Liz Moore Music and Books

Yes, that is a big old picture of my face.

The reason for it (so early in the morning) is because my friend Bill Cheng has asked me to participate in his most recent, very worthy venture: 90Outloud

The concept, as described on the website:

"It’s called 90Outloud, and all it is is different people from around the world posting ninety seconds of their favorite passages. 

That’s it.

Just 90 seconds.  A paragraph.  Sometimes not even that. Just a minute and a half for a snippet of book to come suddenly and thrillingly to life.” 

(You can read more on the site.)

For my 90-second reading, I chose excerpts from the short story “Snow,” by the incredible Ann Beattie, from her collection Where You’ll Find Me, available here and elsewhere. 

For those of you who like to read instead of listen, here are the two brief excerpts that I read:

You remember it differently. You remember that the cold settled in stages, that a small curve of light was shaved from the moon night after night, until you were no longer surprised the sky was black, that the chipmunk ran to hide in the dark, not simply to a door that led to its escape. Our visitors told the same stories people always tell. One night, giving me a lesson in story telling, you said, “Any life will seem dramatic if you omit mention of most of it” … 

… This is a story, told the way you say stories should be told: Somebody grew up, fell in love, and spent a winter with her lover in the country. This, of course, is the barest outline, and futile to discuss. It’s as pointless as throwing birdseed on the ground while snow still falls fast. Who expects small things to survive when even the largest get lost? People forget years and remember moments. Seconds and symbols are left to sum things up: the black shroud over the pool. Love, in its shortest form, becomes a word. What I remember about all that time is one winter. The snow. Even now, saying “snow,” my lips move so that they kiss the air.

No mention has been made of the snowplow that seemed always to be there, scraping snow off our narrow road—an artery cleared, though neither of us could have said where the heart was.

The whole story is worth the read—it’s brief and beautiful. One of my favorites.

And now, I’ll be over here in a corner, trying not to cringe at the sound of my own voice…

  1. mygingerheartstrings reblogged this from wwnorton
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  5. wwnorton reblogged this from lizmooremusic and added:
    Liz Moore, author of Heft, reads some Ann Beattie. We can get behind this new 90OutLoud Tumblr.
  6. lizmooremusic posted this
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