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)
Author: Another Chicago Magazine
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)
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)
Often, South Flight will offer a line or an entire poem all but exploding with agony and suffering.
(reviews)
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)
ACM’s first official Forthcoming publication–work from a soon-to-be published book
“There isn’t any us, baby.”
(fiction)
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)
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)
“Lehman has claimed a kinship with poets of the past that exists outside time,” writes reviewer Suzanne Lummis.
(poetry reviews)
As the world began to open again, we were proud. We’d done a good job. Then you came.
(nonfiction)
Those smuggled copies of Interview and The Witching Hour that I took with me and read and reread in the suffocatingly dark and overly zealous world that was my conversion therapy experience got me from one moment to the next.
(nonfiction)
Author’s Note These pieces are part of a series of lipograms, writing that excludes one…
I mentioned the most important aspect once we were out of the taxi and waiting for the electric-blue bus: never fall asleep. The ride’s purpose was not to get comfortable or distracted.
(nonfiction)
“I think that as long as you treat your characters with compassion, and you’re thoughtful and empathic and you do what you can to support their narrative and their truths,” Emily Maloney tells Barbara West.
(interview)
Another Chicago Magazine 