Category: Nonfiction
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We Are All Art Monsters
Nonfiction by Rachel Lyon Like many readers I encountered the phrase “art monster” when I read Jenny Offill’s novel Department of Speculation. “My plan was to never get married,” her female narrator says. “I was going to be an art monster instead. Women almost never become art monsters because art monsters only concern themselves with…
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Baby Books
Nonfiction by Alyssa Ross +++“You were an awful child,” Mother likes to say, especially when she has some red wine and an audience. She weaves exaggerated tales in her slight Southern bark: stories about the terrible things I’ve done and the grief she’s endured.
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Don’t Stop Me Now
Christine Quattro, Don’t Stop Me Now, Essay Christine Quattro, Nonfiction Christine Quattro, queen christine quattro, queen essay christine quattro, Queen essay quattroNonfiction by Christine Quattro (November 23, 1991) Five days before Thanksgiving, Freddie Mercury released a statement. It said that he was dying. Twenty-four hours later, he was gone.
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Up, Up: From Furrow to Silo
Julia Shipley, nonfiction, nonfiction by julia shipley, nonfiction short, Up Up from Furrow to Silo, up up nonfiction, up up nonfiction shipleyNonfiction by Julia Shipley Go ahead, tell me your totem animal is Wolf, She-bear, Eagle. Mine? Heat Bug, Jar Fly, Lyre Man: Magicicada Septendecula.
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Lap Dance
Nonfiction by Katherine Heiny (Imaginary conversation with my parents: “This is my daughter-in-law, Brandi. She works at Hooters.”)
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Ski Lesson
Becky Mendelbaum, mendelbaum ski lesson, non-fiction short, nonfiction short, nonfiction story, Ski Lesson, ski lesson mendelbaumBy Becky Mendelbaum When I tell my mother I’m going skiing, she laughs. “That’s strange,” she says. “You’ve always hated skiing.”
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Here I Am
Excerpt from The Map of Enough by Molly Caro May Grass scratched up against my hips. Grass, it seemed, was the way here, even as dark rushed around me: miles of grass, tall and dense and stretching back to black clumps of trees, slumbering mountains, and who knows what else on this warm July night.
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Solstice
Nonfiction by Sean Prentiss Kingfisher Sarah’s birthday morning, she and her father in one canoe, casting into a stillwater lake. Blue dog and I in another, the solo canoe. Blue whining for land, whining to chase after frogs and snakes.