It’s winter break, so I finally have more time for extracurricular reading. Naturally, instead of doing that, I’ve been watching a ton of terrible shows on Netflix. Don’t Trust the B— In Apt 23 anyone? No? Just me? Oh well.

I’ve also been doing a lot of revising, which is my least favorite part of writing by far, the moment of truth when I have to go from “eh, NBD, I can fix this” to actually fixing it. In addition to revising, some friends and I have a gentlemen’s agreement to write one single-spaced page of new creative work per day, which is proving more of a challenge than expected, but also feels pretty damn good. For as much as my life focuses on writing (taking workshops, writing SO MANY critique letters, teaching creative writing, etc.) it often feels like I do precious little writing of my own, particularly since I tend to write in intensive bursts rather than consistently.

Since I’ve been keeping pretty busy with my writing-revising-Netflix schedule, I’ve been reading a lot of short stories, rather than digging into any novels, since it’s a quick in-and-out with no risk that I’ll get too involved and then suddenly come to three days later. I’ve been reading through back issues of The Paris Review, recent Best American Short Stories anthologies, and the current issue of American Short Fiction. I find almost as much pleasure in the stories I really don’t like as the ones I do, not due to any kind of bitchy delight, but because it reassures me to think about how subjective taste is, and that really publishing relies very much of getting work into the hands of people whose taste aligns with one’s own. Also, as someone who is perhaps too quick to believe that something I don’t like is objectively bad, it’s good to be reminded this isn’t the case. Even I can admit that any story making it into any of the above publications is certainly not bad, even if I don’t care for it. In the past couple weeks I’ve come across two stories I particularly liked, even though they really aren’t similar at all.

The first is “Housewifely Arts” by Megan Mayhew Bergman, which originally appeared in One Story Issue #142, but I read in the 2011 BASS collection. The narrator of “Housewifely Arts” is grieving for her mother, with whom she had a complicated relationship. She is a single mother, and takes her young son on a road trip to the sleazy roadside zoo where her mother’s African gray parrot, Carnie, now resides. She never cared for Carnie, but the parrot is able to imitate her dead mother’s voice perfectly, and she is desperate to hear it. As in any good story about grief, there is more than a little guilt mixed in—her mother loved the bird, and begged her to take care of it when she was moved to a nursing home, but she refused. “Housewifely Arts” is one of those stories that makes me feel completely inadequate as a writer. Bergman moves fluidly back and forth between the past and present in a way that is so artful—a way I feel like I’ll never be able to accomplish myself. Unlike some stories I read that are unlike my own, but I don’t mind because it’s clear the author simply has different concerns than I do, this story is different from my own in a way that makes me deeply jealous. It’s a story I’m sure I’ll come back to time and again as I attempt to figure out the mechanics of moving through time more effectively.

The second is “The Horror We Made” by Kevin Wilson, from American Short Fiction Issue 56. I love every little thing about this story, from the premise (a group of adderall-addled teenage girls film a horror movie during a sleepover), to the sharp characterization of each girl, to the main character’s somewhat reluctant attraction to her friend’s CREEPY older brother. Anyone who knows my taste, both in reading and writing, will realize that this checks all my boxes. This story is opposite to “Housewifely Arts” in its handling of time. Rather than seeing the past in scene, the story sticks to the present, moves linearly, and covers a brief span of time, only one night. I found this deeply reassuring—proof that a story doesn’t have to conquer time like a magician in order to be amazing.

I strongly encourage you to check out these two stories. They aren’t available online, but you can purchase a copy of One Story #142 through One Story‘s website (or check out the 2011 BASS) to read “Housewifely Arts”, and American Short Fiction Issue 56 is available for purchase online or in a bookstore near you. Enjoy!