Chavisa Woods' Books

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Zombie, An Excerpt From Things To Do When You're Goth in the Country

 

It was the second round of flashlight tag. We’d been screeching up a storm of fake horror since the sun set. Beth was “it.” I ran far away from her and crouched behind a headstone at the edge of the cemetery grounds near the field. It was very dark, save for the light of the moon, and a streetlamp a nearby farmer had mounted in his yard. The light shone through the wooded area that lined the south side of the cemetery, the blue light splitting through the leaves like spectral stars. Beth called out, “I’m coming for you,” her flashlight beam bouncing in the distance, pointing nowhere near where I was hiding. I kept silent, peeking over the top of a tombstone. Beth called out again, “I’m coming for you, creep!” I screeched. It echoed. She stopped and circled her light around the graveyard, and then, for some inexplicable reason, she started running in the opposite direction of where I was hiding. She ran away from me, shouting, “I see you! I see you!” I stood to get a better look, wondering how she could be so mistaken. She pointed her light in the very wrong direction in which she was also running, and, to my astonishment, it caught a figure of what seemed to be a person. This person halted momentarily, then quickly dashed through an open area, and hid behind a tree near the Thompson Mausoleum. “Hey, I got you. I tagged you. Come out! You’re it now,” Beth demanded. A chill shot through me. We weren't alone.

 

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Electric Lit- 10 Books for Country Goths, a reading list by Chavisa Woods

Chavisa Woods breaks down the essential books for class-conscious readers who like their literature dark and rural

I was born and raised in a small, rural farm town, and was a queer punky goth teenager. So, I know what it’s like to simultaneously feel right at home, and yet, totally alien. But the country is ripe with all sorts of contradictions. It’s a place of natural abundance, but many country-folk are just scraping by. The country is peaceful, but it is also known for unregulated violence. The country is a place of extreme isolation, but it is also a place where anonymity is impossible. Everyone knows everyone else’s business. People who live in the country are thick. And if you’re an outsider coming in, you are made quickly aware that everyone knows, you’re not from around here, are you?

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The Job Of The Wasp, A Review by Chavisa Woods, Full Stop Magazine

 

Soft Skull Press; 2018]

It’s been a while since a book kept me captivated by gory mystery, anxiously awaiting the next turn of the page, as I was while reading Colin Winnette’s, The Job of the Wasp, just out from Soft Skull Press.

Soft Skull Press is an independent press whose mission is to publish “books that engage art, culture, and current events in new and radical ways.” As an avid reader of literary fiction, I always look forward to a new title from Soft Skull, and as a fan of the dark and gothic, I was excited to delve into this new, ghostly novel, part of a recently resurgent genre, “literary horror.” When I pick up a work of literary horror, I expect something deeply disturbing, if not outright horrifying, and yet, a work that is more than a ghost story told around some midnight campfire, whose only purpose is to chill and thrill. I want a work that is artistically dark. I want not just an arousing mystery, but a true enigma, shrouding some greater truth or darker unknown.

 

To Continue, Read full review here: http://www.full-stop.net

 

Zombie, An Excerpt From Things To Do When You're Goth in the Country

 

It was the second round of flashlight tag. We’d been screeching up a storm of fake horror since the sun set. Beth was “it.” I ran far away from her and crouched behind a headstone at the edge of the cemetery grounds near the field. It was very dark, save for the light of the moon, and a streetlamp a nearby farmer had mounted in his yard. The light shone through the wooded area that lined the south side of the cemetery, the blue light splitting through the leaves like spectral stars. Beth called out, “I’m coming for you,” her flashlight beam bouncing in the distance, pointing nowhere near where I was hiding. I kept silent, peeking over the top of a tombstone. Beth called out again, “I’m coming for you, creep!” I screeched. It echoed. She stopped and circled her light around the graveyard, and then, for some inexplicable reason, she started running in the opposite direction of where I was hiding. She ran away from me, shouting, “I see you! I see you!” I stood to get a better look, wondering how she could be so mistaken. She pointed her light in the very wrong direction in which she was also running, and, to my astonishment, it caught a figure of what seemed to be a person. This person halted momentarily, then quickly dashed through an open area, and hid behind a tree near the Thompson Mausoleum. “Hey, I got you. I tagged you. Come out! You’re it now,” Beth demanded. A chill shot through me. We weren't alone.

 

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Gentlemen, Close Your Legs, The Brooklyn Rail

 

Gentlemen Close Your Legs

How many seats are you entitled to? Learn how to sit on the subway, or did you not notice it is driving us crazy!?!  And no, not in a good way. 

 

Let me start off by saying, not ALL MEN are doing this. And to those men, I say, well, I’m not going to salute you or thank you for just doing what most women are already doing (and what anyone with a modicum of respect for other humans should do). But I will say kindly, please keep it up. 

To the rest of you, read on. 

Aside from being disrespectful, rude and downright annoying, most of you are also being:

Sexist:
All of our lives, most of us women are taught to take up as little space as possible. Aside from metaphysical space, we are taught to take up less physical space by thinning down, keeping quiet, and yes, crossing our legs. It’s just not ladylike to spread your legs wide in a skirt or dress, or otherwise, for that matter. (People would look at us like we were crazy if we sat like that). I see women on the subway every day, regardless of their size (and yes, sometimes women are bigger than men), hunching their shoulders, folding their arms and crossing their legs to make room for the men sitting next to them or, god forbid, the two men spread out on either side of them. 

Men do not make room for women. You seem to think you are entitled to our space. Aside from displaying daily that you feel entitled to our attention, consolation, to our bodies, to our privacy, you actually seem to think you are alsoentitled to a portion of our seats. We don’t really need it. We’ll make room for you. Right?

Unfortunately, you are. We do make room for you. Even when I try pushing you over, you just stay there, your leg pressing against mine, your foot crossing in front of my foot, your arm on top of my arm. You don’t mind touching a woman, and never stop to think about whether or not we mind touching you. But you do make room for other men.

You make lots and lots of room for other men, because you are...

 

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