On this month’s episode, host Nicole Flattery is joined by writer Tenaya Steed to read and discuss her story ‘Water Lillies’ featured, in the latest issue of The Stinging Fly magazine, Issue 52 Volume Two.
‘They wait at the lights. The way he presses the button on the pedestrian crossing is slow and deliberate. She shivers. If he was her husband, he would put an arm around her, rub briskly up and down her back to warm her up. But he is not her husband.’
‘If autobiographical writing is an attempt to fix a life inside language, frank: sonnets and Modern Poetry are both convincing arguments for the absolute impossibility of ever really succeeding in doing so. Instead, they offer an alternative: debris, glimpses, constellations, ghosts.’
The winning story ‘Missing the Eclipse’ was published in our Summer 2024 issue.
Our Summer 2025 issue has landed and we are excited for you to read it!
‘Louis suggests that what may be hardest to live with about violence is not the initial shock when it occurs but how quickly it becomes natural as our bubbles re-form themselves around it. Change and L’effondrement, where the narrative and authorial voice are virtually one and the same, attempt to strike the difficult pose of neither ignoring nor accepting violence, allowing it to be at once ubiquitous and terrible.’
‘They wait at the lights. The way he presses the button on the pedestrian crossing is slow and deliberate. She shivers. If he was her husband, he would put an arm around her, rub briskly up and down her back to warm her up. But he is not her husband.’
‘He knows his brother is driving. The two of them are in their mother’s car and his brother is next to him. He rests his head against the passenger window and closes his eyes. There are bumps in the road. His head bangs against the window but there is no pain.’
“The children step forward one by one, and say, ‘I’m special because…’ and one by one they fill in why with brave, loud voices. They’re too young to hide who they are. The people watching them know them better than they’ll ever know themselves.”
‘From inside this hell, in this dazed state of terror, I write to you about my adventure yesterday, offering a testimony of defeat from a man who longs for a hot bath like the ones he used to take before the war.’
‘[N]one of us likes to think we live and have our days in a time more stupid than others we might have lived in. All previous ages were the dark ages, we like to believe, and we are the new and enlightened ones.’
For this month’s story, Nuala O’Connor takes inspiration from Elizabeth Bowen’s 1925 short story, ‘The Parrot’.
‘They wait at the lights. The way he presses the button on the pedestrian crossing is slow and deliberate. She shivers. If he was her husband, he would put an arm around her, rub briskly up and down her back to warm her up. But he is not her husband.’
‘He knows his brother is driving. The two of them are in their mother’s car and his brother is next to him. He rests his head against the passenger window and closes his eyes. There are bumps in the road. His head bangs against the window but there is no pain.’
“The children step forward one by one, and say, ‘I’m special because…’ and one by one they fill in why with brave, loud voices. They’re too young to hide who they are. The people watching them know them better than they’ll ever know themselves.”