ERIC BOYD

six worders & short stories.

No ghost stays dead for long.

—SIX WORDS (10/20/14)

Shut up, buckle down, press on.

—SIX WORDS (10/19/14)

Different cloth from the same peddler.

—SIX WORDS (10/18/14)

From the “Prison Noir” reading with Joyce Carol Oates and Mitchell S. Jackson; Tim Small and Johnny Temple are also in a few.

So I was checking my mail and saw that PEN American Center sent their usual “Weekend Reads” email—which I recommend because there’s always good work to be read—and on this one I saw one of my old stories was up!

"Examination" was a piece for which I won the PEN Prison Writing Award (second place, fiction), and it really set me off on a good journey which is far from being over. Without getting this story out there, I wouldn’t have gotten to do a reading at the Strand bookstore in New York, which led to being approached to attend school, which has led to meeting various writers and publishers, and so on and so forth and etc etc.

So seeing this now 2-years old story is pretty cool. Even if, technically, I’m not nuts about the piece. It meant a lot at a certain time and still holds resonance now.


http://www.pen.org/fiction-short-story/examination

IN CASE OF EMERGENCY: Break Expectations.

—SIX WORDS (10/17/14)

Polaroids from last night’s “Prison Noir" reading with Mitchell S. Jackson and Joyce Carol Oates.

(Source: ericboydblog)

mitchellsjackson:

Three the Hard Way for @akashicbooks Prison Noir Anthology series. #joycecaroloates #ericboyd (birthday boy) (at Le pouisson rouge/ The Village Gate)

Man I’m an asshole. I promise the polaroids will be more “professional”.

mitchellsjackson:

Three the Hard Way for @akashicbooks Prison Noir Anthology series. #joycecaroloates #ericboyd (birthday boy) (at Le pouisson rouge/ The Village Gate)

Man I’m an asshole. I promise the polaroids will be more “professional”.

Every day I’m born more, more.

—SIX WORDS (10/16/14)

Reading my story from “Prison Noir” at le Poisson Rouge in NYC.photo by Fraylie Nord

Reading my story from “Prison Noir” at le Poisson Rouge in NYC.
photo by Fraylie Nord

Tonight’s reading with Joyce Carol Oates and Mitchell Jackson went well. Mitch was a great, funny guy who I hope to hang with in the future; Joyce was incredibly warm and easy to talk to. She gushed about my story so much that, at one point, I began fanning myself with my hat—half-humored, sure, but with a full blush accompanying—which took some pressure off.

Overall a very good night. I signed many books and drank many free drinks. I will be posting polaroids ASAP, and I’m sure other people got some pictures too!

akashicbooks:

Tonight! Join us at the Gallery at lprnyc (158 Bleecker Street) for the Prison Noir launch event presented by Akashic Books and PEN American Center, featuring Prison Noir editor Joyce Carol Oates, contributor ericboydblog, Mitchell S. Jackon (author of The Residue Years), and more!
Doors at 5:30pm, event begins promptly at 6:30pm. Free! Join us!

NEW YORK: Who’s gonna be here tonight? It’s my birthday, so I think there are actual laws which say you MUST attend this event. Be there.

akashicbooks:

Tonight! Join us at the Gallery at lprnyc (158 Bleecker Street) for the Prison Noir launch event presented by Akashic Books and PEN American Center, featuring Prison Noir editor Joyce Carol Oates, contributor ericboydblog, Mitchell S. Jackon (author of The Residue Years), and more!

Doors at 5:30pm, event begins promptly at 6:30pm. Free! Join us!

NEW YORK: Who’s gonna be here tonight? It’s my birthday, so I think there are actual laws which say you MUST attend this event. Be there.

Thanks Francis Coppola! But wine can’t be shipped to Pennsylvania!

Thanks Francis Coppola! But wine can’t be shipped to Pennsylvania!

New York is where you put a cigar on a wooden bench outside of a restaurant, because you must go inside the 24-hr stop next door to buy some food, and the bench is cleanest thing in sight. And you go in the stop, and buy a yogurt bar with 20g of protein because it is only $2 and money is tight like it is always tight. But the man at the counter says cards need a $6 minimum, and you have no cash, so you buy 2 cans of Chef Boyardee spaghetti & meatballs, which you’d rather not buy because you ate two cans of Chef Boyardee spaghetti & meatballs the night before, and it made you sick. But it’s the cheapest way to get to $6. And you walk out of the stop, happy to go back to your cigar, but the bench is gone. And a small latin man walks out of the restaurant and you say, “I had a cigar stuck in a knot-hole on your bench”. And he looks concerned, not for your cigar but for the fire he may start. And you just shrug and walk away; pissed off because it took you twenty minutes to find someone with a light. Then you look at your watch, and it’s after midnight—today is now your birthday, and you no longer have healthcare. And like some kind of black magic it begins to rain very hard very suddenly. You feel so goddamn lonesome. Then you run to the place you’re staying—because you ride a bus for 8 hours to be in New York every week—and you get inside. You walk to the kitchen and, worried to wake any of these strangers you stay with, you open your two cans of Chef Boyardee, and eat from them with a spoon from a dish rack. You wash the spoon and return it to the dish rack, then go into the bathroom to wash your face and comb your hair, which is getting greasy from two days without bathing. And no amount of cool water stops your sweating, and after you’re done you look into the mirror, and mutter out loud: Who am I? What am I really made of anyway? And the mirror doesn’t have an answer, so you turn out all the lights, and stumble toward the couch, hopefully to sleep.

I am strong; I am weak.

—SIX WORDS (10/15/14)