Noy Holland’s new collection of short fiction, Swim for the Little One First, came out in September. I would like to encourage you to buy it and read it. I read the first page, and, despite my enormous stack of books-in-progress, I felt compelled to read the rest, immediately. Maybe you will, too:
I said, “Hello, Rose.”
“You sound funny.”
I was lying on my back with my legs in the air trying to make a baby with my mister. I had his seed in there. My poor egg had slipped out to meet it.
“Can’t you come out here and help me?” Rose pleaded. She had bunions. She had busted her elbow stirring oatmeal.
I was busy. My mucous was of a quality. I had just the least clutch of eggs left out of the millions I got when I started.
“Get off,” my man said, “and I’ll do it again.”
“Is that Tonto I hear?”
Tonto snorted. “She’ll talk all day if you let her.”
But maybe you need more convincing. Continue reading