Author Archives: Peter Selgin

About Peter Selgin

Peter Selgin is the author of Drowning Lessons, winner of the 2007 Flannery O’Connor Award for Fiction, Life Goes to the Movies, a novel, two books on the craft of fiction, and several children’s books. His memoir, Confessions of a Left-Handed Man, was short-listed for the William Saroyan International Prize. His latest novel, The Water Master, won the William Faulkner Society Prize, selected by Random House Senior Editor Will Murphy. His work has won the Missouri Review Editors’ Prize, the Dana Award, six Best American Essay notable essay citations, and two selections for the Best American series. A second memoir, The Inventors, is forthcoming from Hawthorne Books in April of 2016. He teaches at Antioch University’s MFA program and is Assistant Professor of Creative Writing at Georgia College & State University.

Yerbied

Posted on March 6, 2016 by Peter Selgin

I had an hour to kill before attending the reception at the Augusta Literary Festival this past Friday. The reception took place in a banquet hall in the main branch of the library. I went upstairs and browsed the fiction … Continue reading →

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The Mind, too, has its Erections

Posted on February 28, 2016 by Peter Selgin

In “Swimming with Oliver,” a memoir/essay about my twenty-year friendship with Oliver Sacks (to be published this coming Spring in the Colorado Review), the following passage occurs: On the way back from [a driving tour to] Canada, we discuss possible titles for … Continue reading →

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My Great Uncle & James Joyce

Posted on February 23, 2016 by Peter Selgin

My father rarely spoke about his family. I didn’t learn that he was Jewish until after he died, when at his funeral a stranger approached me with this news. In fact he descended from two prominent Italian Jewish families. Among his … Continue reading →

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At the Petite Musée de Montmartre

Posted on February 21, 2016 by Peter Selgin

I left the petite Musée de Montmartre, forgetting my plastic bag, the one in which I carried my notebook, my glasses, my pen box, the one the museum receptionist made me check, eliciting a muttered remark from me to the effect … Continue reading →

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