I took a workshop once where the instructor said, “If you stop writing, if you never write another word, I’d still like you.”
The Writing Life: Please Stop Writing by Jennifer Hill, Guest Columnist
2016 Theme Issue Announced: Firsts
For our 2016 theme issue, which hits in July, we’re looking for works of creative nonfiction, of up to 3,500 words, that explore “firsts.”
HippoCamp 2016 Registration is Open: Early Bird Rate Extends Through March 31
[This blog post originally appeared on the HippoCamp 2016 conference website; we’re cross-posting it here.] Like magic, our ticketing system went live, today, at 12 a.m. Before we could even get out our newsletter–heck, before we even woke up this morning–people have been jumping on to the conference website to register for HippoCamp 2016! We’re…
Never Could I Leave You by Jacqueline Heinze
My board-like body has begun to curve. There is a swoop at my waist, a rounding in my thighs. My breasts are high and swollen and unfamiliar. No matter how fast I run, I am becoming a woman.
Fisher Cats by Marissa Higgins
I was eight years old the first time my mother called me fat. I was living with my mother for the summer, as a reward for her being clean and sober.
Crossing Abbey Road by Laurie Baker
Here’s something you might not actually know: Abbey Road is just an ordinary road. Surprising, given the notoriety of that irreverent Beatles album cover of the same name.
With Dogs as My Shepherd by Corinne Heyning Laverty
No dogs allowed. John said they would eat his tortoises. My husband was a whale biologist and many of the former residents of our California beach bungalow reflected this interest.
Chewing Gardens by Mary Lide
I chew the collars of my shirts until they’re ragged as my fingernails. This drives my mother crazier than when I used to chew my hair, which tasted like peppermint despite the fact that I did not use peppermint shampoo.
Blue Rider by Lisa Baird
It begins in the dark of day. It begins with the turn of a key, a familiar road. The commute, the commute of years, begins without fanfare, without manifesto.
Abol Bridge by David Young
“Bobby, it’s me. We hear that you… ran into some difficulty yesterday.” A bit of an understatement, considering he collapsed on the trail and was carried out by a rescue team, but it’s what comes from my mouth.
