Molly Gaudry SLC 2018.jpg

Hello, and welcome to my website, where you can read excerpts from my first two books, We Take Me Apart and Desire. Or view #littlebitsoffit from Fit Into Me, the third installment of my ongoing series.

* If you’re looking for MoGa Mini Gallery, click here or visit my Etsy store.

The highlight of this year's AWP: "Pie on a pancake."

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Several weeks ago, Lily Hoang and Christopher Newgent planned a pie-eating adventure for us in DC, but on the set date, by the time we were ready for pie, all our hopes and dreams were dashed when we learned that Open City closes at midnight. We persevered and declared we would pie and by god would we pie on Thursday, which found Chris and me at the PANK - Mud Luscious - Analemma reading, and was totally awesome by the way, but that night was not to be pie night because Lily was not there; so that night was The Diner night, where I had eggs and bacon with Dan Bailey and his friends and Tim Jones-Yelvington, who tells me I said, "I'm so hungry I could eat pie. And pancakes. Pie ON pancakes." But I did not, and not on Friday either; after the sold-out HTML Giant party, no one was in any condition to even think about pie, and anyway Lily had called it an early night. Saturday, however, all our plans were realized. I ordered pie. And a pancake. And coffee. When the coffee came I took a slurp and howled, “That coffee just sent my tongue straight to hell!” And when I blew on it and it spilled into my lap, a drop shot up and arced right into the bulls eye of my, um, eye, and Tim died and said, “That coffee just sent your eye straight to hell!” When my pie finally came, on a pancake, someone must have given me shit (maybe it was Lincoln Michel, who came along not for pie but for hot chocolate and our terrific company) because the waitress said, "Just let her have her bliss!" So I had my first bite of bliss. And gagged. And said, "This tastes like cherry glue stick." Lily proceeded to hand me a ramekin of whipped butter, which I slathered onto my pancake with what can only be called love. Then the syrup, which I let ooze and ooze onto that crumb topping like the more I poured the happier I'd be and the longer I'd live. She then removed half the ice cream from her pie and slapped it on mine. Then topped it with half her whipped cream. I ate that bliss. Let me tell you about that bliss. I am a fucking champ and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Pie on a pancake. An AWP tradition is born.

"Molly likes to pretend AWP is her everyday life, like she just walked into a bar and randomly ran into all her writer friends, like AWP is its own city and that city is where we live."

"Our lives were kinder then . . ."