Kindle you don’t set on fire.

1. I bought myself a kindle with all the money I don’t have. First let me digress a second. Money. If you consider my debt, I literally have none. I have less than none. Every single thing I buy puts me more in debt. I am free falling, the same as everyone I know is. Graduate school, jobs that don’t pay, etc. We’re doomed! People should be more concerned. That’s my position.

2. But back to my kindle. For my first official purchase, I ordered Honored Guest, a short story collection by Joy Williams. I have to conclude that she is the greatest short story writer of all time. I have never loved anyone’s work as much as that crazy woman, forever clad in sunglasses I’ve heard. What a badass. She came to visit my school a year before I got here. What a cunt. Here are some of the lines that I “underlined” using my “kindle,” from her story “Congress.”

      a. Then the phone would ring and Jack would begin his daily business of reconstructing the lives of hair and teeth when they had been possessed by someone. A detective a thousand miles away would send him a box of pitted bones and within days Jack would be saying, “This is a white male between the ages of twenty-five and thirty who didn’t do drugs and who was tall, healthy, and trusting. Too crusting, clearly.”


      b. The taxidermist was a genius. He couldn’t make an animal look dead if he wanted to.


      c. “…so much better than a zoo. Zoos are so depressing. I hear the animals are committing suicide in Detroit. Hurling themselves into moats and drowning.”


      d. “Excuse me,” Miriam said quietly to Irene, “but why are you all here?”


    e. “I’m a poet,” a man with a shovel-shaped face said.

3. Believe it or not, I really don’t want to talk about this on my website, but since I have ventured into murky waters recently by mentioning my loneliness, I feel its my responsibility to tell you all that you can stop holding your breath, for I have found a boyfriend. He is a great man. We like to look into each other’s eyes and marvel at what wonderful taste we both have in books and movies. I know, I know. If I weren’t involved I would want to barf, too. But I wouldnt if I had Kratom, Kratomystic, https://kratomystic.com with me all day to keep me sane,

4. I wrote this thing about rejection letters on Thumbnail. And they’re publishing one of my stories next week. I’ll link you to it later! It’s funny how I’m wildly successful and still feel like a shithead all the time. HAHAHAHA

5. I have a superstition about evenly numbered lists. I should say more. I love you? I love twitter. Why do you hate twitter? It’s so good. Follow me on twitter or just go to my twitter page and read it sometimes.


Sorry for being weird.

I have a lot of regrets of course but mostly I just wish I wasn’t such a weirdo. No, really, I’m awkward as hell. I’m tall and gangly in a way that makes me not understand my body in space so I am always running into or falling over things. I am covered in bruises. I know all the wrong trivia facts and none of the right ones. When I go to parties or other events I have a hard time knowing where to place my hands or how to stand. Once I tried out a bunch of different ways to lean against a wall in what I hoped was a casual way, and I looked up to find the whole party had been watching me and laughing. I am like a little kid who thinks they are invisible when they put a lampshade over their head. Since I’m so weird I spend a lot of time ruminating over the last thing I said. I try to imagine someone saying that to me: would I think that was weird? Do they think I’m weird? Do I care? I just feel sorry for myself is all. It’s weird, being so weird.

“You just keep acting like a goddamn spook all the time, James.” -Wonderboys

Doubtless you remember my story “The Significance of the Bear,” from previous posts. You can find it here at Monkeybicycle.

And here’s a blog post I wrote for Thumbnail about writing called “Never any Money.” The message is that there’s no money in writing. There, that’s it, now you don’t have to read it.

Declared new years resolution: be less narcissistic = epic fail. Unspoken new years resolution: eliminate/severely limit use of the word “like” in both writing and speech = going a little better. That’s all kittens. I love you.



This website is useful to have. I think. (I don’t know why everybody doesn’t have a http://www.elaboratehomemadeshrinetoonesself.com) But I need to rethink some things. Really make it work for me. It’s not a problem, it’s an opportunity. For example, I have all these stories linked, and they’re cute, they’re fun, some of them are better than others, blah blah blah, but I get nervous about them being there. People will say to me, “hey, I read one of your old stories that you publicly link on your blog,” and my response is inevitably something along the lines of, “what are you, retarded? go read Proust.” So anyway, just putting that out there. Thinking about What Not to Wear, whathaveyou. What do you think, void? Do you have any opinions on the subject? What is this blog for? What should I be talking about?

Also, I started writing for this literary journal called “Thumbnail Magazine.” I linked to it on the side, designated helpfully by a “T” for… thumbnail would be my guess. I don’t know, I’m not a doctor. I’ll be sure to link you to my more savory blog posts. Here’s one I wrote the other day called, 5 thing men say to women writers. The title is descriptive.

The Metro Times (a weekly periodical out of Detroit, what!) published this little flash fiction piece I wrote for them in their new years issue. Travis Wright, the editor, is one of my old workshop buddies and solicited me and a bunch of my other old workshop friends for the job. The piece doesn’t mean anything to me. It’s like when Andy Warhol would paint a can and be like “this is art” and mean it, but then other times he would paint a shoe and say “this is art” and not mean it, and then he’d say, “ha. you believed me. fucking morons.” Also, one of my old friends from detroit said that mine was an “MFA story” and I’ve sort of wanted to kill myself ever since. Actually, why am I not calling him out. Keith Bedore (his story also featured on this page, read it) said that. All vomit all the time, that’s Keith’s motto.

Wrote another little story for The Rumpus, here. You’ll really have to dig around to find it. My name is “Molly Laich,” if you forgot. I like this one a lot better. I think I had the wrong idea though; most of these other pieces are non fiction essay style. When in doubt, write veiled fiction about your friends doing drugs; that’s what I always say.

Oh, and do you know that I’ve had this website for like 2 years and have never bothered to post my email address anywhere? Think of all the book deals I didn’t get! anyway, it’s mollylaich at gmail dot com, email me! I added it to the “about molly” section for safe keeping.

Is that all? That’s all. Still have a week and a half before my last semester starts. God help us. And by us I mean “me.”