The summer heat sprawls on my skin like a thick cover of wet glue.
(nonfiction)
Tag: Nonfiction
To be seen was to be ashamed and to admit to experiencing pleasure was to be disgusting.
(nonfiction)
By reflex I turned to leave, but in the center of the open doorway stood the silhouette of a second man, holding a pitchfork across his waist as if to block my path.
(nonfiction)
Kafka can sit for hours on the corner of the balcony, the elbow, looking down on the busy intersection. On one corner, across from us is the Escher House, a three-story mansion now converted into cheap rooms.
(nonfiction)
Thirty-four houses in thirty-four years, as if the idea of putting down roots was anathema to her.
(reviews)
…the promise of fulfillment rather than just a hole here or there or in several places at once…
(nonfiction)
Does literary fame play a role in your quest as a writer and if so, does it play a positive role, or a negative one?
(nonfiction)
The work is not going well. Why is the work not going well? I think. Wait. I ran out of medication.
(nonfiction)
The winner of ACM’s inaugural Nonfiction Contest
My mother tells me stories about when she was little and then makes me promise not to tell anyone.
(nonfiction)
It doesn’t matter which language you speak, because language does not influence your way of thinking.
The older generation of course, they didn’t teach their kids about the horrors of Stalin, because they didn’t want them to have that memory.
(Dispatches from Ukraine)
The rage rolls out of my gut like a stream of regurgitated frogs, leaving me purged and primed for violence.
(nonfiction)
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)
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)
Can a town named Phoenix rise from the ash?
(nonfiction)
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)
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)
“It could be that our hearts beat in perfect alignment. Yet, it does not seem that Paul and I ever could have aligned ourselves so precisely.”
(nonfiction)
In New Zealand, we don’t do class warfare like the British do, although we bring it with us. Ours isn’t as refined. But it’s just as complex and many times more insidious.
(nonfiction)
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)
We were excited to go to Ukraine
because we were promised a disco night in Donbas organized by a local Young Pioneer
group, a junior division of the Communist Party.
(nonfiction)
In a text to a friend, months after the last time I see her I say, “She still has my heart.”
“You’ll want to get that back,” he says.
(nonfiction)
After the death of University of Iowa nonfiction force Carl Klaus, three writers reflect about his impact and influence.
(nonfiction)
“Wilkinson’s knowledge of horticulture helps to connect the themes of family, inheritance, and existence to the greater world around us, to all living things,” writes reviewer Meredith Boe.
(nonfiction)
Another Chicago Magazine 