The Daily Oklahoman on Five Hundred Poor
“Five Hundred Poor” is a set of grim, slice-of-life stories set in Oklahoma and released this summer by Edmond writer Noah Milligan. The 10 stories taken together are an emotional gut-punch. The man's top-notch talent cannot be denied.
Foreword Reviews on Five Hundred Poor
"The collection’s Oklahoma backdrop is finely and sometimes bleakly depicted, set amid soul-sucking casinos, Waffle Houses, and roadside stores selling souvenir Woody Guthrie mugs and ceramic buffalo skulls. Summers are blistering, winters “brown and spindly,” the public schools mostly underfunded and unmotivated. There are also moments of hope and persistence, celebrating Oklahoma Thunder basketball victories or the glory of a chicken fried steak. Quirky and compelling, Five Hundred Poor offers a memorable tour through a region often too dismissively regarded as “flyover country.”
Cowboy Jamboree on Five Hundred Poor
"In Five Hundred Poor Noah Milligan doesn’t have any problem, as Larry Brown said, putting “trouble on the first page.” His stories get to it. In the opening paragraphs of the stories we find an illegitimate child, brain tissue from suicide by gunshot to the head, purple appendages, a deranged looking man with a chainsaw, biblical flooding, a school closing."
Interview with Orson's Publishing
OP: Tell us about the biggest sacrifice you’ve made while pursuing writing.
NM: Time with my children. Without a doubt. Writing is an impulse. An addiction. I love it. My identity is inexorably wrapped up in being a writer. But this also comes at a cost. I have to work. I have to write. And this means less time to spend with my kids. And this absolutely kills me. I feel like a monster because of it. And sometimes the regret and guilt become overwhelming. It’s difficult to be able to find that balance. And I’m still trying to find it.
Right now, as I’m typing this, my six-year-old and two-year-old are playing out in a kiddie pool in my backyard, and instead of playing with them, I’m in my office. I try to tell myself it’s okay. Later today, I’m taking them to Chuck E. Cheese because they love it, and tomorrow we’re all going to the zoo, but that doesn’t change the fact that I can hear them laughing, and I’m not there to laugh with them.
NM: Time with my children. Without a doubt. Writing is an impulse. An addiction. I love it. My identity is inexorably wrapped up in being a writer. But this also comes at a cost. I have to work. I have to write. And this means less time to spend with my kids. And this absolutely kills me. I feel like a monster because of it. And sometimes the regret and guilt become overwhelming. It’s difficult to be able to find that balance. And I’m still trying to find it.
Right now, as I’m typing this, my six-year-old and two-year-old are playing out in a kiddie pool in my backyard, and instead of playing with them, I’m in my office. I try to tell myself it’s okay. Later today, I’m taking them to Chuck E. Cheese because they love it, and tomorrow we’re all going to the zoo, but that doesn’t change the fact that I can hear them laughing, and I’m not there to laugh with them.