"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

I don’t understand the world. All the books and all the history and all the living, and I’ll never understand. Why we do the things we do.

I believe that all work is necessarily of its specific time. There’s just no getting around that, even if you’re consciously writing historical or speculative fiction. I’m not interested in zeitgeists, but I am interested in the way that people live, think, and speak; the technologies we use; our experience of ourselves and each other in everyday life. I think that when people say great books are ‘timeless’ they don’t—or they shouldn’t—mean that the book is unmoored from its own moment or shot like a rocket beyond the orbit of history, or whatever. It’s rather that the work is so firmly rooted that it continues to grow and live with the world as it changes. Leaves of Grass, Moby-Dick, Middlemarch, Independent People, Housekeeping: these books aren’t rockets, they’re trees.

Justin Taylor, author of Flings

(via mttbll)

It came to me, our skins brushing without harm. In its opal eyes I saw my reflection. Its mouth closed, the fish almost seemed to be smiling. I ran my fingers along its white underbelly. I had been wrong. This was no bringer of death. This was a majestic creature, a beautiful dinosaur come to live alongside us. Deep down, we were so much the same. I reached out my hand, felt the weight of the shark. There, in that sphere of ocean, we braced against one another, keeping each other from floating away.

It came to me, our skins brushing without harm. In its opal eyes I saw my reflection. Its mouth closed, the fish almost seemed to be smiling. I ran my fingers along its white underbelly. I had been wrong. This was no bringer of death. This was a majestic creature, a beautiful dinosaur come to live alongside us. Deep down, we were so much the same. I reached out my hand, felt the weight of the shark. There, in that sphere of ocean, we braced against one another, keeping each other from floating away.

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