With every photo either zoomed in or close-up, I tend to forget how small they are. Nudibranchs range from four millimeters up to 520 millimeters.
(nonfiction)
Beer’s truth is her joyfully cynical perspective on the world as it unfolds before her.
(review)
Burden intentionally did not tell the staff of the museum so that a tension would be created between his artistic intent and the museum’s staff concern for his health and safety.
(audiovisual)
Too big, too small, just right? Pillows for lovers. Erogenous zones. Never used for feeding babies. Strap them down when they get in the way. Pinup worthy, so I once was told. Now they’ll be diminished, I’m leaving a part of me in the past.
(nonfiction)
Adler, in full command of her signature style, presents herself a new challenge, to retrofit her revolution with a few choice accoutrements of tradition.
(reviews)
But the answer, I like to think, is that the Raven Grill offers not so much “nevermore” but “furthermore.”
(nonfiction)
When the train lurches, I move like the world’s clumsiest pole dancer. Are third-trimester pole dancers a thing? No doubt someone’s into that.
(fiction)
They trained me up, taught me how to alpha. Posture, voice, aspect. Then they gave me all the accouterments. Even I was impressed with myself afterward.
(fiction)
Performing for the troops, who were more and more dazed and battered as the days went on, Cohen found a kind of personal artistic and spiritual redemption, and the soldiers for whom he performed, touched and a little awed by his presence there (as were the musicians who accompanied him), did, too.
(reviews)
The latest in our FORTHCOMING series of excerpts from new books
“Folklore across the African diaspora maintains that captive Africans were born with the ability to fly.”
(nonfiction)
“If a doctor says, ‘The curve of your spine makes me think of a river, or a snake in action,’ that would make me feel like part of nature instead of an unnatural aberration,” Riva Lehrer tells interviewer Irina Ruvinsky.
Now the extent of my friend’s madness was clear. I couldn’t understand how I’d failed to realize it earlier.
(fiction/translation)
His job was merely to photograph: to catalogue the state of the problem. Save the radiology for radiologists.
(fiction)
The latest in our FORTHCOMING series of excerpts from new books
“No, I went through one marriage,” Aunt Mildred insisted to the jury of her siblings. “I won’t make that mistake again.”
(nonfiction)
She didn’t go to a hospital—with the traffic in Bogotá, she’s sure she would have ended up giving birth in a taxi!
(fiction)
Often, South Flight will offer a line or an entire poem all but exploding with agony and suffering.
(reviews)
I trip on cobblestones sticking out of the earth like busted tombstones.
(nonfiction)
He knew the affair he was having with the composer, that it should have been me.
(nonfiction)
I don’t know what he expected to see. My disfigurement is not external
(fiction)
the latest in our FORTHCOMING series, where each piece is an excerpt from a new book
“Don’t Forget To Be Awesome. Okay. Working on it…”
(poetry)
For a few years we took turns breaking each other’s hearts, casting each other away, reeling each other back in.
(nonfiction)
Can a town named Phoenix rise from the ash?
(nonfiction)
ACM’s first official Forthcoming publication–work from a soon-to-be published book
“There isn’t any us, baby.”
(fiction)
I go to the county jail to see one father and discover that the other one is there.
(interview)
Beneath the tree, grasses of pale yellow and green commingle to create a neon shade reminiscent of Mello Yello, a soda from my childhood….
(nonfiction)
A tabby, a calico, a Bengal, a Persian, even one of those hairless Egyptian numbers. Black cats, white cats, ginger cats, grey cats. They climbed all over each other, over the trees, in piles on the ground. Floor to ceiling, nothing but cats.
(fiction)
“Afternoon Session” by Nathanael O’Reilly (poetry)
I was in Colorado because seventy-plus hour workweeks punctuated by martinis had swallowed me whole.
(nonfiction)
“Nature is healing,” says a small tin sign in front of a dried up cornfield.
(nonfiction)
“Why don’t we come to an agreement then? I’ll buy the alcohol if you finally stop working.” Hassan said as he sipped his Scotch and watched her with his psychologist’s stare. She had the uneasy feeling she was a frog in his pot, and he was slowly turning up the heat.
(fiction)
As the world began to open again, we were proud. We’d done a good job. Then you came.
(nonfiction)
Another Chicago Magazine 