Home No. 5

Hi, I'm Jami Attenberg. I write books, and much, much more. My fourth book, The Middlesteins, came out in 2012. You can order it here or here. My fifth book, Saint Mazie, will be published in June 2015.

Also I like dogs and fighting crime.

This is the fifth place to find me on the internet. Please don't tell me I need a sixth.

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why did I do this?


Last night I meant to go up to my roof with some whiskey and think about nothing at all but I just couldn’t help myself, my brain wouldn’t stop working. It slowed, but it did not stop.

I thought first about how hard NYC is, and how it can crush someone’s spirit over time. I thought about cruelty. I thought about misogyny. I thought about mental illness. I thought about compassion. Then I thought about how sometimes when we rise above it’s not about being a better person, it’s just about making sure we don’t have to step in someone else’s shit.

Then I thought about how resilient most of the people I know are. I thought in particular about how all of the women I know work so goddamn hard. There is not one woman I know who does not wake up every day and try to crush it. They exist to succeed. They exist to make art, to support art. They exist to try and help other people. They bleed for others. Even if I don’t like everyone I know all the time, I still appreciate what they do. I thought about how fortunate I am to know these people. 

After that I thought about how privileged I was to be sitting on that roof, breathing that summer night air, watching a fireworks display at the Navy Yard in the distance. Even if I didn’t have any of those things at that moment I’d still be living a life of privilege. I appreciate my life. I take it so fucking seriously. I know how lucky I am. I don’t play with it. I love it. It’s not a fucking joke, this life.

Then I finished my drink and went home.

I’m reblogging this because I still mean it.

Looked up online the name of the best poet from my high school. His name popped into my head, don’t know why, who ever knows why someone from the past pops into your head except that there is some kind of hole that needs filling.

He was dreamy and sharp-jawed and smelled good and was sort of a jock (or at least friends with them) but still a writer somehow even if it was not a cool thing to be. He was a few years older than me, but he might as well have been in college so vast was the gap between us. We were in the same after school writing workshop my freshman year. Crush does not cover it. He talked once about his fascination with things being written in lists of threes or being broken into three parts and it stuck with me forever and I write that way too. Three parts. Not halves. Beginning middle and end.

Now he works in accounting, I learned. His bio on the site talks about how he went to college to study English and philosophy but eventually he realized those two things can’t pay the bills but accounting sure does and his whole story was right there, an entire narrative waiting just for me to chew on one overcast afternoon, hazy possibilities, alternate storylines, dead ends, and I wish I hadn’t looked in the first place and that’s what you get for looking, that’s what you get.


Trader Joe’s only sells pumpkin shit part 1/2

Just realized one of my favorite hobbies is making myself feel guilty and then forgiving myself.


I just wrote something like this in an email to friends who told me the latest (I’m off twitter), which is apparently that Ed Champion made a suicidal gesture and is in Bellevue (not confirmed.)

I have a hard time even talking about how terrible the week that he published that rant was for me….

What I hope is that Emily recognizes that what she does is important and valued and necessary and a lot of people are glad she is around, fighting her beautiful fight and making her beautiful art.

Here is a picture of him reading and also a picture of him stretching. Let’s get him into a residency program where he just reads and stretches.

"I have this thing that I’ve been doing for the last few years where I make it my business, no matter what, to read 30 pages of a book a day. I can’t tell you how many books I’ve gotten through."

Vincent Piazza: 40 Blocks From Home, but a World Away

Hot Boardwalk Empire actor insists on reading 30 pages of a book every day of his life, novelist swoons.


Reblog this if you’re a writer/writing/books blog.

I need more to follow

lit tumblr people want to connect & it’s beautiful.

(via simonejung)