanessa Place. Other of his work appears in print and online at The Paris Review, Denver Quarterly, BOMB, AGNI, Quarterly West, and elsewhere. He currently lives in Florida, where he curates the critically acclaimed online art gallery Bright Stupid Confetti.


Read an excerpt. | Order a copy.

Comment / Posted in Christophers, Monsters, The Cupboard

Exhibit 1.8.19



* I’m told the new Third Coast is out in which I’ve got a couple of short shorts – “The Affair Ends Badly” and “An Emissary Visits the King” which are mostly notable for being very different from each other to the point of this more or less being my Twins. A lot of good names there so go pick it up. Which I’ll do whenever it catches up to me.


* A couple weeks back I had two pieces from my Sire Lines series up at the always excellent poetry journal Similar Peaks here. It’s been really cool seeing these pop up online the last couple of years and grateful to all the new journals I’ve got to be a part of while spreading these malicious lies about historical figures. These two are Henry Ford and George Armstrong Custer. They’re both sort of jerks. That part is probably true.

Comment / Posted in Georges, Henry, Journals