Our summers were idyllic. Maybe that makes us weird.

I've got a short chapbook, Recurring Childhood Nightmares, up at Ten Pages Press. The book is comprised of 10 flash-fiction "nightmares" that each correspond chronologically to a year in the life of a 26-year-old narrator. There's also a bonus poem about hipsters.

Six of the pieces -- "Buddy," "Why He Went to Guernica," "The Parents Were Made of Gas," "Virtual Zuckerbergian (un)Reality Blues," "American Hubris," and "Homesick at Adult Camp" -- originally appeared in Short, Fast, and Deadly. "Nobody Likes a Pragmatist" appeared in Staccato Fiction a while back. And I put up "Three Degrees of Separation from the Same Thing We Were Still Supposed to be Thinking About" on Fictionaut a couple weeks ago. 

Much thanks to Craig at Ten Pages Press and the editors of the journals where the fictions originally appeared.

The MILF Effect: How Porn’s Use of the Acronym Promotes Healthy Reproductive Values

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submit!

 The Apocalypse Piñata Submission Manager is fully operational! Send stuff now. Launch will be in October. Or if you want, you can still submit to apocalypse.pinata@gmail.com. Whatever works best for you.

a nice, good chap

I'm stoked to be the chapbook reviewer for the forthcoming print publication Short, Fast, and Deadly Monthly, which will be launching in January 2012. I'll also be posting 420-character reviews on Deadly Chaps Press' Facebook page as soon as I get some scribbles down. On that note, if you wrote or published a chapbook or echapbook you want reviewed, please send it to me and I will be happy to promptly take a look at it and write about it. If you know of any chapbook or echapbook that is awesome or not so awesome, I would like to look at it and promptly write about it. Get in touch with me at christopher.vola@gmail.com because we all like chaps and you seem like a good person.

Also, I wrote this novel called Monkeytown when I was in grad school. It's a transgressive thriller about an orphan named Josh from Connecticut who gets involved with a bunch of faux-terrorists in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. I'm going to start putting chapters up on Fictionaut because I can't figure out what to do with it just yet: more submitting to skittish presses or the incinerator? Feel free to check it out and hate it and comment on its sophomoric vapidity and gore-porn. Or maybe you'll like it and don't want to comment. Either way.