Sean Beaudoin

Enough excellent writing to fill a large tube sock

My Books:

From the Blog


L.A. Book Soup Reading

Zero narcissism with this one, just an excuse to give Henry Cherry, the mad lensman of Hollywood, some props. I genuinely love this photograph, which looks like a lost Robert Frank. Or the second before something goes down at the Ambassador Hotel. On the other hand, you could put one of those black "cartel informant" rectangles over my eyes and suddenly it's Mapplethorpe's post-whip literary period. Either way, Hank's got the shutter finger nailed. I knew one day I'd end up in the Whitney, but I guess I always thought it'd be after buying a ticket.

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“I ran down the hall. And stopped in front of the counselor’s office. There was nothing there. Not even a door, just bricks. I could swear there used to be a door.”

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