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Jordan E. Rosenfeld Archive

Jordan E. Rosenfeld

We Are What Our Ancestors Ate

October 29th, 2007
by Jordan E. Rosenfeld

SAN FRANCISCO, CA-

 

Wildthings11

The world is on fire (at least part of it) and as if in harmony with flames, the moon was orange last night. (more…)


Jordan E. Rosenfeld

I Hate This Place Part II; Or, I am a Snob

May 8th, 2007
by Jordan E. Rosenfeld

SAN FRANCISCO, CA-

My mother was never very good at teaching me politeness, but I’m sure someone else’s mother tried to (and lord knows I spent more time with other people’s mothers than I did with my own). I’m only okay at nice. Maybe a C- or something, just enough to be able to take me out in public without constantly having to keep an eye on me for fear I’ll offend your new friends/colleagues/business associates. That flimsy effort at “niceness” has been very difficult to keep up this past year since moving to a town I just don’t like.

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Jordan E. Rosenfeld

I Hate This Place- Part I

April 23rd, 2007
by Jordan E. Rosenfeld

SAN FRANCISCO, CA-

(Most place names have been withheld, bastardized or totally made up to protect the innocent, the addicted, the ashamed, and mostly me.)

Many writers are married to the landscapes of their youths. You can’t take the humid, race-embattled south out of many a Southerner’s writing, for instance. Writers like J.M. Coetzee and Lynn Freed’s books are set in their childhood homes of South Africa, full of jacaranda flowers, humid air and the tinge of apartheid. Even Stephen King reinvents his lush and creepy Maine, revealing how deeply infused the state is in his bones. I, however, never really thought about “my” place much, until it was time to leave it (which I did NOT do at the appropriate “leaving for college” stage).

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Jordan E. Rosenfeld

Meta-Nonfiction

April 9th, 2007
by Jordan E. Rosenfeld

SAN FRANCISCO, CA-

For the last year I’ve been writing about how to write.

Pens1

It began with the critiques I formulated for my editing clients. Then these frustration-borne missives morphed into articles for magazines dedicated solely to the subject of how to write things. Then I got the laughable idea that I should write a book on the subject. At first it was fun, and satisfied the vaguely sadistic know-it-all who was finally released in full flower in Freshman year of my socratic college seminars. For a girl like me, there’s nothing more powerful than telling other people how to do things.

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