21 Likes, 1 Comments - Susannah Breslin (@susannahbreslin) on Instagram: "Got photographed by @smeetamahanti today 📷"
The other day I got photographed by Smeeta Mahanti, who took this bad-ass photo you may have seen.
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1 Likes, 0 Comments - Susannah Breslin (@susannahbreslin) on Instagram: "Graphic novel of Paul Auster's City of Glass 🏙"
The nice folks over at Seriocomic have asked me to write a short piece about the comic of my choice. Seriocomic is “a weekly series of enthusiastic posts, contributed by HILOBROW friends and regulars, on the topic of our favorite comic books, comic strips, and graphic novels.” My contribution will be appearing in the spring. For my “comic,” I chose the graphic novel version of Paul Auster’s City of Glass.
Enjoy my work? Buy "The Tumor." It’s been called "a masterpiece of short fiction."
Image via Adriana Sassoon
As I mentioned yesterday, I’ll be posting some updates to my investigation into the gender of a famous war hero pigeon named Cher Ami who’s stuffed and on display at the Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History. In the meantime, I’ll share this automatic response I got when I replied at an email sent awhile back from an archives specialist at the National Archives at College Park who saw my tweets about Cher Ami on Twitter. In my email to him, I asked if I could share the research he’d sent me, but I got this in response instead:
“The National Archives and Records Administration is closed to normal operations due to a lack of appropriations. I will be out of the office until I am authorized to return and will respond to your inquiry at that time. Thank you.”
Basically, the only thing standing between you and learning more about Cher Ami is Donald Trump.
Enjoy my work? Buy "The Tumor." It’s been called "a masterpiece of short fiction."
@susannahbreslin Hi, I've become very interested in your 2017 posts about Cher Ami, but I can't find any followup posts to https://t.co/fTHxGezNWS . Did you ever find any proof regarding the bird's sex?
— the trap gf himself (@HuskyLannister) January 17, 2019
Some time back, I got interested in trying to figure out if a war hero pigeon that’s stuffed at the Smithsonian is a cock or a hen. In the interim, I’ve gotten various emails from various people, from a bird expert to a pigeon fancier to a fan, and I’ll be updating this blog with that information in the coming days and weeks.
Buy my short story "The Tumor" — it’s been called "a masterpiece of short fiction."
This is an excerpt from a porn comic that I was working on in 2018. It’s about a woman who moves back to Porn Valley after a long time away, what she sees there, and how things have changed and are the same.
Buy my short story "The Tumor" — it’s been called "a masterpiece of short fiction."
13 Likes, 0 Comments - Susannah Breslin (@susannahbreslin) on Instagram: "💀 #cadillac #hearse"
Every once in a while I have dreams in which I’m back in high school and screwing up. Last weekend offered a variation on that—and usually they are variations. This one I was in college, but a high school-like-college, and I had screwed up something—not doing homework, missing tests, that sort of thing—and I was going to fail all my classes. The tension of these types of dreams tend to revolve around the moment at which the problem becomes too significant to ignore, and the moment at which I address it. In fact, I dropped out of high school in my senior year. I was a bit of a fuck up. Sometimes I think about going back; you know, one could turn that sort of thing into an article. I never got my GED: I took classes at UC Berkeley when I was in high school, I went to junior college, I transferred to and graduated from UC Berkeley, I went to grad school. Despite all those boxes checked, I’m still the girl who has dreams in which I’m screwing everything up all over again.
Buy my short story "The Tumor" — it’s been called "a masterpiece of short fiction."
An excerpt from an unpublished essay:
Image via Harvard Health Publishing
“The tumor was mine. Arguably, it was my malignant baby, for my body had created it, and it was growing inside of me at an aggressive pace. But I did not want it. I wanted it out. There was a lot of debate over the best way to address the monster within me. The first oncologist wanted to chop off both my breasts and yank out my reproductive organs. After that, a plastic surgeon showed me his photo album filled with pictures of women whose heads were clipped out of the frame and whose breasts had been ravaged by cancer, the interior flesh of which had been removed by him, and which had been reconstructed in ways that did not, to my eye, look at all natural. Finally, a physician’s assistant came in the room after the plastic surgeon had left. I said I didn’t realize it would look like that, and he said he understood. He held one hand in the air palm up, and he held the other hand in the air palm down. His top hand made a tent over his bottom hand. He said my breast was like a circus tent and having a mastectomy was like taking away the tent pole. With that, he flattened his top hand against his bottom hand like a circus tent collapsing, crushing all the circus animals, carnival performers, and acrobats in the process.”
Buy my short story "The Tumor" — it’s been called "a masterpiece of short fiction."
Image via Plentifun
“For me, deeply immersive experiences have been both fascinating and disorienting. Spending long periods of time with people different from ourselves can affect our own sense of identity. When I return to my regular life, I think of it not like shedding a skin but like releasing the tension in a rubber band. My immersion stretched my somewhat flexible sense of self; returning home, the rubber band snaps back into its previous shape mostly … but not entirely. After all, rubber bands once stretched aren’t exactly the way they were to begin with. They hold more. And so I usually feel larger, in a good way, from having been stretched.”
Buy my short story "The Tumor" — it’s been called "a masterpiece of short fiction."
On my Forbes blog, I wrote about the impeding shuttering of a restaurant in Paris for nudists—or, you know, people who want to eat in the buff. Here’s a bit from the post:
“Arguably, the most intriguing opportunity of nude eating in a restaurant is more symbolic than shrewd. Imagine a first date where everything was out on the table. Nothing in between you and your date but the table and the food. With little to hide, one might be more inclined to share more, to keep fewer secrets, to let down their guard and show the world who they really are.”
Buy "The Tumor" — my short story that’s been called "a masterpiece of short fiction."
Image via I Can Has Cheezburger?
I’m pretty sure I read this somewhere else already, but it seems like newsletters have kept some of the intimacy that blogging lost when it died or at least became strangled. I don’t subscribe to a lot of newsletters, finding most of them to be clutter, but here are three I like: Maud Newton’s, Sean Bonner’s, and California Sun. When I read each one of them, I feel that sweet sense of connection that I used to feel reading blogs when blogs were a thing. Maud doesn’t send hers a lot, but they’re worth it. In her last one, she wrote about going to Yaddo and concluded: “Whatever you create or most like to do, in 2019 I wish you stillness to do it in the way that’s most satisfying to you.” Who’s wished stillness for you lately? Sean’s is always an eclectic, punkish mix, starting off with a bunch of weird images, and in a recent one he talked about a health thing, and life in Japan v. life in LA, and “‘being a woman in blockchain.’” California Sun is a bit different—one could say commercial—and it’s, you know, about California, so maybe there’s no point in reading it if you’re from some state that just wants to be California—because, let’s face it, what state doesn’t—or maybe there is. Anyway, being a Californian (born and bred, not imported), it is maybe a thing of love or a daily dose of obsession. To read it is to remember what it is to like someone or something that’s better than yourself.
Buy "The Tumor" — my short story that’s been called "a masterpiece of short fiction."
10 Likes, 0 Comments - Susannah Breslin (@susannahbreslin) on Instagram: "💀"
A photo from today’s Instagram feed.
Buy "The Tumor" — my short story that’s been called "a masterpiece of short fiction."
Nowadays, it’s not uncommon to find a clause like this in a contract for a freelance article.
(*see below for an update)
Image via Magic: The Gathering
Read your contract in full before signing it. Don’t skim-read it on autopilot.
Do not agree to terms like these. You are giving away your right to negotiate.
Explain the clause must be removed from this contract in order for you to sign it.
“10. Film/TV/Audiovisual Works: You hereby grant and assign to [redacted] exclusive decision-making, signing authority, and rights with respect to feature film, motion picture, video game, mobile application, television, episodic programming, and any other audiovisual work based on or derived from the Work.
[Redacted] agrees to make good faith efforts to consult with you before signing any such ancillary rights agreements.
Any monies actually received by [Redacted] upon optioning and/or selling the Work (after deduction of [Redacted]’s actual, out-of-pocket costs and expenses, including, without limitation, agency fees and other fees and expenses related to sale and exploitation thereof) will be distributed as follows:
Fixed Compensation.
i) Option Fees/Purchase Price: 50% to [Redacted], 50% to you
ii) Royalties and/or Series Sales Bonuses (if any): 50% to [Redacted], 50% to you
iii) Contributor Writing or Consulting Fee (if any): 100% to you
iv) Executive Producer, Producer, or Similar Fees for [Redacted] or its employees/contractors (if any): 100% to [Redacted].
Contingent Compensation and box office bonuses (if any): 50% to [Redacted], 50% to You
It’s acknowledged that [Redacted] may have a first look or overall deal with a third party, and any guaranteed fees associated with such an agreement are expressly excluded.
Accounting statements with respect to any ancillary exploitation of rights pursuant to this Section and payments, if any, will be delivered to you within 90 days following receipt by [Redacted] of the actual monies and such statements from third party purchasers or licensees of such rights.
It is agreed and understood that the services you are furnishing under this Agreement are extraordinary, unique, and not replaceable, and that there is no fully adequate remedy at law in the event of your breach of this Agreement, and that in the event of such a breach, [Redacted] shall be entitled to equitable relief by way of injunction or otherwise. You also recognize and confirm that in the event of a breach by [Redacted] of its obligations under this Agreement, the damage, if any, caused to you by [Redacted] is not irreparable or sufficient to entitle you to injunctive or other equitable relief. Consequently, your rights and remedies are limited to the right, if any, to obtain damages at law and you will not have any right in such event to terminate or rescind this Agreement or any of the rights granted by you hereunder or to enjoin or restrain the development, production and exploitation of the rights granted pursuant to this Agreement.”
I requested the clause be removed. The editor declined, describing the contract as “writer-friendly.” I declined to sign.
Buy "The Tumor" — my short story that’s been called "a masterpiece of short fiction."
Be
More
Chill
Buy "The Tumor" — my short story that’s been called "a masterpiece of short fiction."
Wearing hats
A room with a view that doesn’t entice one to leave it
Your blancoat (a coat that is so warm and cuddly that it feels like a blanket but has sleeves and a hood so that if you leave the house for food you appear to be dressed like a normal person)
No headaches
The vague belief that well-told stories manifest their fictional realities
Caffeine of choice
An internal sea of self-dissatisfaction
Somebody else’s beautiful creation (ie “Roma”)
Talent
Lying to yourself: “You’re almost done,” “You can do this,” “This is going to be amazing”
Buy "The Tumor" — my short story that’s been called "a masterpiece of short fiction."
Image via eBay
14 Likes, 1 Comments - Susannah Breslin (@susannahbreslin) on Instagram: "🍂"
Recently, I’ve started walking again for several reasons. I gained some weight. It helps with anxiety. When I’m walking, I feel like I’m in control of something, even if it’s that my body is moving forward. Most of the time, I think about something related to work. On walks is a place where mental organization and sometimes epiphanies take place. Possibly, it’s also a situation that makes me feel small. In the world, you are tiny. At home, you are big. So far, it’s going pretty good. My brain is settling, relaxing, easing. Writing is a lot like walking. Just keep going.
Buy "The Tumor" — my short story that’s been called "a masterpiece of short fiction."
What the fuck makes this video so hypnotic? It is 10 minutes and 31 seconds long, it has nearly 2.3M views, and I watched the whole thing without fast-forwarding. In it, Kim Kardashian puts makeup on her face. Basically, that’s it. Sure, she talks. Yes, products are plugged. In theory, one is learning something. But what exactly are we witnessing here? Surely, it must be more than that. Whatever it is, it is simultaneously shallow (she is smearing substances across her visage) and deep (watching it, one falls into a vicarious, Narcissus-esque stupor: If only we could wallow in our own superficiality so exquisitely). Or, perhaps, it’s something else. What surprised me (quietly!) about the piece was that she didn’t just directly build herself a new face—she obliterated her real face first. When we start, her face is naked. Then she turns her tableaux into a blank canvas. After that, she paints another face over the face she eliminated. What does this represent? The female desire to disappear? The culture’s interest in vanishing her? Something else altogether? Kim is droning on about something or other while she smears on another layer of spackle. Before we can get a handle on her, she’s gone already.
Buy "The Tumor" — my short story that’s been called "a masterpiece of short fiction."
3 Likes, 0 Comments - Susannah Breslin (@susannahbreslin) on Instagram: "🎥 #larsvontrier #thehousethatjackbuilt"
I mean, is anybody a fan of Lars von Trier, really? I happen to be intrigued by him, because if you can say one thing about him is that he’s never boring. Or, at least, even when he’s boring, it’s because he’s doing something outrageous to death. Speaking of outrageous and death, LVT has a new flick out, and you don’t have to walk out of a theater at Cannes to see it. “The House That Jack Built” is available for streaming on Amazon. Convenient! Nothing like home delivered endless slaughter of women and others in scenarios in which the victim fairly makes the killer kill, I always say. The movie’s best kill, if you will, is the first one, when Matt Dillon, aka Jack, kills Uma Thurman, who plays a really annoying woman. Because this is LVT, you’re not sure if you’re supposed to laugh hysterically, feel grim, or just hold on for the duration of the ride. But, boy, can Uma take a jack to the head. In any case, you can look at the movie as a series of vignettes in which Jack murders people, or you can look at it as a meditative study on the creative process as told through the persona of someone who happens to use murder as his tool d’art. Frankly, the mutterings of Jack to a Virgil stand-in are the most interesting parts of the movie, particularly when Jack waxes philosophical about how matter dictates its form in art. Don’t search #thehousethatjackbuilt on Instagram, like I did, if you don’t want to have the penultimate shocker spoiled for you. It’s crude, but this is LVT, isn’t it? I won’t mention the part with the windshield wiper; I mean, that’s just ugly (or is it?). We have come to expect this sort of thing from the enfant terrible of Dogme 95. What I could never quite resolve with Jack is if LVT is trolling masculinity or wallowing in it. Toxic masculinity is a fair thing in which to flail. To attempt to redux The Inferno, the place to which the film devolves, is a mistake. Stay in your am-I-a-misogynist-or-not lane, LVT! Alighieri you ain’t.
Buy "The Tumor" — my short story that’s been called "a masterpiece of short fiction."
Image via The New Statesman
“A Year in Reading: Lydia Kiesling” on The Millions is terrific. You have to read it. So do it.
I became obsessed with Norwegian and Swedish social policies. Back with Karl Ove, I underlined every part where he scoffed at Swedish sanctimony and hypocrisy. TRY LIVING HERE, I would scream in my head, to no one. I couldn’t help noting that this reading assignment was the corner office in the women’s work of thinking about men who are not thinking about you.
Buy "The Tumor" — my short story that’s been called "a masterpiece of short fiction."
