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1. Loss of Grasp

   “Loss of Grasp” is an interactive narrative about the notions of grasp and control. What happens when one has the impression of losing control in life, of losing control of his/her own life? Six scenes tell the story of a man that is losing himself. “Loss of Grasp” plays with the grasp and the loss of grasp and invites the reader to experiment with these feelings in an interactive work.

   Serge Bouchardon - 21.09.2010 - 11:28

2. Sea and Spar Between

   Sea and Spar Between is a poetry generator which defines a space of language populated by a number of stanzas comparable to the number of fish in the sea, around 225 trillion. Each stanza is indicated by two coordinates, as with latitude and longitude. The words in Sea and Spar Between come from Emily Dickinson’s poems and Herman Melville’s Moby Dick. Certain compound words (kennings) are assembled from words used frequently by one or both. Sea and Spar Between was composed using the basic digital technique of counting, which allows for the quantitative analysis of literary texts.

   (Source: Authors' abstract at Dear Navigator)

   Scott Rettberg - 16.03.2011 - 17:05

3. There he was, gone.

   How do we piece together a story like this one? A mystery. The title offers more questions than answers. There he was, gone. Where is there? Who is he? Where has he gone? How is this sentence even possible? There he was, not there. As if "he" is in two places and in no place, both at once. The once of "once upon a time." This story has to do with time. This story has to do with place. That much is clear. We take time to look around the story space. What do we see? A corner of a map. An abstraction of a place too detailed to place, unless the places it names are already familiar. Is this a local story then? For locals, between locals… if we do not know the answer to this question, then we are not local. We seem to have stumbled upon an ongoing conversation. Listen. A dialogue of sorts. It's too late. An argument, even. One interlocutor instigates. Can't you feel anything? The other obfuscates. It's only the spring squalls over the bay. All that's not said between these two hangs in a heavy mist, a sea fret low over a small fishing boat turned broadside to a pack of hump-backed slick black rocks. This story is fishing inshore.

   Scott Rettberg - 01.06.2012 - 17:29