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The Off-Season: How To Survive The Writing Winters
By Wendy Newbury Every February, March, and April, I step into the role of general manager for my NFL team, a coveted position that passionate fans like myself eagerly embrace. Dubbed ‘armchair GMs,’ we immerse ourselves in every pivotal off-season event, hoping each move inches our team one step closer to the Lombardi Trophy. But…
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The Race
Fiction by Lisa Thornton I thought no way he’d do it. He was all talk, all the time. He’d always been like that. In high school, it was about how many girls, how many Miller High Lifes. He didn’t need to tell us how fast he could swim back then because he showed us. For…
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A Southern Philosopher’s Manifesto
A Review of George Singleton’s Asides: Occasional Essays By Donna M. Crow Even though George Singleton claims in the very first line of his Preface which he also calls an Apology, “I hate writing essays. It’s not my gig,” this humbly titled collection, Asides: Occasional Essays, may well be Singleton’s manifesto. Known for his sharp…
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Strike a Minor Chord
By C.W. Blackwell I was thirteen when I strummed my first guitar chord—a G major—on my father’s 12-string Epiphone acoustic. He’d started over with a new family in Santa Rosa just a few hours north of where I grew up, and I was visiting for summer break when he suggested I learn a few chords.…
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Black Limousine
Creative Nonfiction by Becs Tetley As I walked from my last class to the gym, I spotted the metal nose of the limousine peeking out from behind the high school entrance—the only space that fit its long, black frame. I picked up my pace, hoping you wouldn’t see me and no one would see you,…
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Comics, Dope, and Human Chemistry
By Brian Panowich Of the three comic book shops in Pensacola, Florida, the dingy, sprawling store on the “wrong” side of town was the one that best suited my needs. It was sandwiched between a row of dumpsters and a tattoo parlor on the east side of the panhandle, and a rock’s throw from a…
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The Craft of Listening: The Story’s Unique Scale
By Koss A few years ago, while in deep grief, I became aware that stories and poems reside in my body, not just in my head. A poem might wake me up in the form of a low thrum in the night. Sometimes every beat of the poem would come before the words arrived–as a…
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Found Missing
Fiction by Coleman Bigelow It was windy that day, and I remember the chill I couldn’t shake. We were headed to the falls, a favorite hangout above town and the perfect spot to get high. My bike wobbled and I struggled to pedal forward on that county road. Every time the wind gusted, I felt…
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These Things Fall Into My Mind
By Ilyn Welch Adult coloring and maze books bore me. I forgot how to crochet. I don’t have a personal watercraft in my life, and never will at my age. Perhaps I’m a ho-hum individual. But five to seven days a week, I am fortunate enough to walk two dogs during the quietest time of…
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Story Crafting Below the Surface
By Jolene McIlwain Once upon a time, I could literally see inside people. Before I tried and failed at my dream of becoming a published poet, before I wrote a novel, and a group of short stories (the former sits unpublished in a drawer and the latter was published last year as the story collection,…