"He sipped coffee and remembered beginnings." --Raymond Carver, from “The Augustine Notebooks”

Danny Goodman is a writer and editor living in New York City. His fiction and nonfiction have appeared or are forthcoming in various publications, and his novella, "Somehow There Was More Here," was published by Found Press. When not writing, he co-edits the literary journal fwriction : review. Above all else, he adores: his Girl Friday & editorial cat, sweets & sports, superheroes, and endless coffee. Currently at work on his first novel, he is badly in need of a nap.

Agent: Maria Carvainis
mcarvainis@mariacarvainisagency.com

Ian McEwan Loves Short Novels, and You Can Too!

While I love novels of every shape and size (including long novels), I do agree with Ian McEwan’s adoration for the short novel (and the novella):

"I do love this form, the idea that we are sitting down to a book that you could read at one sitting, or within three hours much as you might go to a movie or opera or long play…It’s a form I adore actually."

In celebration of that form, here are some of my favorite short novels:

Desperate Characters by Paula Fox

The Sense of an Ending by Julian Barnes

The Sensualist by Daniel Torday

Walks with Men by Ann Beattie

Seize the Day by Saul Bellow (thanks to LB, who introduced me to this fine book)

If You’re Not Yet Like Me by Edan Lepucki

Extraordinary Renditions by Andrew Ervin (technically three novellas, but still)

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald (I know, I know, it’s on every list, but still)

Too Loud a Solitude by Bohumil Hrabal (another LB recommendation)

The Old Man and the Sea or The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway (but still)

The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton

Franny and Zooey by J.D. Salinger

Point Omega by Don DeLillo

The Hound of the Baskervilles by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

(I’m certain I’ll add more to this list as I remember them. For now…it’s a start. Most links are courtesy of greenlightbklyn.)

Today

I’m remembering my father. I think of him often, daily it seems, but I don’t often remember him, in the way one does when something has gone. It has been twenty-two years, but on this day, each year, I remember him. The other days, the thousands that have passed since, I think of him. He is present, and I am content.

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