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The Pie Was a Final Draft: Geologic Time
By Michaella Thornton A long time ago I dated a man whose brother described him as “moving in geologic time.” As someone who had majored in anthropology and also studied geology, I was both baffled and amused by this description because humanity is but a blip in the more enduring measures of time. What a…
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Healthy Habits: Reckoning with Fear
By Valerie Peralta My troubles melt away in water. Whether swimming laps in a pool, floating on my back in the Gulf of Mexico, or jumping waves in the Atlantic, I am mentally transported, simultaneously at peace and filled with joy. In fact, my love for the water is what drew me to triathlon. Little did I know…
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The Pie Was a Final Draft: Holding Up the Mirror
By Michaella Thornton At the end of May, I traveled to Hermann, Missouri to hang out with three of my closest girlfriends, women I’ve known since I was a teenager. Somehow I’ve kept these friends for almost 30 years. One of us lives near Portland, Maine. The rest of us reside in or near Kansas…
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Country Craft: Parking Your Writing
By Stuart Phillips My friend, Susan Muaddi Darraj, is a proselytizing member of the five a.m. writers’ club. Frankly, not a club I’ve ever had any interest in joining. Instead, I have contented myself by building my “writing life” on the fringes of my “real” life. And there’s the rub. I tell myself I will…
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Artful Academics: What Are The Odds?
By BrandY Renee McCann I have a math lesson. Wait—bear with me, please! In an introductory statistics class in graduate school (also taught in 4th grade math in the state of Virginia), one of the first principles we learned is that two unrelated things can be correlated, or seem to have a relationship with one…
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The Pie Was a Final Draft: Lilacs
By Michaella Thornton Because I’m a plant-obsessed dork, five years ago I wrote an Instagram ode to a Miss Kim lilac bush in my backyard: [In 2016] this lilac bush was felled by a neighbor’s dead tree, which fell on our back porch, too. The tree ruined our fence, and, I thought, my beloved lilac…
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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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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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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…