The February issue is live! This issue may feature a photo of heart-shaped ravioli on the homepage, but don't let that fool you: this image is attached to a story about a would-be romantic dinner where our author opens mouth and, instead, inserts foot--not pasta.
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Every year my middle school students ask me why I became an English teacher. They appear to respect my colleagues and me; one or two might even admit to considering teaching as a career, but the tone of the question is usually incredulous.
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That day in mid-August in the Congo was late in the dry season— the sun a seared-copper disc, a cigarette burn on the sky’s perfect palate of skin. I stepped off the boat at the “port” into the sucking, ankle-deep grey mud. I lost a sandal.
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Our father told us he was worried about our mother because she was older and sometimes having a baby later in life made giving birth risky. He said another worry was they’d given her a room on the eighth floor and that, if there was a fire, she wouldn’t make it out alive.
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It’s an effort to prove to her that my love is so great I will create a romantic dinner just for her. I will learn how to cook ravioli. I will purchase a ravioli-making machine.
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In How Can You NOT Laugh at a Time Like This? Carla, also known as The Singing Patient, outlines realistic coping strategies and supportive advice along with anecdotes of how she deals with several autoimmune diseases. Her unique approach is sincere and instructive.
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I sit under cloudy skies on a seaside pier where the cool air is heavy with salt. I wrap my arms around the thick rail and rest my chin on the edge. My girls' size 8 shoes hang, tiny, above the foam of waves crashing against the columns of the pier.
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Now, I'll be the first to admit that I'm not one to run out and buy the latest celebrity memoir, but when I was offered the chance to read and review Soleil's new parenting book, Happy Chaos: From Punky to Parenting and my Perfectly Imperfect Adventures In Between, I wasn’t about to say no.
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The blank screen. The blinking cursor. The sudden, irresistible urge to dig out that last chocolate bar from the Halloween stash in the back of the pantry. Writer’s block can take a lot of forms, but it still plays the same old tune, a tick-tock insinuation that maybe, this time, the words are really...
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Revision. The idea of revision is interesting, especially in terms of revising a memoir, because I have to decide which moments from my life, from the year covered in the book, should stay and which moments should go.
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