Jeff Bond's stories can be found in McSweeney's Internet Tendency, the Carolina Quarterly, Sequestrum, Epiphany, Bridge Eight, and elsewhere. He lives in New York City, where he was for many years a staple of Manhattan daylife as a Happy Hour bartender. He also creates and edits video. jeffbond.nyc. 

Basic bio

Jeff Bond's writing is usually funny or sad; often both. His stories can be found or is forthcoming in McSweeney's Internet Tendency, the Carolina Quarterly, Sequestrum, Epiphany, Bridge Eight, and elsewhere. He also creates and edits video, including music videos for rock icon Nancy Wilson and punk legend Richard Hell. For many years, Jeff was a staple of Manhattan daylife as a Happy Hour bartender. He recently finished a draft of a two-act stage play, a drama about suicide, grief, and blame. (It's hilarious.)

Epiphany bio

It’s not as if Bill were brimming with the particulars of his wife’s tragic end. “She was hit by a car.” Well, that could be anybody. Dorothy likewise was stingy with details from her own story: “Edgar was crushed by a tree.” 

No Relation

Edmund White reads the part of Max the Dog in Jeff Bond's story "Monster Monster" from the Winter Issue of Epiphany Magazine 2023.

"Monster Monster" (Feat. Edmund White) on Spotify

Margo. Elmer. Sunshine. Pee Wee. Everyone meet Wispy. Oh, you too, Milkshakes. Good boy. The dogs swirl around him, making terrific sounds. Wispy is welcomed, and wants to smell the kitchen garbage can.

Sunshine

“Man has always wanted to fly. What I’m doing is no more a miracle than what the Wright brothers did. I’m just doing it without gas or wings or a pilot.”

~James Carny, interview, Communications in Theoretical Physics, July 2009

Icarus, Superstar

There was still evidence of handsomeness, Bryce thought, in the shape of Devon’s face. A fluttering eyelid revealed a dark russet eye. Devon looked most like his old self when you could see his eyes.

The Pitiless Kind

There was no way I could relax in this apartment if I didn’t make friends with the dog who’d basically taken over the place, so I looked him in the eyes. He put his face up to mine and said, quite clearly, “Je vais te tuer”—I’m going to kill you.

Monster Monster

Gotta beat Marcia. The words danced a rumba through his head. Gotta gotta gotta.

But why? How many times had they been through this rivalry? Had they learned nothing from the house of cards? Where was Tiger to foil this exercise?

Excerpts From My Novel, "Here's the Story of a Lovely Lady"

At night, Mrs. Dingle in her metal skirt seemed to glare across the street at them, the hedge clippers swaying perilously over her head. Linda could see it all, standing on the edge of the windowsill in her bedroom.

Selected work