NONFICTION

Sabina Murray | Nonfiction

Once, when my father was out of the country my mother asked me to cycle to the university library (my mother didn’t drive) to pick up some books. I was understandably wary. I was eleven and thought that being alone and in the library would be weird, but I also knew that my mother didn’t consider protest, at least not mine.

Sabina Murray | Nonfiction2019-08-14T11:47:38-04:00

Jay Keery | Nonfiction

What the fuck is going to happen when he gets to the gay bleacher section?! And then suddenly, Psychic Mark hits a snag. A stony woman wrapped in a draping black duster is scowling in Mark’s direction as he pulls out a series of random images: A fish tank, A blue orb, The letters B, C and A.

Jay Keery | Nonfiction2019-08-03T11:31:46-04:00

Claire Fallon | Nonfiction

I did not learn how to dread my parents’ death until college because I was too busy anticipating my own. My fear surpassed any charming precociousness altogether and sat itself squarely down on the couch at my first therapist’s office, peering out past its sad hermit shell onto the children’s books and tissue box on her table. There it was sailing with me at the top of the swing’s arc. And again, leering from the bottom of the aquatic center pool like the fabled turd that would shut down the place for hours at a time, except that the poop was real, and I was so, so full of it.

Claire Fallon | Nonfiction2019-06-29T12:38:48-04:00

Dominic Wright | Nonfiction

At the time, I had loose curly hair and was envious of your bald sides with the small bit of hair that resided on the top of your head. Each night, I would walk into the bathroom and place my palms on my forehead. Slowly, I brushed back all my hair with my hands and watched my curly afro disappear. Sometimes I even cracked a small smirk while placing my hand on the side of my belly, releasing a small laugh, just like yours.

Dominic Wright | Nonfiction2019-05-31T19:00:56-04:00

Lotte Mitchell Reford | Nonfiction

Update: I have checked again, and the dog is not a whippet or a greyhound. The dog is a sausage dog, which is something I would have known if I’d thought about it. Visual memory is particularly tricky. I wanted it to be a nice light dog, of a breed I admire, because that would go well, in black and white, with the seagrass and my grandmother’s light-grey hair.

Lotte Mitchell Reford | Nonfiction2019-05-31T11:23:06-04:00

Rowan Chand | Nonfiction

To broaden the scope of my own private dictionary and pinpoint an entry where I could fit, I found myself scouring the three books the public library had tagged with round rainbow stickers, pulling out the terms that fascinated me – dyke, butch, boi – and collaging them secretly in the nest of my being like some kind of sexually confused magpie. I didn’t want to be a “lesbian,” as that word sounded like a disease and not a person, but I wasn’t allowed to be a “boy” if I wasn’t “trans,” and I wasn’t “trans,” not completely.

Rowan Chand | Nonfiction2019-05-15T18:22:45-04:00

Mina Hamedi | Nonfiction

Today, the ropes swing violently. Strung from the roof, they hang down the side of my building. They beat against my bedroom windows. I can see seven from my living room. The ropes seem to be suspended in the air, independent from the building.

Mina Hamedi | Nonfiction2019-05-15T18:22:50-04:00

Natalie Sharpe | Nonfiction

The summer before I turn 17, I go to a six-week academic camp where I focus on writing and dance. We talk in one of my classes about psychosomatic medicine, the notion that touch can cure certain ailments and has a distinct psychological effect on us. Whether used for harm or for healing, physical contact is a critical element of human interaction.

Natalie Sharpe | Nonfiction2019-05-15T18:22:54-04:00

Carrie Bindschadler | Nonfiction

"Two years after I unfriended John on Facebook, Tempest and I were lying in her bed watching and re-watching the scene in Pride and Prejudice where Mr. Darcy is so overwhelmed by the touch of Lizzie’s hand that he splays his fingers, as if to reach back through time for memory of her skin on his."

Carrie Bindschadler | Nonfiction2019-04-07T13:06:33-04:00

Patrick Dundon | Nonfiction

Dad looked over his shoulder to check his blind spot. He answered me, keeping his eyes on the road, “I used to think about that kind of stuff when I was your age,” he told me, “but after a while, it doesn’t bother you anymore.”

Patrick Dundon | Nonfiction2019-04-07T12:55:06-04:00

Tania Pabón Acosta | Nonfiction

She’d been falling asleep often, nodding off while you were talking to her, mid-sentence. It was a new symptom of her disease. She wasn’t forgetting faces yet, but names, places and dates were a jumbled mess.

Tania Pabón Acosta | Nonfiction2019-04-04T23:01:13-04:00

Annabel Lang | Nonfiction

The other dyke was talking to the father of the bride. I put myself at his elbow, turning my face towards him and my body towards her. He paused their conversation to introduce us. “Annabel, have you met my niece Other Dyke?”

Annabel Lang | Nonfiction2019-04-04T22:53:20-04:00

Mira Schlosberg | Nonfiction

The dream of the body is that it could be more than it is. When I see my body – the parts that are physically present for the light to bounce off of – I am often disoriented because there are so many other manifestations of myself that feel equally real.

Mira Schlosberg | Nonfiction2019-04-06T13:23:01-04:00

Julia Perch | Nonfiction

I had a shoplifting habit at this time but I didn’t steal anything from Jessica Ruben because I took my job as a Boutique Retail Assistant very seriously.

Julia Perch | Nonfiction2019-02-27T00:39:49-04:00

Julie Seltzer | Nonfiction

I should turn the podcast off. It was the same when I read that book about Henrietta Lacks and got all worked up about cervical cancer: I, too, felt a knot in my abdomen. I, too, sensed that something was wrong.I, too, had pain during intercourse, at least some of the time, if Shmulik went too deep.

Julie Seltzer | Nonfiction2019-02-27T00:35:23-04:00

Sophie He | Nonfiction

My favorite mall fact was its origin story. The American mall was invented in the ‘50s by an Austrian architect and immigrant named Victor Gruen. Looking to his native Vienna as a source of inspiration, Gruen sought to design a civic square for shoppers in the sprawl.

Sophie He | Nonfiction2019-02-27T00:29:12-04:00

Elsa Valmidiano | Nonfiction

I lost a baby two years ago, still thinking of that lost body in my body, its cells permanently shed into the lining of my stomach and lungs, while I sit in front of the Tbilisi Galleria sharing a strange concoction of beef, lamb, onions, parsley, and eggs rolled into a lumpia-like roll...

Elsa Valmidiano | Nonfiction2019-01-03T11:21:58-04:00

Rachelle Toarmino | Nonfiction

The text read: BUG, your Rx is due now. Reply REFILL to fill, HELP for more info, & STOP to opt out of Rx alerts. I did not reply. A woman behind the counter asked if she could help me, and I stepped forward to hand her the orange USPS delivery slip.

Rachelle Toarmino | Nonfiction2019-01-03T11:24:23-04:00

Reilly Cox | Nonfiction

Iris is a tortoiseshell cat. Because so much of my house is mismatched patterns, it is difficult to photograph her. In most she will exist as a blur, a momentary interruption of a couch or rug.

Reilly Cox | Nonfiction2019-01-05T17:50:54-04:00

Dana Curtis | Nonfiction

Most people would prefer not to have to look at, or be aware of at all, people with disabilities. But if they have to, they want to break into applause as someone manages to cross a room without falling down. They want to remain in a superior position, and most importantly, they want to believe that it's not that bad.

Dana Curtis | Nonfiction2019-01-05T17:51:01-04:00

Christine Lai | Nonfiction

Dwelling. To dwell. From the Old English word dwellan, which means “to lead astray, hinder, delay”. Later, the word became associated with the state of abiding, or continuing for a time, in a particular place, state or condition. A dwelling, then, is a space between two different states of being, a place of dallying, of pausing in thought.

Christine Lai | Nonfiction2019-01-05T17:52:06-04:00

Ana Maria Jomolca | Nonfiction

But I am tired, he has exhausted me and I understand now how parents just give in and buy their kids bad ideas and feed them sugar and let strangers watch them while mommy ducks into the local pub at high noon for a quick shot of numb. And it’s in the sale bin for $5.88.

Ana Maria Jomolca | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:32:29-04:00

Anne Rasmussen | Nonfiction

Correct him, even when he yells at you. He’s always been absent-minded, but this is different. Stand your ground when he denies it. It really happened. You were there. He was there, just last week. Last Monday, to be exact. Show him where you wrote it on the calendar.

Anne Rasmussen | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:32:15-04:00

Johanna Dong | Nonfiction

The only people who speak about the parts of history I’m interested in are drunk older cousins at parties. Unfortunately, they also happen to be the least reliable narrators, on account of their drunkenness, as well as their fondness for exaggeration.

Johanna Dong | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:31:44-04:00

Yvonne Conza | Nonfiction

Within the spectrum of chaos and abuse, others have dealt with far worse than me. Anyone that has taken in feral kittens knows that some adapt and others don’t. Sometimes claw marks on the arms of loved ones are the cost of sheltering a wild thing.

Yvonne Conza | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:31:08-04:00

Ellena Savage | Nonfiction

after a while you won't be able to turn on the wim wenders film paris texas just because it is streaming on demand and it is friday evening and you are living alone because he who has bale coloured hair and sensitive skin is interstate for the time being working for the man you won't be able to simply watch movies that too heavily dramatise male loneliness

Ellena Savage | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:29:26-04:00

Interview | Shylah Hamilton and Vreni Michelini-Castillo

Under oak trees, on a table surrounded by two small bouquets of chamomile, I watched Shylah Hamilton, a filmmaker and fiction writer, and rapper Vreni Michelini-Castillo perform a ceremony designed to facilitate creativity and self-reflection. I listened to their thoughts on creativity, racism, and colonization--how these topics affect marginalized artists--and wondered why my life isn’t right.

Interview | Shylah Hamilton and Vreni Michelini-Castillo2018-12-29T16:28:52-04:00

Annette Covrigaru | Nonfiction

We’ve been touring Israel, my mom and I, for almost two weeks now and until this point everything’s been agreeable. The crusader fortress in Akko, the Bahá’í Gardens in Haifa, the visit to Kibbutz El Rom, the winery in the Golan Heights (which I skipped, more of a beer person). Even St. Peters Church had weakened me.

Annette Covrigaru | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:28:10-04:00

Allen M. Price | Nonfiction

For many, the sun-sparkling Atlantic, the clean-as-seashell beaches, and the freshly-caught seafood of Provincetown are a vacation paradise. For gays, it’s a liberating mecca where kissing, hand-holding, and public displays of affection are smiled upon.

Allen M. Price | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:27:07-04:00

Tamzin Mitchell | Nonfiction

Sharks do not sleep as mammals do. Many shark species must keep moving in slumber, bodies restless even if minds are calm, to push oxygenated water past their gills. They are drifters. They, too, are restless at night.

Tamzin Mitchell | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:24:41-04:00

Rainie Oet | Nonfiction

I just re-remembered: Mama told me and Mark not to say “cancer” in this house, everyone was keeping it secret from Baba Galya that she was going to die. Deda Vitya says, “Lina told me, after Galya died, that Galya told her she went to the doctor on her own and asked him how much time she had. Galya put cards under her clothes, and later I found them: ‘These are for Lina, these are for…’ So Galya knew, and kept it a secret from all of us…”

Rainie Oet | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:24:04-04:00

Emma Wang | Nonfiction

Over the course of my eighth-grade year, my exceptional hearing paid off, earning me a couple of eavesdropping sessions between mom and dad. They argued with low voices in the morning, careful not to wake me.

Emma Wang | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:23:18-04:00

Michelle Lyn King | Nonfiction

"Well, that shut me right up. He had told me before that I sounded crazy, that I was acting crazy. This time was different. I was crazy, plain and simple. I excused myself to use the bathroom and turned on both the sink faucet and the shower head. I was not going to let him hear me cry."

Michelle Lyn King | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:22:13-04:00

Ira Sukrungruang | Nonfiction

When I was boy, you were a planet. Then you weren’t. You disappeared from the solar system, relegated to “other,” to “dwarf.” But I remember you, distant one. You are part of a family of the forsaken. In the end, you revolved around the sun like the rest of us.

Ira Sukrungruang | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:16:20-04:00

Maya McCoy | Nonfiction

As a child in Ohio, I only heard so much about this war. I knew that there had been suffering. I knew that Ammah was affected by it—seeing her home after almost twenty years, her birthplace, broken apart in many ways. I understood that war meant irreversible change.

Maya McCoy | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:14:55-04:00

Liz Howard | Nonfiction

When your dentist pulls the wrong tooth, you will hold your own body at a distance. When your dentist lies about it, you will question what you know to be true—you will question your own sanity. When your dentist pulls the wrong tooth, you will sob for weeks about the pattern in your life of men taking something from you and insisting that they didn’t.

Liz Howard | Nonfiction2018-11-03T01:30:21-04:00

Ashely Adams | Nonfiction

Did you know you can hear it? It’s the simplest thing. Adjust an old radio or analog TV; listen for the static between channels. There, nestled in the white noise between the country music station and talk radio, are the echoes of creation.

Ashely Adams | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:13:50-04:00

Audrey Deng | Nonfiction

“Les escargots, s’il vous plait,” I said confidently to the waiter. “Such a tourist,” said my dinner companion once the waiter left with our orders. “Better tourist than exile,” I replied. “Better exile than stupid,” he said.  You’re paying,” I said. (We ended up splitting the bill.)

Audrey Deng | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:13:06-04:00

Suiyi Tang | Nonfiction

i am the face of asian american racial justice, a mockery composed of: displacement and internal insistence on hegemonic modes of dominance, negation, and death familiar to the geopolitical histories of asia proper.

Suiyi Tang | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:10:35-04:00

Cornelia Barber | Nonfiction

The news is full of apocalypse. The girls are full to the brim with confidence, lightening, fear. Facebook sends me into spirals of anger and anxiety.

Cornelia Barber | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:09:38-04:00

Maia Morgan | Nonfiction

I’m eleven or twelve, the oldest grandchild. I’ve lingered with the grownups. My mother asks me to clear. I stack two or three plates at a time, walk them into the kitchen. Then butter dish, bread basket, serving dishes, silver.

Maia Morgan | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:11:10-04:00

Jennifer Berney | Nonfiction

I was nineteen when I first heard the artist Cat Power. A friend had put the song “Nude as the News” on a mix tape, and I listened to it over and over. Sometimes this meant I’d fast forward the tape until I found the song. Other times, I’d listen to the whole mix just to get there.

Jennifer Berney | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:10:58-04:00

Sarah Cook | Nonfiction

As a young girl, I did really well in school. But at every parent-teacher conference, the same thing was always said, every year, from every single teacher, to my mother: she’s a good student but she doesn’t talk enough. Sometimes, more specifically: she needs to ask more questions.

Sarah Cook | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:07:25-04:00

Sarah Sgro | Nonfiction

What’s your weirdest poop story? I ask K while we’re eating seven-layer dip, watching Lady Gaga swing from buildings at the Superbowl. When K was young she used to pick up every poop she made. She would study its consistency, roll the stool between her hands like clay, toss it back and flush.

Sarah Sgro | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:07:02-04:00

Ruth Gila Berger | Nonfiction

It is February in Minneapolis, a month of frozen mud and sodden wings, except now oddly warm enough, it rains an iron rain. My wife, Christi drives. Her tires sluice. Exhausted windshield wipers perform accidental beauty; the patterns they leave fracture our light.

Ruth Gila Berger | Nonfiction2018-12-29T15:48:29-04:00

Martina Carla Louis | Nonfiction

Married now and fully Amerikèn, I could enjoy the freedom of having weekends all to myself. I no longer ran errands for my parent’s siblings; I no longer braced South Florida traffic on weekend trips to my family members’ homes.

Martina Carla Louis | Nonfiction2018-12-04T20:35:06-04:00

Alex DiFrancesco | Nonfiction

It’s a delicate process, but easy once you get the hang of it. If it’s done wrong, things curdle. If you do it just right, simultaneously whisking and adding warm to cold, it comes out smooth and resilient to hot temperatures.

Alex DiFrancesco | Nonfiction2018-12-29T13:13:00-04:00

Joseph Parker Okay | Nonfiction

i got the next round and after that she invited me back to her place. when we got there we were met at the door by 2 barking doggos. one was hers, a dark brown/reddish wiener dog mix who really doesn’t like guys.

Joseph Parker Okay | Nonfiction2018-12-29T13:11:09-04:00

Whit Arnold | Nonfiction

On TV, we watched a Showtime series called Shameless. I’m easily bored by TV, so instead I looked around his apartment. On a shelf sat a colorful, glass hookah. Seeing it, I asked, “You smoke?”

Whit Arnold | Nonfiction2018-12-29T13:11:50-04:00

Lucie Bonvalet | Nonfiction

But if I look at the etymology, I find the Greek, nemein, "give what is due" and that nemesis literally means "retribution". So why has it become intertwined in my memory with a forest of black mirrors?

Lucie Bonvalet | Nonfiction2018-12-29T13:12:16-04:00

Chloé Cela | Nonfiction

This Skank Woman has no choice but to surrender to the hospital ambiance; the noise and patronizing nurses with good intentions, most of the time. The TV is showing the treatment of rhinos in Africa.

Chloé Cela | Nonfiction2018-12-29T13:07:57-04:00

Gina Keicher | Nonfiction

Family legend has it that one day I walked into the kitchen from the two-car garage, my hands cupped piously as if carrying a communion wafer. I approached my mother slowly and opened my hands to reveal a mouse in my palms.

Gina Keicher | Nonfiction2018-12-29T13:06:41-04:00

Lauren Turner | Nonfiction

You have to understand. Loneliness is both the white knight and the dragon. To outlive each of them, you must slash down from crown-to-kneecaps. I threw their hours away. They couldn’t thrive on time anymore, couldn’t ricochet my body with fear.

Lauren Turner | Nonfiction2018-12-29T13:06:18-04:00

Naima Coster | Nonfiction

It was nothing more to me than a mantra, and I didn’t see then that the motto was the invention of a school run nearly entirely by black women—teachers, school safety officers, the principal and assistant principal—designed to help us, we hundreds of black and brown children, to affirm our own dignity, while we were young, while school still served as a kind of shield, however insufficient, from the rest of the city, its hard facts and violence.

Naima Coster | Nonfiction2018-12-29T13:06:08-04:00

Natalie Frazier | Nonfiction

My first sexual encounter with a woman was homecoming. It was a trip to Disney World after winning the World Series. It was prying the Oscar out of La La Land’s cold white hands and relinquishing it to Moonlight. It was a tweet going viral despite a typo. It was everything.

Natalie Frazier | Nonfiction2018-12-29T13:05:54-04:00

Anna Kaye-Rogers | Nonfiction

Tendrils of dark hair dangle from her bun; refusing to be ordered and catalogued.  She is wrapped in a dark sweater that has no end and drapes over itself.  If she was a color, she would be lavender and the sky at dusk.  She does not contrast with the dusky oranges and sun-streaked pink tones.  She compliments them.

Anna Kaye-Rogers | Nonfiction2018-12-29T13:05:30-04:00

Troy Onyango | Nonfiction

The sky is the colour of a sketch artist’s thumb when the bus sneaks its way out of the bus station, headed for the port town of Kisumu – home; a place so distant it requires at least a week of mental preparation and enough love for those whose existence make up that word.

Troy Onyango | Nonfiction2018-12-29T13:04:23-04:00

Ayden LeRoux | Nonfiction

I never slept in this bed, though at one time I longed to. Instead it was left unconsummated. The summer when I imagined sleeping here, I went to have my tarot cards read over and over and over again.

Ayden LeRoux | Nonfiction2018-12-29T13:01:28-04:00

Marta Balcewicz | Nonfiction

“Guadalajara!” she said to me a couple more times in that locker room, with the showers thundering in the background and naked women slapping their suits down on wet benches. “Guadalajara.”

Marta Balcewicz | Nonfiction2018-12-29T12:59:56-04:00

Lindsey Webb | Nonfiction

When I’m young, it’s the season of the rabbit—cute, horrible, skinny, sprinting under the sagebrush when a truck comes up the dirt road.

Lindsey Webb | Nonfiction2018-12-29T12:59:20-04:00

Gabby Vachon | Nonfiction

He, on the other hand, actually did meth, which was less cool that I thought. He looked more like a coke guy to me, but what do I know about what a coke guy looks like? As a child I smelled pot on my street and wanted desperately to call 911, so I'm not exactly what you would call "street savvy".

Gabby Vachon | Nonfiction2018-12-29T12:58:37-04:00

Corinna Chong | Nonfiction

“Sturdier than the old one,” my mum said, “and it’ll keep the draft out.” A new door to cover the evidence that our house was not secure, but permeable. Walls like sieves, find a hole and enter.

Corinna Chong | Nonfiction2018-12-29T12:57:19-04:00

Tia Lucas | Nonfiction

I only remember my friends as having little teeth as so I can’t comment on their current state or the orthodontia sagas they may have endured. I should add here that I was also a thumb-sucker.

Tia Lucas | Nonfiction2018-12-29T12:56:37-04:00

Natasha Young | Nonfiction

Post-coital tristesse (PCT) or post-coital dysphoria (PCD) is the feeling of sadness, anxiety, agitation or aggression after sexual intercourse. Its name comes from ...

Natasha Young | Nonfiction2018-12-29T12:53:21-04:00

Omar Sakr | Nonfiction

When the girls started to stand apart, trying to hijab their modesty, we saw jamarāt all around us, & lined our hands with bits of rock to hurl at the devil.

Omar Sakr | Nonfiction2018-12-29T12:51:16-04:00

Matthew Mastricova | Nonfiction

I was 5’9 and 265 pounds, and my body was a creature I was still, am still, learning to domesticate. Dieting worked until it didn’t. Creating dream books of all the clothes I was too fat to wear worked, until it didn’t. I was tired of changing, of waiting for change, of trying to find the junction of comfort and confidence, of obfuscation and suggestion.

Matthew Mastricova | Nonfiction2018-12-29T12:48:56-04:00

Christa Parravani | Nonfiction

We were a family of women watching men kill each other, nothing new. CNN streamed a video on repeat. The luckiest man in Iraq crossed over a bridge that fell to pieces behind him. He looked over his shoulder. A laser-guided bomb had swallowed the bridge whole.

Christa Parravani | Nonfiction2018-12-29T12:47:11-04:00

Courtney Preiss | Nonfiction

When dragged against your volition to an improv show, down two whiskeys in ten minutes then point to one of the comedians on stage like Babe Ruth’s called shot.

Courtney Preiss | Nonfiction2018-12-29T12:43:00-04:00

Rem + Rom | Nonfiction

The feral twin brothers Rem + Rom come born from the Columbia river delta, fathered by a rogue member of the «Clueless + Lark» expedition + reared by a she-wolf, before morphing into various permutations of Native American hero-twins including Hunahpu + Xbalanque. They currently «ride» A Raft Manifest (Calamari Archive, 2017) + guest-blog about their riding process on 5cense.com.

Rem + Rom | Nonfiction2018-12-29T12:41:10-04:00

Nina Yun | Nonfiction

On cold days, I dream about wearing my socks with warm rice inside so I can walk in them until night, especially on those running days where I am an ice cube under hot water.

Nina Yun | Nonfiction2018-12-29T12:38:24-04:00

David Olimpio | Nonfiction

There is a photo of me holding that analog alarm clock. Smiling. It is Christmas morning. I am in a red and blue flannel robe. My two front teeth are missing. I am six years old. It is 1979.

David Olimpio | Nonfiction2018-12-29T12:37:00-04:00

Sarah Gerard | Nonfiction

Vitamins from fruits and vegetables are concentrated most densely in the stems. Eating the raw stem of a zucchini is more beneficial to your health than eating all the other parts, cooked or uncooked.

Sarah Gerard | Nonfiction2018-12-29T12:31:53-04:00

Matt Erickson | Nonfiction

Several years ago, an image of a drawn face circulated furtively through the internet — a slightly balding man with ample eyebrows over wideset child eyes, a slugshaped mouth

Matt Erickson | Nonfiction2018-12-29T12:27:15-04:00

Faith Adiele | Nonfiction

Try to imagine leaving a 19-year-old boy, a British subject, and returning independent, a 32-year-old man educated to rule. His heart, still strong then, swelled at the possibilities: Nigeria is indeed a new place! You have no conception of the degree of change and conflict. What took Britain or the US 100 years to achieve is taking [us] less than five!

Faith Adiele | Nonfiction2018-12-29T12:26:18-04:00

Max Cohen | Nonfiction

Also apparently Cage wasn’t hearing his blood, it’s just that it’s impossible to make something 100% anechoic. Nothing is as poetic as I’d like it to be. Tomorrow morning I’m flying south for the spring. I’m supposed to see you while I’m there. I hope I do.

Max Cohen | Nonfiction2018-12-29T12:19:59-04:00

Emily Siegenthaler | Nonfiction

KETCHUP On the phone we decide to check out the mansion of the condiments empire heiress—the intricate brickwork and the midnight guards who sleep outside for $10 an hour.

Emily Siegenthaler | Nonfiction2018-12-29T12:18:34-04:00

Paul Lisicky | Nonfiction

Now when the screen summons up Politician X, I do a start. Not because I'm dreading your elation at his latest surge, but because you're dead, and I will never holler at another human like I did with you.

Paul Lisicky | Nonfiction2018-12-29T12:16:47-04:00

Vi Khi Nao | Nonfiction

Unable to snore like others while sitting up, I resorted to drumming a HB 2 pencil on the table, and stared at the ceiling. With the slanted angle at which the fluorescent light penetrated the air, I could see elongated trapezoid shapes laced with dust suspended a few inches off the table.

Vi Khi Nao | Nonfiction2018-12-29T12:14:12-04:00

Vi Khi Nao | Nonfiction

My spiritual heart is lying on an immaculate table in the middle of the desert, in the middle of the forest wilderness, and I am all alone, completely alone and this life or this physician called God is trying to jumpstart my heart back to life. And each shock starts with a crying episode.

Vi Khi Nao | Nonfiction2018-12-29T12:11:49-04:00

Gabe Bump | Nonfiction

You and me: sweetness in our ears, honey on our bread, glorious views in every direction, comfortable and secure; contained in madness.

Gabe Bump | Nonfiction2018-12-29T12:07:19-04:00

Gabe Bump | Nonfiction

When I took the number six bus downtown—close to perfection: All that time to read, all that window to look out of and all those trees, all those frozen moments at red lights, all that speed on Lake Shore Drive, all those people, all that segregation I didn’t understand, all the difference; nothing is perfect.

Gabe Bump | Nonfiction2018-12-29T12:04:34-04:00

Laura Warman | Nonfiction

TO KNOW ELAINE KHAN IS TO SPEND TIME IN HER BED I take the train to Elaine Kahn’s apartment. I mean Elaine and Kit’s apartment. But, I erase Kit

Laura Warman | Nonfiction2018-12-29T12:02:54-04:00

Gabe Bump | Nonfiction

6. The kind that waits until his child is eighteen and about to leave the roost before unpacking his Derrick Rose jersey and handing it over, folded and stained—Love this as I have.

Gabe Bump | Nonfiction2018-12-29T12:01:28-04:00

Ellen Korman Blum | Nonfiction

Eva was our only teacher those first few weeks. She had a quicksilver mind and a passionate spirit. Colorful earrings dangled against her jaw where her skin sagged just slightly, the only clue to her years of experience. She pushed us to take chances—to communicate in whichever way we could.

Ellen Korman Blum | Nonfiction2018-12-29T11:57:42-04:00

Tayari Jones | Nonfiction

Being a writer is all about making mistakes and managing disappointment. Let’s say you are going on a road trip. You get, say, a hundred miles down the road and you realize that you have left your wallet back home on the kitchen table. You have no choice but to go back and get it. But how’s your attitude?

Tayari Jones | Nonfiction2018-12-29T11:55:23-04:00

Mary Gaitskill | Nonfiction

In 1979, I glanced into a store window and saw an old guy with enormous glasses strapped to his big, bald, egg-shaped head sitting behind a large desk surrounded by leafy plants and book cases arranged in a sort of diorama.

Mary Gaitskill | Nonfiction2018-12-29T11:54:42-04:00

Laura Warman | Nonfiction

I went to the Yankee Candle Factory with Joseph. I bought a candle called “Autumn Leaves”. By the time I reached the bottom of the wick, all the leaves in my yard had changed colors. I had not expected this.

Laura Warman | Nonfiction2018-12-29T11:10:20-04:00

Gabe Bump | Nonfiction

Housecat misses Thanksgiving, Christmas, Father’s Day, Sunday Brunch, Grandpa visits, birthdays. Housecat almost misses Grandma’s funeral in Harlem. Housecat misses paying you back when you loan him a hundred dollars for weed. Housecat misses your call when you need a ride to the airport.

Gabe Bump | Nonfiction2018-12-29T11:05:31-04:00

Richard Z. Santos | Nonfiction

There’s always more work to be done. My book still isn’t finished. A happy ending is only so happy. If the cancer doesn’t return, then something else will finish the job.

Richard Z. Santos | Nonfiction2018-12-29T11:03:11-04:00

Johanna Skibsrud | Nonfiction

But this may become, especially in the context of our contemporary theaters of war, increasingly difficult. As war technology advances exponentially and we become more and more able to replace human effort, skill, and sacrifice with robotics, we risk also displacing our essentially human ability to recognize ourselves, and—even more dangerously, in the context of war—others as human.

Johanna Skibsrud | Nonfiction2018-12-29T11:01:47-04:00