A woman recalls a sleepless fling in Rome.

(from Indelible Acts, on loan from the Juliet Fletcher Library)

A mostly fun, occasionally surprising and often dirty little story. The characters exist in the real world, but pretend to live in some hazy fantasy. Makes for a pleasant, non-linear read.

The word in this sentence that looks different from all the others is a link to an essay Kennedy wrote about writing. It’s so very long. I have not read it.

I told a friend that I am tired of writings about writing, movies about struggling to make movies, plays about putting on a play, books about writers, poems about being a poet. I told her I want a movie about making a cake. She suggested a movie about making all kinds of cakes might work better.

I would love a piece of cake right now.

A fun little family lets their ideals fit the crime by taking advantage of a mysterious houseguest.

(from IDIOTS: Five Fairy Tales and Other Stories. Oh geez, it doesn’t come out until June.)

A funny, sneaky story whose characters find little ways to justify taking things they want. It takes a little while to realize your reading a satire, and by then you’ve already mistaken the characters for actual people.

This story, this whole book, was translated from the German by Althea Bell. Though the piece has a lot of political rhetoric and German historical references, you can work it out no problem.

Sorry to write up a book that won’t be out for months and months. It’s an advance copy I picked up at the newspaper office where I work. Was just looking for any short story. I don’t imagine anybody actually goes out and reads anything I write about on this page. But just ruling out the possibility is disheartening, a mistake I should look out for.

Aging, among many things, has been cured and the population of the United States is holding steady at 40 million. How? Babies are only allowed to live if some adult, tired of living in eternal youth, volunteers to be terminated. Seems like an OK plan, until this one couple gives birth to triplets.

(from Bagombo Snuff Box)

Read the title like this: 2 Be Or Naught To Be. Not too subtle.

It’s an easy read that spends most of its pages setting up its desperate ending, making it seem not just believable, but inevitable. As usual, Vonnegut relies a bit more of concept than style.

While this story is hardly primitive, it is worth noting that “2BR02B” comes from Vonnegut’s early period as a freelance writer for magazines in the 1950s. In 1965, his novel God Bless You Mr. Rosewater makes reference to this story, attributing it to his soon-to-be recurring pulp author character Kilgore Trout.

I confirmed this bit of trivia via Marc Leeds’ nigh inexhaustable, though slightly dated, compendium, The Vonnegut Encyclopedia. I’ve only ever seen one copy of it (at The Strand in New York City) and you better believe I bought it. So, there you have it. I am a big Kurt Vonnegut nerd.

Hiho.

An long-aspiring novelist finally has to meet his fiancée’s parents. Her eccentric (or possibly crazy) dad messes with his head.

(from Crowd, issue #4)

This is a funny little story. It’s a little wacky at parts, but who’s to say there shouldn’t be a Spin City or, more to the point, a Meet The Parents of short stories? Not everything has to shoot for art, people. Sometimes, doing a small thing well is enough.

Another life lesson brought to you by I Read A Short Story Today. Tired, confused, good night.

Reading Proust rekindles a woman’s memories of her grandmom.

(from Best American Short Stories 1996)

About 500 words in, I put my finger on the page and closed the book on so I could look at the cover. I was momentarily worried that I had picked up one of those Best American Essays collections instead. (I had just purchased this collection a few days ago; it was possible that after 20 minutes of deliberation, I had grabbed the wrong one when it was time to leave the Book Trader. I also bought Bobby Clarke and The Ferocious Flyers.) But no. This is simply a short story that reads like an essay, partly because it is a collection of anecdotes and facts that seem real enough.

Ever read any Marcel Proust? I never have. A gap in my education, I suppose. I’m going to have to getting around to reading him. Why? Because I fancy myself a writer, of sorts, and every 12th writer is required to write a book (or at least an essay or short story or CD review) which references this apparently indespensible literary lynchpin. Proust is a Beer Of The Month Club. He’s a pyramid scheme. He’s the gift that keeps on giving. If it turns out I’m the 12th, I better know what I’m talking about.

Or.

Everybody could just give it a rest about Proust already.

That said, back in 1996, Mary Gordon, author of “Intertextuality,” was not aware of my impending moratorium on Proust. We have to read her story on its own antiquated merits. I rather liked it, mostly because I choose to believe the snooty, cold tone was meant to tell us something about this family that never had much need for sharing emotions. So it’s a success, and a fine read, Mary Gordon. And Marcel Proust would surely drop $10 in your PayPal account for the shout-out. Then, turning to the writing community as a whole, he would say, but really, please, give it a rest.