Author Khanh Ha

2012-01-19T09:02:00.000-05:00

Conception of Flesh Cover art is being finalized. Website is being fleshed out. I am a fetus. Soon flesh and all. www.authorkhanhha.com [Source: http://www.datamancer.net]

Dreamweaver

2011-07-10T21:13:00.004-04:00

There was this dinky book-for-rent store in Huế, Vietnam, my older brother and I used to haunt. I was nine. We would pool our money we got from grandma and rent all the books we could read, most of them Chinese classics. My favorites then were The Tale of the Three Kingdoms and Journey to the West. One day we ran

FLESH

2011-06-25T14:39:00.004-04:00

A Vietnamese boy . . .An alluring Chinese girl . . .The execution ground in Hanoi at the turn of the 20th century . . .The boy witnesses the beheading of his father and sets out to recover his head.He vows to find an auspicious burial site to inter his father’s body and then find the traitor who sold his father to the authorities.On this quest, the entire world will shift. By twist

Reviews

2011-03-28T16:33:00.001-04:00

You’ve read every word of your prose in the draft at least ten times, each time except for the first knowing what’s there. And you detest it. You know you need that first-time sensitivity, but the mind archives everything you’ve read and then reads every word back to you before you even read it on the page. It’s true then that by the tenth time most of the words won’t make sense to you anymore.

Malady

2011-03-25T09:30:00.000-04:00

Most live writers do not exist. Their fame is created by critics who always need a genius of the season, someone they understand completely and feel safe in praising, but when these fabricated geniuses are dead they will not exist.— Ernest Hemingway [Image: http://www.moviezeal.com]

Inception

2011-03-14T14:56:00.003-04:00

She moved the lantern into the corner where it burned, now yellow, now blue, and she lay inclined on the floor, resting her head on the rim of the wooden crate. The side of her face went dark, only the white of her throat glowed. When I lay down by her, her hands came up soft and warm touching my face like she wanted to feel the remains of the smallpox scourge. I held still, forgetting myself.

Verity

2011-01-04T13:49:00.000-05:00

Every day when I sit down to write, I try to stay true to myself