If there’s one thing I hate about Armchair BEA, it’s this:
This week goes by too damn fast.
I mean, I’m still thinking about what I was going to write for Wednesday’s post and then I got caught up in my regularly scheduled life. That’s entirely my fault, I know. I could have done a better job of planning ahead and all that stuff, but my kids wound up needing my laptop for homework Wednesday and Thursday nights.
(I know! During Armchair BEA! This week of ALL WEEKS! It’s the last goddamn week of school … aren’t we done with that crap yet? I know I certainly am.)
Anyway. So that brings us to Friday, a talk-about-whatever-you-want-to-talk-about topic day. Since I missed Wednesday and was looking forward to talking about short stories, I’ll talk about that today.
I love short stories. LOVE. THEM. I know there’s a love-’em-or-hate-’em mentality about short stories in the blogosphere, and it seems (at least to me) that those of us who are passionate about the short story are in the minority.
I always mention Flannery O’Connor, Jhumpa Lahiri, George Saunders, and Lorrie Moore when I talk about masters of the short story form, and indeed, they are often mentioned by bibliophiles like me. There are several others who deserve a nod, including:
Lauren Groff (Delicate Edible Birds)
Tracy Winn (Mrs. Somebody Somebody)
Elizabeth Strout (Olive Kitteridge)
Lydia Peele (Reasons for and Advantages of Breathing)
Natalie Serber (Shout Her Lovely Name)
… and probably dozens more who I am forgetting.