In 2011, Ben Dudley—then a student in Michael Griffith’s writing workshop—climbed through the window that led to the tunnel that serpentined to the cavern that narrowed into a smaller cavern (more of a crawlspace, really) into which thrust the stalagmite that housed, about three-quarters of the way down (or up, depending on your spatial orientation), the calcified deposit of our fiction editor’s soul. What he discovered? The tormented egomaniac behind Michael’s mild, aw-shucks demeanor. An ill-fated film ensued. This is the story of that film.
About The Author
Cincinnati Review
Since its inception in 2003, The Cincinnati Review has published many promising new and emerging writers as well as Pulitzer Prize winners and Guggenheim and MacArthur fellows. Poetry and prose from our pages have been selected to appear in the annual anthologies Best American Poetry, Best American Essays, New Stories from the South, Best American Short Stories, Best American Fantasy, Best American Mystery Stories, New Stories from the Midwest, and Best Creative Nonfiction. Learn More
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