Recent Work By Bonnie Jo Campbell

When Margo arrived at the marijuana house, the midnight crickets were screaming. On her twelve-hour, thirty-some-mile trip downstream she had passed swampy places croaking with bullfrogs, but here the tree frogs chirped like insects. Margo pulled her boat onto the sand and climbed up the bank. The place was overgrown, spooky in its neglect. The dock was pulled out of the water, and grass and weeds poked up through the slats. Plywood was nailed over several of the windows, and glass shards in the dirt reflected moonlight. Both doors had padlocks on them. She lit the kerosene lantern she’d swiped from Brian’s cabin before heading down the river. She held the lantern up and read the signs posted on both doors: KEEP OUT NO TRESPASSING, with THIS MEANS YOU spray-painted beneath. Junior’s pot leaf had been painted over. When neither of the uncovered windows would budge, she began to pry at one of the pieces of plywood.

So how did you get where you are, Ms. Campbell? And why are you wearing a Carhartt coverall?

Thank you for coming to see me at my home in the swamp! Even as I am scrubbing mildew off a pair of leather boots with an old toothbrush, I am basking in the glow of my good literary fortune.  And now I’ve been awarded a Guggenheim Fellowship. It’s a huge honor.  Hey, pass me that muskrat that needs skinning. I like to think I’m in this beautiful place—with a new book coming out—because I work really hard, but plenty of people work hard. Hey, watch out, that shotgun is loaded! I’ve been writing about the characters and situations that interest me, and it turns out that these are characters and situations other people want to read about. What beautiful luck! Too bad about your car over there—it seems to be sinking into the mud.