The Fluffiest Biscuit in Oxford American

Books,

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This is kind of weird. My essay about working for Hardee’s in Radford, Virginia when I was an undergrad is now online at Oxford American. It originally appeared in April 2010 (that’s the weird part) but I’m really grateful that the editors put it online. I’m headed to my alma mater for homecoming in October and I’ve been thinking about the New River Valley a lot. An excerpt: 

Most people underestimate the complexity of the biscuit. Biscuits are delicate and fickle, like hothouse flowers. Cook them too long and they turn into tough little hockey pucks. If the temperature in the oven isn’t high enough, you get a texture that’s cakey, not flaky, and a biscuit without a swirling engine of steam inside it is no longer a biscuit but a bastard scone.

upthefolks:

charminglyantiquated:

a little love story about mermaids and tattoos

CUTEST

Story of my life.

upthefolks:

charminglyantiquated:

a little love story about mermaids and tattoos

CUTEST

Story of my life.

upthefolks:

charminglyantiquated:

a little love story about mermaids and tattoos

CUTEST

Story of my life.

upthefolks:

charminglyantiquated:

a little love story about mermaids and tattoos

CUTEST

Story of my life.

upthefolks:

charminglyantiquated:

a little love story about mermaids and tattoos

CUTEST

Story of my life.

upthefolks:

charminglyantiquated:

a little love story about mermaids and tattoos

CUTEST

Story of my life.

upthefolks:

charminglyantiquated:

a little love story about mermaids and tattoos

CUTEST

Story of my life.

Self-Interview at TNB

Books, , , ,

This is kind of weird, but if you played text-based computer games as a kid (Zork anyone?) then you’ll get the references. It’s basically Edward Gorey’s  ”the unspeakable horror of the literary life” told through the lens of an Infocom game. 

You are at a desk. There is typewriter and a ream of paper.
Write novel.

You have written a novel. You have used seven years of life force.
Write memoir. 

Are you sure about that?
Write memoir. 

You have written a memoir. You have no dignity points left.

Interview at Great Writers Steal

Books, ,

At Great Writers Steal, Ken Nichols follows up his review of Forest of Fortune with this interview in which he investigates the creative choices I made while writing the novel. But even in questions of craft and narrative structure, things get personal…

Forest of Fortune is both a place within the casino and a fantasy. When I worked at an Indian casino, the names of the various establishments were a source of great amusement. For instance, we actually had a Dreamcatcher Lounge, as hokey as that sounds. My employment coincided with the recession, so I felt bound to the place. I wanted to leave, but felt like I couldn’t afford to quit. This feeling intensified when I went into recovery for alcoholism. I wanted to find a healthier place to build a new life for myself, but I was stuck at the casino. I felt trapped there. It was a feeling that was shared by many of my coworkers and this feeling is a big part of the book. Of course, it was only a feeling. I could have left anytime, but I didn’t. I stayed way too long.

Forest of Fortune in The Nervous Breakdown

Books, ,

The Nervous Breakdown has an except of Forest of Fortune. This section tells the story of how Pemberton going on a job interview that ends with a coke party in the Hollywood Hills (hate it when that happens). It’s one of the more risqué sections of the book and was inspired by an article I read in New Music Express way back in the ’90s about an infamous rock star. Kudos if you can guess who it is…

They went up to the Hills in Ricky’s limited edition Lexus. They lived in Koreatown, Kiki explained, but were mansion-sitting for a friend in the porn industry. The house looked like a wedding cake made out of birdcages. Floor-to-ceiling glass walls, fire pit in the parlor, infinity pool on the patio. The guest bedroom bathroom was a tribute to the 1970s. Pemberton wondered how many adult films had been shot here.

Forest of Fortune at Great Writers Steal

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Ken Nichols poses the question “What can we steal from Jim Ruland’s Forest of Fortune?” and presents this intriguing answer:

Forest of Fortune is a novel that defies easy categorization and does so in the best of ways. The book is certainly “literary,” whatever that means. Mr. Ruland has also packed in elements of the supernatural thriller; the titular casino game, for instance, seemed to echo the evil games of chance in the Twilight Zone episodes “The Fever”and “Nick of Time.”  The book also confronts a vast canvas; it’s not just the story of three people who have a location in common. Taken as a whole, Forest of Fortune is a somewhat sprawling depiction of a place that is at once sad and joyful, a place where the hopeless cater to the hopeful and most visitors don’t notice the irony that they have traveled to the middle of nowhere to surround themselves with bright, flashing lights and contrived excitement. 

theparisreview:

“Breakfast is a personal ritual that can only be properly observed alone, and in a spirit of genuine excess … four Bloody Marys, two grapefruits, a pot of coffee, Rangoon crêpes, a half-pound of either sausage, bacon, or corned-beef hash with diced chilies, a Spanish omelette or eggs Benedict, a quart of milk, a chopped lemon for random seasoning, and something like a slice of key lime pie, two margaritas and six lines of the best cocaine for dessert.” —The breakfast habits of Hunter S. Thompson, born on this day in 1937. (via)