Horse Girl Fever<\/em><\/a> (CLASH, January 2025). Like his previous books, it is hilarious, chaotic and tender. Maloney is not afraid of the big questions. These characters are searchers groping along for meaning and connection, or at least a good time.<\/p>\n*<\/strong><\/p>\n3:AM<\/strong>: The earliest stories in this book are from 2014. As you were organizing the collection, how did it feel to see them all next to each other? How did you think about sequencing them?<\/p>\nKevin Maloney<\/strong>: Yeah, that\u2019s a great question. For the sequence, it\u2019s chronological in terms of when they were written and published, so it traces an almost 10-year arc of writing stories. But also for the ones up front, I just wanted the collection to come in hot. I tried to pick stories that, love them or hate them, really plunge you right into the crazy world that my stories try to explore. So the people will know if they like my style or not. If this is the first book that they’re picking up, my hope is that coming in with that story \u201cGhost\u201d as the lead is very emblematic of the kind of stuff I write. The first couple stories send it to a crazy place, and then the third story has kind of a longer arc in terms of a character looking backwards, but I think it gives people a really good sense of my style. And they\u2019re stories that I think move quickly. The one thing with anything I write is that I don’t want people to get bored or feel like they’re slogging through it. Pacing’s really important to me and that dictated the first half, or the first few stories anyway. Then the rest was just intuitive. It\u2019s like when you’re making a mix CD or a mixtape or a playlist, just having a really intuitive sense of how flow works.<\/p>\n3:AM<\/strong>: In terms of that immediacy, you’re certainly not afraid for the shit to hit the fan in the first sentence or paragraph. I was curious how you think about the context in which we find your characters and how you make sure the readers care about these characters when we’re often finding them in such drastic circumstances?<\/p>\nKM<\/strong>: I think a lot of writers ask questions like, \u201cwhat are the stakes here? Why should a reader care?\u201d I don’t think I ask those right away. I just start writing and try to write something that isn’t boring and then, only later, once I’ve written four or five stories, do I get a sense that this story, for whatever reason, seems to have something more going on. When I\u2019m writing, I\u2019m trying to get in a flow state and trust my gut and not overthink things and discover things as I’m writing them. Later, I find that some of the stories seem like they have more weight, or that beauty snuck in or something unexpected happened that felt like the story experienced a revelation that I wasn’t even intending. Those are the stories I then end up trying to give more care to and flesh out. So really, I just listen to the work itself without coming in with a lot of intentions. I know writers that are really successful and good at what they do and it’s the opposite. They plan things, they ask themselves those questions while they’re writing and before they’re writing. I just think I have a much more musical approach, where I\u2019m trying to make it move quickly and sound good to my brain and be fun and funny. Later, I find the meaning or I don\u2019t. And if I don\u2019t, they just go in the scrap heap.<\/p>\n3:AM<\/strong>: So how many stories that you start do you find yourself finishing?<\/p>\nKM<\/strong>: I certainly don’t finish them all. I have tons of fragments lying around. I wrote a fragment seven years ago and I’m like, \u201coh I still think there’s something there.\u201d I just haven’t been able to figure out where it’s supposed to go in a way that turns it into a story. I go through phases. I mean, I have a full-time job, my life gets crazy sometimes, but when life is settled down and I find myself with more time, I tend to just write every day. I might get a story, or most of a story, in one day. Or I might just get a fragment, or I might write something just terrible but to me it feels like going to the gym. There’s no wasted workout, it’s all about getting used to the daily practice. Then after a couple weeks of that, maybe a couple weeks of writing for three or four hours a day, I might get two halfway decent stories out of that. Or the bones of two decent stories. But some of my best work happens like that, when I’ve been writing every day and then one day I write something and it\u2019s almost perfect right when it comes out. Some of the stories that made it into this collection didn’t involve a lot of drafts, they just sort of came out hot after a lot of practice.<\/p>\n3:AM<\/strong>: Since you wrote many of these while you were also writing novels, I\u2019m curious how your approach differs for short stories compared to novels, and how you balance those two approaches?<\/p>\nKM<\/strong>: What\u2019s interesting is that back then I don’t think I knew the difference. I sort of wrote Cult of Loretta<\/em> by accident while I was trying to write short stories. It came out of two or three short stories I was working on, fragments that I found a way to turn into something a little longer. When I set out to write The Red-Headed Pilgrim<\/em>, it’s still a very short novel at 50,000 words, but by my standards it was the longest thing I’d written, and when I set out to write it, it was very much like, \u201cokay I am writing a novel. How do I do that?\u201d I actually really struggled with it, I think because I was coming from a world of short stories where my pacing was so fast, going 1,000 miles an hour. I still wanted my novel to move quickly but if you do that for 50,000 words it could be too much. So I had to find places where I can slow down a little bit or build on things from chapter to chapter, and so I do think that’s the different skill involved in the novel is the pacing changes a little bit. My favorite short stories are ones where it feels like you’re going 100 miles an hour and then you take a left and then you take another left and then you drive off a cliff and then it ends. It doesn’t have to loop back for me, it doesn’t have to be telling a bigger story. Sometimes it’s just a lot of surprises and then a revelation. But a novel has to build on itself, so it’s a much more complicated thing to do. I’ve been in the novel headspace now for eight years, and I feel like right now I’m trying to get back into a short story mindset. I think it’s much more playful and much more whimsical. A lighter touch. So right now, I\u2019m trying to have fun with writing where I\u2019m not thinking about bigger themes or longer character arcs. Just trying to find the fun and playfulness so that I can write some short stories again. I do think they’re different mindsets, and I\u2019m trying to find that short story mindset right now.<\/p>\n3:AM<\/strong>: It\u2019s interesting to hear you talk about the surprises and then the revelation, because often in these stories we find characters in emotionally intense situations where their lives may be spiraling in absurd ways \u2013 I\u2019m thinking of \u201cMalaria Diaries\u201d here \u2013 but they are still able to arrive at some kind of revelation or truth. I\u2019m curious how you think about balancing that absurdity and the intensity with the tenderness that we often get at the end of your stories?<\/p>\nKM<\/strong>: I think that’s my favorite thing to find when I’m reading so it’s what I’m looking for when I\u2019m writing. I don’t always find it. I do think that the first two-thirds of writing a story is a lot about practice and writing every day and finding a voice. I\u2019m really into being a voice writer and it’s fun for me to push these characters into crazy situations, maybe loosely drawn from my life, but with the volume turned way up, the absurdity turned up. For the revelation towards the end, I can tell when I’m getting to the point in the story where I need it. A lot of my characters are just not in control of their own lives. Things are happening to them. I think I’ve felt that way in my youth certainly, and in lots of cases in my life. The feeling that life is moving so fast and I’m just barely keeping up and I’m making maybe crazy bad decisions, but they can lead to really beautiful things. Then I do feel like in life there are moments when something happens and you just stop and it’s like your head got pulled out from under water. Like, oh, now I see. But I don’t think we stay in that moment for long. We quickly plug back into our lives, being overwhelmed and just barely staying afloat, and I’m really interested in those moments. I’m really interested in Buddhism and there’s certain teachings where they say that enlightenment is easy, everybody’s been enlightened but it might have been lost in two seconds. The trick is how do you keep going back, or how do you take those two seconds and bring them back into your life. I don’t think my characters do that successfully, but I want them to have that moment, that revelation, that moment where they see their own lives for a split second. In terms of how to write that, I have no idea. I think it\u2019s just a gut, intuitive thing and I’ll try something and it either works or it doesn’t and I just kind of know immediately if something special happened in that moment of the story or if it just fizzled. The ones where it felt like something special happened are the ones that I send to the magazines or end up in this book.<\/p>\n3:AM<\/strong>: You are obviously a very funny writer, your sense of humor is one of the defining features of your work, but are there any particular moments when your characters are really going through it that you think, okay now it’s definitely time for a joke or else this will be too bleak?<\/p>\nKM<\/strong>: I do think I grew up in a family that was pretty uncomfortable talking about feelings and I think when you grow up like that, a lot of stand-up comics talk about this too, sometimes your only outlet, your only relief, is in humor in the darkest moments. My dad died in 2015, and during some of the bleakest moments, something really funny would happen. I don’t think I cry easy, it\u2019s something I’m trying to get better at, but I think sometimes humor is the escape valve for extreme sadness or bleak events. I think a lot of times there’s an underlying sadness or underlying grief in my stories but there’s a lot of humor that’s going with it. I try to pay attention to moments in the story, where if the default has been absurdity and humor, then you suddenly get this moment that feels real and vulnerable. I think it shines more for the reader, hopefully. When I read books that just try from the very first sentence to tug at your heart, I don’t know that I feel as a reader like it’s earned that. I almost feel as a reader that I have to be seduced by humor, by interesting events, then once you have me, if you give me tenderness it’s more meaningful. I guess that\u2019s what I\u2019m trying to achieve in my stories. Sometimes the bleakness may come across in a vulnerable real way but most of the time it’s going to have a humorous element just because that’s how I respond to the world.<\/p>\n3:AM<\/strong>: It\u2019s a line you walk really well, seducing the reader with humor then still having the emotion land. It\u2019s impressive. I feel like a lot of characters in these stories and across your books are looking at their messy lives and decide to get really fucked up and go deeper into that mess. What do you think of the role that drugs and alcohol play in the self-destruction that feels necessary for your characters to arrive at some sort of clarity?<\/p>\nKM<\/strong>: That\u2019s a great question, and it’s a question I’ve asked myself and even tried to write about in an essay format to better understand. Because I do think drugs and alcohol are very complex. In my youth, smoking weed in the forest felt like my attempt to strive at something that felt bigger and almost mystical. A connection to the divine. It felt like a bunch of kids growing up without religion trying to find God, almost. There was really something beautiful about it, and psychedelics felt very similar. But then I had friends who I grew up having those same experiences with, and some of them succumbed to mental illness, some of them became addicted to opioids, a couple of them died, so there’s a dark side to drugs too. I’m very lucky that I never had any addiction to hard drugs. I have a complicated relationship with alcohol. Sometimes it lifts my life up and sometimes I know I’m using it for the wrong reasons, so I think in my stories it does feel the same way. Like when you\u2019re in a band and you step on a distortion pedal and it suddenly changes everything. You were playing this very clear part of a song and then you step on the fuzz pedal and everything changes, and maybe for me drugs are a way to do that. I hope that drugs are as complicated in my work as they are in life, where sometimes they serve as this thing that can create really beautiful and unexpected moments, because it’s about lifting a character out of the mundane, but then other times they can lead people to destruction and addiction. I think drugs and alcohol serve both those purposes in life, but in a story I think it\u2019s a way of turning up the absurdity or turning up the darkness. It almost feels like a knob that I can adjust for these characters to make something happen. My main hope is that there’s a real cliche way to write about drugs and I’m always, hopefully, avoiding that. I’m sure I’m stepping into those cliches sometimes but I’m always trying to, through language and inventiveness, use it in a way that maybe I haven’t seen it done before. You know, that’s a tricky thing, to avoid those pitfalls.<\/p>\n3:AM<\/strong>: I’m glad you brought up smoking pot in the woods as a teenager, because I feel like teenagers and the way they see the world is a huge theme in these stories and across your books, particularly their concept of authenticity. When we do come across an adult character who appears to be a little more settled, it seems they often think about themselves with that former teenage skepticism. Can you tell me how you think about teenage-hood, the importance of those years, and how we carry them as we get older?<\/p>\nKM<\/strong>: Yeah, that\u2019s something I think about all the time because I think that our teenage selves have this wisdom as we’re standing on the cusp of beginning our adult lives. I think there is a clarity at that moment that is really beautiful and I think it’s because we live in a capitalist world where our lives, to such a big extent, are governed by having to pay bills and make money and where do we compromise? Adulthood is about compromise and managing our time because we all have to go out to make money, but you know as we’re teenagers \u2013 I mean I worked, but I worked part-time at a grocery store or something, and it still felt like I was I was living in this very pure way where art to me felt like religion. The music I listened to, the visual art I would see, the movies I would watch, felt spiritual to me, and I just knew I didn’t want to lose that. I had seen so many people who felt like life is so beautiful, and doors are opening, and then you just get stuck in a job and doors start to close in adulthood. I was very curious at that age about how certain people live a life that feels more like Jimi Hendrix and Vincent Van Gogh than somebody who is stuck in an office talking about, \u201coh, I used to do wild stuff back in the day.\u201d I mean, maybe Jimi Hendrix and Van Gogh are bad examples because they both died young, and I think sometimes people do burn up and burn brightly, so maybe I tried to emulate people who burned brightly but also paced themselves a little better for the long haul and walked themselves back from the edge a little bit. So yeah, I’m really interested at every stage of life to check in with my former self that saw this possibility of living a very special, unique artistic life where art is at the center and trying to be awake and aware and drinking in the beauty of life every day. I’m always checking in with that part of myself like, \u201cam I doing this right or am I compromising too much?\u201d All while still trying to benefit from what comes with age, which is that you’re not such an idiot anymore. You know some things, you have a little bit of wisdom, and maybe this comes back to some of the Buddhist ideas I\u2019m interested in. Ideas like Zen Mind, Beginner\u2019s Mind, the idea that before you know things, right when you’re about to begin a journey, there’s an openness that in itself is really incredible. We should always try to return to that.<\/p>\n3:AM<\/strong>: To that point, I really loved the story \u201cHorse Girl Fever\u201d because it felt like the first time we get to spend a significant amount of time in childhood, as opposed to the teenage years. How did you feel writing about that part of childhood that predates the adult themes you tackle elsewhere?<\/p>\nKM<\/strong>: Maybe it sounds strange, but it took me a while to find the courage to write about my early childhood because it was set in the suburbs and it was so safe. I grew up in a suburb of Portland called Beaverton, Oregon, and it was very safe and secure and middle class, and I think we live in a world where that’s not sexy. But in retrospect, I felt grateful for the security and stability, and life is complex no matter where you grow up, no matter how you grow up. So, I think I’ve had to learn that it’s okay to write about growing up in this relatively secure way. Just describing children in the suburbs having the awakening of sexuality and not really knowing what to do with that and being kind of nerdy kids. I think sometimes for me there’s authenticity in returning to the kind of nerdy grade school kid I was in the suburbs, and I just hope that readers pick up that I\u2019m not putting on airs or trying to be somebody I wasn\u2019t. I\u2019m just writing about some dorky kids who are obsessed with sex and don’t know what to do about that, having that world open up to them.<\/p>\n3:AM<\/strong>: You really do a great job with that experience. This line from \u201cMalaria Diaries\u201d kills me: \u201cWhen I was 13, I opened my dad\u2019s bedside table and found a picture book about Swedish hot tub culture. On page 27, there was a photograph of a naked woman so pretty I lost the ability to sleep for all of the 8th grade.\u201d So funny and also so universal, even if you didn\u2019t grow up in the suburbs, just because you really capture the weirdness of that age. Anyway, looking at these stories that were written over ten years, do you see any specific influences in certain stories, anything that reminds you who you were reading at the time?<\/p>\nKM<\/strong>: Yeah, I think for a lot of the stories that are really high on absurdity, which is around the time when I wrote Cult of Loretta<\/em>, I was really under the influence of Catch-22<\/em> by Joseph Heller. That really woke me up to absurd comedy and turning that up to an 11, what that can look like. So in the early work I know that Joseph Heller was a really big influence. Throughout all the stories, Denis Johnson\u2019s Jesus\u2019 Son<\/em> is just a book I always turn back to. If I’m not writing well, I’ll just listen to one of those stories on audio and hear the cadences of how it’s read and it gets me right into a really exciting place. Towards some of the later work, I was reading a lot more contemporary writers who are working right now. Reading a lot of Scott McClanahan, Brian Allen Carr, Elle Nash, and Juliet Escoria. Contemporary writers who are doing really exciting things. So, I can see how I was trying to write to my contemporaries, or at least people that I find really exciting who are writing right now. There’s a great quote my buddy Aaron Burch posts often, Denis Johnson said something about how his favorite writer is himself because when he reads his own work he can see all of his heroes in the work. And when I read my own work, I think, oh I ripped off that technique from Denis Johnson, I ripped that one off from Kurt Vonnegut, oh that’s a Richard Brautigan move or whatever. So it’s fun to see those things come out of my own work because I’m just constantly imitating people who blew me away in one way or another.<\/p>\n3:AM<\/strong>: In terms of setting, The Red-Headed Pilgrim<\/em> is a real road novel defined by movement across the country, but these stories are grounded in and around Portland, a lot like Cult of Loretta<\/em>, and I’m just curious how your relationship to the city has changed over time and how it’s impacted your writing?<\/p>\nKM<\/strong>: Yeah, that\u2019s a great question. I grew up in the suburbs of Portland, so to me as a kid Portland represented this kind of opening of the world. My friends and I used to drive into the city when we were 16 and go to this club called La Luna and I got to see Elliott Smith before he had a solo career, and it was just like, oh my god Portland is so fucking cool. But this was also before Portland became this kind of hipster center of America. Portland was pretty gritty back then and most people wanted to get away from here, wanted to go to New York or San Francisco or LA and go be an artist outside of the city. My experience was that, when I was in my early 20s, I moved to New England. I think I was intimidated by the idea of moving to New York, but I had this sense that I had to leave, and then when I came back to Portland in 2007, it was suddenly this destination for people. It had a mythic quality, and it was so weird to come back to the city I had left and see people living here in a way that I’d never associated with Portland. It was exciting to see my city be reborn, but now it’s in this new phase after the protests in 2020, and it’s sort of become a hit piece for Fox News. It’s a polarizing place and there are issues with homelessness and drug addiction that are very real here that the city is reckoning with, and I think Portland is all of those things. It’s a very complex place, and my relationship to it has included all that complexity. I mean, I think I’m going to die here. I love this city deeply and I’ve seen it be many different things and I think it’s like Walt Whitman said, it contains multitudes. And maybe every place does. I love to just go for walks, it’s one of my favorite things in the world. I just walk around the city daily and just look at people and I just find an endless source of inspiration and fascination with this sense of place. And it\u2019s fun to go to other places and return to Portland and see it again fresh. It\u2019s just a city I really deeply love that I don\u2019t think can be reduced to any one image.<\/p>\n3:AM<\/strong>: I think you can really feel that love in the writing, and you do a good job of avoiding the cliche of \u201cus versus the hipsters.\u201d One subtle moment I loved in \u201cWrath of the Red-Eyed Wizard\u201d is the narrator watching the Trail Blazers game at a crowded bar and he\u2019s getting weird looks because he\u2019s the only one who knows the players\u2019 names. Just captures a certain dynamic really nicely. You mentioned Buddhism before, and death is often looming in these stories, sometimes as a source of anxiety, sometimes as a source of comfort. What is the role of death and its inevitability in your writing? It feels like something that your characters are kind of always reckoning with.<\/p>\nKM<\/strong>: Hopefully in my stories there\u2019s this idea of memento mori, remember death. I think this goes back to the Renaissance where people would paint skulls and just write \u201cremember death,\u201d as a way of reminding ourselves at every little stage in life \u2013 in the same way I spoke about talking to your inner teenager and asking, \u201cam I really living a good life?\u201d \u2013 talking to yourself on your future deathbed and asking, \u201cam I living a good life? What will I regret? Am I really awake and alive in this moment?\u201d In that way, it just serves as a reminder that this is all temporary and there’s no stocking up of goods, ultimately. We\u2019re all just passing through, and I think that’s a very Buddhist way of seeing the world. My own relationship to death has really changed. I think I used to be a much more fearful person and I was hypochondriac and I was really scared of death, but since my dad died in 2015 and I saw the whole process, and as you get older you know more people who died, young people who died, I think that I’m a less fearful person and I am starting to have a sense of how death is just part of life. It’s inseparable from life, so it’s scary but there’s no difference between life and death. There is no life without death, there is no death without life. I think just walking around the world and trying to hold on to that is important in a world that wants us to be scrolling on our phone all day and selling us things and forgetting. I think things like psychedelics and meditating on mortality, and revisiting our inner teenager, these are things just pull us away from our phones, pull us away from the capitalist system, pull away from the commodification of things and just return us to wonder. I want to dwell in wonder as much as possible.<\/p>\n3:AM<\/strong>: So, what are you working on now? It sounds like you are coming back to short stories, or do you have any longer pieces going?<\/p>\nKM<\/strong>: Yeah, I’m sitting on two different longer pieces, one novella and one novel. I’m still kind of editing and figuring out what I want for them. But they’re done enough that I\u2019m stepping away from them for a minute. What I’m really doing right now at this moment, I\u2019ve sort of had a tumultuous year. I went through a divorce, and I just got a new apartment, setting up this new life, and I feel like I’m about to enter a period of stability, but with a sense of newness too. I think that’s why I\u2019m really excited by the idea of publishing my first short story collection now that I’m like, okay, I’m kind of bookending this early part of my career but what does the next part look like? And I think returning to the short story and experimentation and not thinking too much and just creating a lot of content without any name sounds really fun to me. It\u2019s reflective of where I’m at in life right now. I\u2019m just trying to be playful, and I\u2019m also excited about reading a lot of short story writers. I think I\u2019m becoming a better, more widely read person and I just want other new voices to inform me and see how that changes my own writing. So yeah, I feel like I’m really at a fulcrum right now, but I feel like I’m at the beginning of a lot of exciting things and I don’t know what those are yet.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n
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ABOUT THE INTERVIEWEE<\/strong>
\nKevin Maloney<\/a> is the author of The Red-Headed Pilgrim<\/em> (Two Dollar Radio, 2023), Horse Girl Fever<\/em> (CLASH Books, 2025), and Cult of Loretta<\/em> (Lazy Fascist, 2015). At times a TJ Maxx associate, grocery clerk, outdoor school instructor, organic farmer, electrician, high school English teacher, and teddy bear salesman, Kevin currently works as a web developer and writer. His fiction has appeared in Fence<\/em>, Barrelhouse<\/em>, HAD<\/em>, Forever Mag<\/em>, and a number of other journals and anthologies. He lives in Portland, Oregon.<\/p>\nABOUT THE INTERVIEWER<\/strong>
\nLeo Vartorella<\/strong> is a writer from Brooklyn, NY who lives in the Scottish Highlands. He is the author of the chapbook Stories<\/em> (SLAB, 2024). His work has appeared in New World Writing<\/em>, HAD<\/em> and Maudlin House<\/em>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"I do feel like in life there are moments when something happens and you just stop and it’s like your head got pulled out from under water. Like, oh, now I see. But I don’t think we stay in that moment for long. We quickly plug back into our lives, being overwhelmed and just barely staying afloat, and I’m really interested in those moments. I’m really interested in Buddhism and there’s certain teachings where they say that enlightenment is easy, everybody’s been enlightened but it might have been lost in two seconds. The trick is how do you keep going back, or how do you take those two seconds and bring them back into your life. I don’t think my characters do that successfully, but I want them to have that moment, that revelation, that moment where they see their own lives for a split second.<\/p>\n
Kevin Maloney<\/strong> interviewed by Leo Vartorella<\/strong>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":115856,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-115855","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-interviews"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/115855","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=115855"}],"version-history":[{"count":10,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/115855\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":115868,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/115855\/revisions\/115868"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/115856"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=115855"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=115855"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=115855"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
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