Max Cohen

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.

Emily Siegenthaler

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. [...]

Paul Lisicky

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.

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

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.

Mariam Williams

“Ridiculous,” my father says. “Guilt is for people who have done something wrong. All we have is survival.”

Laura Warman

TO KNOW ELAINE KHAN IS TO SPEND TIME IN HER BEDI take the train to Elaine Kahn’s apartment.I mean Elaine and Kit’s apartment.But, I erase Kit from much of this, [...]

Gabe Bump

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.

Cheryl Collins Isaac

Those things didn’t happen at once, me seeing her body and hearing the child soldier, and yet I remember them simultaneously.

Ellen Korman Blum

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.

Tayari Jones

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?

Mary Gaitskill

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.

Laura Warman

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.

Gabe Bump

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.

Richard Z. Santos

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.

Johanna Skibsrud

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.

Karie Fugett

Cleve and I met in eighth grade where we briefly “went out” before breaking up, because I thought he had a crush on one of our school’s cheerleaders. We remained fairly close, carefully dodging an intensity we were too young to address. We lost touch after high school.

Geneviève Robichaud

She tacks the quote on her wall. Not the virtual kind, but the smooth white one with the round corners. The sound of a kettle whistles in the kitchen. Outside, the rustle of a few trees. This is Montréal in the spring. It is the sound of being nine hundred and eighty kilometres west of the Atlantic Ocean.

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