Tag: NLR nonfiction
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Dear Francine du Plessix Gray
“I’m said to be a very gifted analysand,” you humble-bragged in your interview, quite elegantly. I used to be so efficient with my therapist’s time, but the older I get, the more agile I become at skirting the stuff that makes me ugly-cry. Creative Nonfiction by Candace Walsh
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Coffee Routine
My teammates’ hands reach for a touch, their fingers wiggling like sea anemones in my periphery. In the car ride home, my father teaches me the word charisma. Creative Nonfiction by Susannah Borysthen-Tkacz
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Mona Lisa in Bronze
Where had he found rum? I took a sip. It was strong but sweet. Warm from his hands. “In Cuba we have a saying,” he said, “when you drink from my cup, you learn my secrets.” Creative Nonfiction by Dacia Price
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Traumatic Detour
Sometimes, during a lull between murders, I realize we’re due for another. Often, within a day or two of me realizing this, something dreadful occurs: a mass shooting; a bombing; a knifing rampage; a truck accelerating along the sidewalk. When this happens, I feel instantaneous remorse, as if I should have tweeted a warning: “Don’t…
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Pianoforte
Nonfiction by Angela Palm You are the music while the music lasts. –T.S. Eliot My friend R. asked me once what drives my creative work. “Sorrow. Desire,” I said. “Those are very different things.” I disagreed. Everything I wanted made me sad.
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Nelson, “(Can’t Live Without Your) Love and Affection”
Nonfiction by Joni Tevis It doesn’t feel like heavy metal, in part because it’s so sunny. “What we grew up listening to wasn’t blues,” said Gunnar. “It’s pretty easy to make a rock song sound tough when your DNA is the blues. But when your DNA is folk, it’s harder.”
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Maroon Bells
Nonfiction by Josh Potter Summer, 1976: +++My parents late twenties, newly dating, visit the Maroon Bells wilderness outside of Aspen. These two people, John and Suzie, are in love, will inevitably conceive my brother and I, and will return to this place again and again though neither of them know it yet.
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Seen & Overheard: A Year on the Bus in Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside
Nonfiction by Leanna McLennan 12 September A man in a torn grey jacket staggers onto the bus. +++“It’s the postmodern god. It’s the postmodern god,” he says to the bus driver.