Author bios are changing. There have always been writers who instead of (or in addition to) including the standard list of publications choose to drop “interesting” factoids about themselves – their geographical whereabouts, the names and disposition of their pets. But it seems lately more bios are mini works of art themselves – works of fiction or memoir carefully crafted to hint at the author’s artistic interests, humor, and psyche.

These writers refuse the standard “He has been published in…” and “She received her MFA from…” They give something more rich and bloody. The story or poem doesn’t end with the story or poem. Here, in the contributor notes, is an offering. A free dessert.

These writers are my heroes. Because too many of us (myself included) have used contributor notes for evil purposes, mainly to judge the integrity of the author, to measure his/her success in the literary world, and to reinforce a hierarchy of “better” journals and “the best” MFA programs.

Interestingly, the artistic bios seem most prevalent in arty, online, alternative, post-avant garde, boundary-breaking, and/or new up-and-coming mags. The well-established journals, even the crazier ones, seem to sport mostly the safe and standard credential listings.

Perhaps this is a question of... more »

We lost one of the American literary greats this past week. Fringe celebrates J.D. Salinger’s ineffable legacy with posts from writers who have been affected by his work.

Today, Vernacular editor Alexis Hauk reminisces about the recluse:

I admit, I hadn’t cracked a Salinger novel since early college when, on a trip to Italy the summer after freshman year of college, I poured all that over-privileged “existential longing” of mine into Franny and Zooey. Those two months from Milan to Palermo in a bus were some of the sweatiest, most alcohol-drenched of my life. And I often wonder if, had we all had not been in such a perpetually hungover, dunder-headed, 19-year-old haze for so much of the trip: would we have admired and appreciated the Pantheon a little more?  Or Pirandello’s grave?  Or the head of St. Catherine?

Just as I wonder about that trip, I sometimes question if—by reading his first and seminal work, Catcher in the Rye, as an adolescent—Salinger’s skill as a writer was completely lost on me, unfairly relegated to a “juvenile” classification early on.  Eudora Welty, no slouch herself, called Salinger’s writing “original, first-rate, serious and beautiful.”  But all I really remember is how I could, like, totally relate. With sober... more »

 We lost one of the American literary greats this past week. Fringe celebrates J.D. Salinger’s ineffable legacy with posts from writers who have been affected by his work. 

 Fringe contributor Justine Tal Goldberg writes: 

  J.D. Salinger was my first love. He came to me in high school, between assigned readings of Shakespeare, Hemingway and Camus, and long before those other literary giants of college—Joyce, Faulkner and Yeats. These authors stole my heart, passing my affections between them like the college boys I dated, but Salinger stayed by my side. He was a good friend among acquaintances, a relationship among flings, and the voice of reason when my own characters threatened to lie.

              As a teenager, I appreciated Salinger’s honesty, his self-deluded characters who through seamless narrative are revealed for the phonies they are. (Can you blame me? It was high school after all.) As a young woman, I was deeply moved by his faith in childhood, his authorial finger trained on the grown-ups, those poor folks utterly devoid of magic. Now, I’m sorry to say that I hadn’t thought about Salinger much until yesterday, of course, when I learned of his death and sat down to reflect upon his life.

              Is it trite to say that I feel like I’ve lost a loved one, an ex with whom I’ve fallen out of touch but still care for in... more »