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Cornbread, Piss, and Figs: An Essay on Grief and Home
By Jessica Cory It’s nearing 8:30 PM the Sunday before Spring Equinox when I find myself in the darkened backseat of my husband’s red Outback weaving through the Blue Ridge Mountains with a hunk of cornbread in my left hand as my right rests on a bucket quarter-full of undiluted, pungent, piss. A note on…
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Soundscapes: Music Practice
By Erin Calabria I can’t talk about music without talking about silence. During high school, when I began composing on the piano, I didn’t tell my teacher. This music wasn’t like anything I’d ever been assigned, the fingerings were meant to fit rather than strain my small hands, and everything was by ear. This music…
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AITA: Am I the Asshole For Not Walking Away From Omelas
Creative Nonfiction by Paul Crenshaw I, (51 M), was born and raised in Omelas, and have lived here all my life. It is a beautiful town, bright-towered by the sea. The Festival of Summer arrives and the bells ring and under the great avenues of trees the stately processions begin. There is music, dancing. Arts…
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Those Little Rising Lights
By Cathy Ulrich Every morning, it’s still dark when I wake. Even in the longest days of summer, I wake before the sun. In the dark, I can see the lights from town. The airport sits atop the horizon, all red and white blinking lights. Without my glasses, they are blur and shimmer, not quite…
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TEXT ME BACK
Creative Nonfiction by Sara Gerot He left during the beginning of the COVID lockdown. I didn’t beg him to come back, which was the usual game wherein I would plead, apologize, and cajole. Though, to be honest, I did for the first couple days, but gave up, which was new. Back when I played the…
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Where My Words Come From
By Damon McKinney Growing up on a reservation in central Oklahoma wasn’t inspiring, at least at the time. Having Sunday dinners at my grandparents simple two-bedroom home wasn’t either, nor were the late nights at the family honkytonk, or running the streets of my hometown. Yet, those core memories are the anchors of my work.…
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I Know a Man
CNF by Kevin Brennan I know a man who will do things for you. Things you don’t want to do. I know a man who will get down and dirty. He’ll gird up for it, he’ll suit himself in hazmat skin. He’ll strap on goggles. He’ll tape his pant legs to his rubber boots. He’ll…
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Solving for X: Word Problems for Novelists
By Tiffany Quay Tyson In elementary school, I sometimes[1] read novels behind my math book. The teacher would write multiplication tables on the chalkboard or drone on about common denominators while I was fully immersed in some story by Lois Duncan or Louise Fitzhugh or Judy Blume. What was the point of memorizing multiplication tables…