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Pamela Ryder writes sentences like no other writer I know. I remember my first encounter with her fiction, a story called “Hovenweep” as it appeared as the opening story in Gordon Lish’s The Quarterly #29, a story that begins, “We are too much in the open here: sky, sky, slick rock, heat, and high above us the circling birds.” What is this word Hovenweep?
I’m always on the hunt for other writers and artists to look to as models, men and women who have carved out their own cave in the world and find a way to stick their heads out from time to time to say something about what they see.
I remember the first time I bought Brian Evenson’s first book, Altmann’s Tongue. I say first time because it’s one of those books that I’ve bought multiple times since, to give out as gifts, to press into the hands of other writers.