Regina Cannot Explain It All


I'm Regina Small. I'm a writer and editor in NYC. I'm a senior editor and reviews coordinator for RT Book Reviews, a Brooklyn-based magazine dedicated to covering women's genre fiction. All opinions are mine.


Interests include: sci-fi/fantasy, literature, summertime daydrinking, trying to be a better person, fancy manicures, cooking, absurd humor, philosophy and the role of irony in the modern world.

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Recent Tweets @ReginaSmall

I’ve never seen American Ninja Warrior before but holy shit, Kacy Catanzaro. All the heart eyes emojis.

Do you think the reason “Brooklyn Girls” has irritated so many people is that it points out how much image-constructing is involved in a certain subset of people who want to believe that they’re totally above anything as pedestrian and spiritually empty as constructing an “image” or adopting a pose. I mean…yes? Obviously?

I’m all for experienced writers and reviewers and bloggers being paid what they deserve. But when a dude freelancer tries to negotiate for a much higher-than-average rate by saying he thinks being a male critic reviewing romance is an amazing boon? Seriously, seriously go fuck yourself, dude. Your penis doesn’t lend credibility to anything.

Fuck. this. rude. asshole.

(via laughterkey)

At that time in my life, for reasons I didn’t understand until later, I didn’t let myself be chosen by men who really wanted me.
I want to be understood,

just not by you.
Charles Bernstein, “Me and My Pharaoh . . .” Poetry (April 2014).  (via literarymiscellany)

(via lifeinpoetry)

Sometimes
we get just what we want, and it alters
us ever after, neither better nor worse
but clearer, with different blood and face.
Marge Piercy, from “Love Like A Ticking Bomb (via violentwavesofemotion)

(via lifeinpoetry)

jopara:

negritaaa:

thepanduchessofshade:

wellingswoman:

femburton:

a stallion riding a stallion

like………okay

unfair

This looks like a Mommy-Porn book cover

^ and?????

I hate myself for finding this attractive.

Say alone. Forty times. Pair it with
the desert. Say it. Alone. Alone. Alone.
Say the words plain, she says. Say it plain.
Say it outright. Alone. Don’t get poetic.
Say I. Say me. Say I am alone. Own it. I am alone.
Jeanann Verlee, from “The Session (via violentwavesofemotion)

(via lifeinpoetry)

You appear to be a carefree, independent, globe-trotting academic—the living, breathing dream of every flinchy motherfucker on earth. You seem tough and engaged in what you do—and why shouldn’t you? You ARE tough. You ARE fully engaged with your work. You DO love your life.

But you’re also something else. You’re also soft and squishy and you hate that part of yourself. When the softness comes out, there’s anger there. You’re ashamed. You serve up your softness with shame because that’s what you were taught to do when you were little. “This is not how you make friends, I know that. This is how you make people hate you,” you say, in tears. “I know I’m gross. I know you don’t want this.”

But it’s not JUST that you’re serving up softness with a grimace and saying, “YOU WILL HATE THE TASTE OF THIS, LET ME APOLOGIZE IN ADVANCE.” No. It’s also that you’re always in the company of some dude who doesn’t like vulnerability. You date guys who see vulnerability—which is the very heart and soul of who you are—as weakness. You are with a guy who takes the very best of you, the rawest and most sincere essence of you, and he says, “I don’t like this clingy thing you do. I know your history with your parents. I can understand why my indifference feels like rejection. But I don’t care. This clingy thing is inconvenient to me, so you should stomp it into submission.”

Are you guys tired of me linking these because it’s too bad, they’re really fucking great, why isn’t there a book of these, someone give Heather a book deal, you swine.