ERIC BOYD

six worders & short stories.

THUNDERSNOW

I know who done it. Them goddamn taters. I walked around the yard and started picking up pieces of the camaro, wondering if, from above, they’d laid the parts out into some kinda cult symbols or something. I’ve lived in Fairplains all my life, born there, played high school ball there (and still go see the Trojans every week of the season; they ain’t been much of a team in a while, though), and been working up at the meat plant in Ottumwa like my old man did. What I’m saying is, I’m here for the long haul—and no goddamn hippies could change that.

        It was ‘74, I think, when the Maharishi folks—we call ‘em ‘taters’—moved in. A few years before I bought that beautiful blue car. The old Parsen’s college had gone under and they bought the campus; most people in town didn’t think too much of it—if anything we were happy the old college wasn’t just going to rot away—but in ‘81, when the Maharishi people built these giant gold domes for their meditation, the town took notice. They’re pretty secluded at the school; they got their own shops and everything on-campus, but they’re still within walking distance to the town square, and those bastards do come in every weekend, if not every other night, to drink at the bars. The school don’t let them drink, and normally I’d feel bad for a kid in that position—hell, I remember going to the Flamingo Lanes back in the day; I’d sit right down at the bar, that old painting of John Wayne hanging right behind me, and I’d buy a Grain Belt right there, no problem—but these hippie kids at the Maharishi school shouldn’t even be allowed on the same damn planet as the rest of us.
        They’re all goofy. I seen a kid unzip his fly down by the lake and take a leak into one of them plastic collapsible cups. Don’t you know, sure enough, he drank it. I couldn’t help myself, I asked him what the hell he was doing. He said it was a spiritual practice. I don’t even remember what the hell else he said about it because I began reeling in my rod to get the hell outta there. They’re all like that, too. Maybe they don’t all drink pee-pee, but they go around town and start trouble over the dumbest things.

Read More

Gonna post a story I wrote for Midwestern Gothic issue #14, but I do encourage everyone to pick up a copy of that mag because it’s filled with great work!

Here’s an interview I did with the Huffington Post for Akashic Books’ “Prison Noir” anthology, edited by Joyce Carol Oates. It’s very odd to see my name on a publication I’ve actually read o many times. At any rate, check it out!

From the interview:

How did your writing change in jail?
I’ve been writing since I was 14. I go back and read older stuff — I have all these flowery metaphors, I think I would sometimes write “indeed.” It was just pitiful. Jail was kind of nice because it just strips you down to the bone. You’re left with exactly what you need. Something about the jail had a very good way of killing off pretense. What did [Raymond] Carver say, “get in, get out.” Jail will make you do that. You get in, and you try and get out. 


http://www.huffingtonpost.com/lidia-jean-kott/get-in-get-out-dont-linge_b_5851298.html?utm_hp_ref=books

Here’s an interview I did with the Huffington Post for Akashic Books’ “Prison Noir” anthology, edited by Joyce Carol Oates. It’s very odd to see my name on a publication I’ve actually read o many times. At any rate, check it out!

From the interview:

How did your writing change in jail?

I’ve been writing since I was 14. I go back and read older stuff — I have all these flowery metaphors, I think I would sometimes write “indeed.” It was just pitiful. Jail was kind of nice because it just strips you down to the bone. You’re left with exactly what you need. Something about the jail had a very good way of killing off pretense. What did [Raymond] Carver say, “get in, get out.” Jail will make you do that. You get in, and you try and get out. 

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/lidia-jean-kott/get-in-get-out-dont-linge_b_5851298.html?utm_hp_ref=books

(via ericboydblog)

gaudandguts asked: Could you write a six word poem about being in love with someone who has promised to change over & over, but everything remains the same.

Imperfection transforms into anything except perfection.

Joyce Carol Oates spoke at Brooklyn Book Festival today about Prison Noir. She mentioned two authors by name, Van Poyk was one- Eric Boyd the other.

—Just heard this from a friend. And I missed the event. Sonofabitch.

Anonymous asked: Could you write a six-worder about having an older sibling leaving for college who is your whole world and practically raised you, for that bone-deep ache of missing someone not quite really gone?

Haunted houses don’t always need ghosts.

Leaves blanket us, awaiting colder weather.

—SIX WORDS (9/21/14)

eric-m-petit asked: Just wondering if you'd be interested in checking out my new poetry blog. Just getting started. Tell me what you think if you get a chance to look at it. Hope you enjoy : )

Checked it out and saw a lot of good shit in there. Keep it up and, everyone else, support this guy! Looks legit to me.

ashley003063 asked: I'm in love with your mind. Truthfully I can't find someone worth reading and you surpass my expectations, though I'm not on a high enough level to judge. I hate to ask platitudinous questions but could you write a six letter poem about yourself? Anything about yourself and hopefully more. Hopefully your beautiful mind comes up with something incandescent to my wish: though this world isn't a wish granting factor. Have a pleasant life!

I hid from myself, finding life.

Anonymous asked: Gah!! I just got my copy of Prison Noir in the mail - so excited. Your tumblr has been the homepage on my laptop for probably three years - your writing never fails to inspire or touch me in some way. Just wanted to say, keep being a badass and good luck in everything!

Thanks a lot, and I appreciate all the support, but why anonymous? I wanna see all you guys with a copy of the book. Anyone that picks up “Prison Noir”, send me a photo!

Life’s a joke. Guess the punchline.

—SIX WORDS (9/20/14)

himynameismhairi asked: I just found your blog and I think I'm in love; your work is so beautiful, I feel inspired for the first time in weeks. Keep it up!

Thanks so much—I appreciate the hell out of that, really. I’d keep doing it either way, but it does feel great knowing good folks like you are reading.

Anonymous asked: do you think I could have a 6 word about long distance relationships and how awesome it is to be in love but how much it sucks not to be able to hold them in your arms and kiss their face? thank you!! p.s. your work is amazing oh my god

Souls still touching while bodies cannot.

hinakuu:

Fear does you in the fastest,
strips you naked slowly,
exposes your skin to the sting of winter
and makes your heart an icicle
while your blood protests
and your ears are deaf
and all is panic and breathing.

Inspired by EricBoyd's:

Fear
does you in
the fastest.

—  SIX WORD POEM (10/11/13)

Poem inspired by an old six worder. Great stuff.