Jun 21
P. H. MadorePublishing blake butler, HTMLGiant, jereme dean, jimmy chen, P. Edward Cunningham, p. h. madore, reynard seifert
I think anyone who’s familiar with me will know where I stand on this before reading another word. However, for the rest of you: I believe that once you have published something by someone, you’re stuck with it. I think this attitude, or common though unwritten law, encourages all publishers to take as much care and consideration in deciding what they publish. It’s known, of course, that I publish Mather Schneider’s sometimes outrageous rantings over at Girls with Insurance. I’ve published other disliked individuals.
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May 08
P. H. Madoreweb blake butler, HTMLGiant, jereme dean, jimmy chen, roxane gay
I am an angry person.
It’s taken me years to put myself together.
It’s taken more years to realize that I’m angry.
I’m working on it.
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Mar 23
P. H. MadoreLiterature blake butler, jimmy chen, labor, lit drift, roxane gay, scott mclanahan, sweat, the jungle, the new york times, truman capote, upton sinclair, work, writing
There isn’t much interesting about being a professor or whatever sweatless position most writers of literary fiction inhabit. I’ve 
always felt that sweating for my dinner freed up my mind to write about the day later. Of course these days, being a government employee, I rarely do any such thing, and it’s been fucking murder on my creativity. Before going on, it’s important to annotate the previous and fomenting writings on this topic: this snippet at Lit Drift and this essay in the New York Times. I want to take a moment to clarify that to say “at” is appropriate when speaking of a website, and to say “in” is appropriate when speaking of a newspaper, but to use them interchangeably should probably only be done when you’re being funny. And you’re not very funny.
Now, now, moving on.
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Mar 16
P. H. MadoreLiterature, Publishing, writing blake butler, gore vidal, jereme dean, jimmy chen, literary movements, norman mailer
Why is that? Vidal is sitting there looking all sophisticated, and Mailer looks ready to fight him. Turns out Mailer‘s much wittier than Vidal, and possibly smarter. Why can’t we have real arguments anymore? What happened to real literary movements? When was the last time you befriended another writer solely based on the similarities in your work? Is it possible to set fire to a new movement in an age when everything is continually and constantly accessible?
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