From this review
(of Twenty Grand
, by Rebecca Curtis):
It's a mixed bag, as most collections tend to be, but it's also a wonderful opportunity to observe a younger author taking risks before her talent hardens into the smooth, overpolished carapace that too often accompanies mainstream literary respectability.
I'm wondering, is that as much a given as Liz Hand seems to be implying? Also (I like this part better):
Yet this is what the best writers do—stumble through unknown territory, walk blindfolded, sit beside strangers and listen to them mumble and rave.
Oh, and now that I'm outlining, the demo version of Scrivener is crashing every 30 seconds. Sux. I mean, effing
sux. :) (Maybe it's the overuse of smiley faces that's given me that G rating...)