BMR: Interview with Monet Maloof, Fiction Intern

EXCLUSIVE interview with your very own Monet Maloof, undergraduate at UNM and writer extraordinaire. Not only is Monet an amazing specimen of undergraduate writer, she’s also one of two wonderful fiction interns. She included a photograph and then in four onslaught of emails asked me to remove said photograph from this posting. You’ll have to come to friday’s slush pile readings (3pm, English Department lounge) to meet her in person. Without further ado, here you go:

S: What year are you, and how would you describe yourself as a writer?

M: Well, I’m sort of an amoebus year. I describe myself as the kind of writer who writes long and wandering sentences, and then deletes them, just so the person standing behind me can watch.

S: What prompted you to join up with Blue Mesa Review?

M: Well, it was more like Blue Mesa Review joined up with me. All of their seeking and prodding and imploring me toreeeeeeaaad. Those silly literati.

Alternate response (choose one!):

It was a rainy day in Prague, and we’d just barely missed our train due south. I said I needed a sweater, but BMR gave me more than that…much, much, more.

S: Why ever have you returned?

M: Well, that’s a good question Managing Editor Sam. Mostly, it’s like two fried eggs, nestled inside a hug.

S: What do you like about interning?

M: Well, first off, it’s all of the free paper clips I get to steal. Second of all…we receive some really neat paper clips. Once, I got one made of gold.

S: Does Blue Mesa really help you as a writer?

M: Well, heck yes it does. My writerly sensibilities have nearly doubled as a result of spending approximately 130 hours a year steeped in the warm, soothing, and intellectually stimulating tea that is Blue Mesa Review.

S: What do you think of Sam? I mean, really. Be honest.

M: Well, I think Sam is probably the bees knees. The bitche’s brew. The tug to the boat, the lace to the shoe. The sink to the drink. The stole to the mink. Sam is probably a real person, but as far as the rest of you know, she’s our own Dr. Evil. She sits in a daunting arm chair and never shows us her face…unless she’s wearing monkey masks…yeah, it’s getting kind of weird.

Thanks Monet, you are a breath of fresh air if that air were steeped in peppermint and then sauteed with butter.