Greetings from the Girl with the Black Lipstick

I’m no stranger to writing about the 90s, particularly the cusp-of-millennium 90s, but doing it in flash fiction was something new. The Girl with the Black Lipstick is a book about a time and a place and a friendship that encompasses both the mundane and the transcendent. I started out thinking about the odd adventures people would have back when the internet didn’t overshadow us yet. The characters in this novella are as likely to have their noses in a book as they are to be strutting down a fashionable block in white denim booty shorts. (Fun fact–I had to go back and eliminate some of the white denim in this book, having subconsciously dressed my cast in so much that it seemed borderline cultish).

The hardest parts of this book project: sitting with all of the compiled flashes and deciding which to keep, proofing the typeset pages and finding all kinds of new connections (interesting ones, not just excess white denim), and cutting open the box to retrieve my first ever book of fiction (this was hard in a good way–so many emotions slicing open that tape).

And here she is! I’d love it if you would consider ordering a copy of The Girl with the Black Lipstick directly from Black Lawrence Press, or requesting one from your library.

As Sarah Freligh so kindly states, “This is a story that feels perfectly suited to the novella-in-flash, a reach back to grab the fragments of who we were in the final year of the twentieth century, to hold them to the light in an attempt to understand what peculiar threads connected us.”

A bit about the book:
Against the backdrop of a boozy, restless late-90s Chicago, creative writing graduate student Mary Van Pelt and her eccentric roommate navigate the collision between party life, domestic harmony, and academic ambition in The Girl with the Black Lipstick. Mary Biddinger’s novella in linked flash stories conjures outrageous fashion and the oddest of odd jobs, sparing no detail when immersing readers in bedrooms, dancefloors, lakeshore beaches, and university seminars.

Photo by Satoki Nagata and cover design by Amy Freels.

Set before smartphones filled every pocket, The Girl with the Black Lipstick chronicles a bygone era of performance and spectacle. Biddinger offers vivid, surreal vignettes told in the heat of the moment or recalled as we follow Van Pelt from her first days of graduate school into life as a tenured professor. Our heroine and her roommate overcome predicaments and deepen their bond while simultaneously ignoring and obsessing over the future, blissfully unaware of challenges ahead until those challenges arrive. The Girl with the Black Lipstick is a tale of deep creativity and found family, paying tribute to those who support our youthful selves in unexpected ways.

Perhaps you need a soundtrack to accompany these flashes? Please enjoy the official Spotify playlist for The Girl with the Black Lipstick.



That’s a wrap.

The fall 2018 semester had its highs and lows, like all semesters, but there were so many fierce poems and that is what I’ll remember going forward. In 2019 I’m making some changes that will enable me to be more of a writer again, less of a spreadsheet-navigator and email-wrangler, and though it will take some maneuvering I’m thrilled to be following this trajectory.

In addition to finishing a new collection of poems, in the new year I’ll be starting work on a teaching book of prompts. I’m imagining this to be ideal both for classrooms and for independent writers of all levels who might want a new door into poetry. It will be fairly small, handsome, and inexpensive. It will also include some writerly self-care advice; I teach a class that addresses this subject and would like it to be part of the book. More information on the project soon.

Finally, thanks to all of the readers and fellow writers and friends who have made this past year overwhelmingly okay. I’m setting serious goals for the new year. Best wishes to you and your goals, too.

Akron postcard on the cusp of July

FullSizeRender (8)There’s something exhilarating about being on the cusp, and right now I’m excited for the arrival of July. The baton-pass from June to July mirrors the passing of Akron Poetry Prize manuscripts to the judge after months of reading and deliberation.

For a moment today I thought about how I’ve read close to 600 poetry manuscripts in the past two months, and by the end of the weekend it will be a full 606. I love this part of the year, but at times I feel like there are almost toxic levels of poetry in my bloodstream.

I hope to convert this energy into poems of my own. Onward into the rest of the summer. Or at least onward into July.

I’ve got the baton firmly in hand.

New poem (and audio!) at Glass: A Journal of Poetry

IMG_5158National Poetry Month is upon us! I’m already feeling completely behind, but I reckon I feel that way every April. I’m excited to share the link to my new poem “Bone Concept,” which is featured over at Glass: A Journal of Poetry. Many thanks to Glass for giving this poem a home with such excellent company.

Lots of friends are doing a poem a day for National Poetry Month, but that’s just not feasible for me at this time of the semester. So I’m going to aspire to write on the even numbered days in April. Wish me luck, and best wishes to all the poets out there doing NaPoWriMo.

 

July: The Month of New Poems

Perhaps this is a bit of wishful thinking. Could July be the month of new poems?

We had an amazing response to this year’s Akron Poetry Prize submission window (509 manuscripts!) which left little time for poems of one’s own. Submittable also makes it much easier to read in odd segments of time, but then the manuscripts also cross not just the UA Press transom, but end up in my dining room.

So I’m hoping to sequester myself in the poetry equivalent of this photograph for the month of July.

For me, the hardest part is getting disciplined about taking notes when ideas strike.

Note to self: notes.

cropped-img_0269.jpg