Tips For Aging Women by Christine McDowell Tucker
Let’s just say, for the sake of argument, that you’re considering getting old. We don’t recommend this course of action, of course, because the risks greatly outweigh the advantages. But if you must age, here are a few tips to help you navigate what can be a fun time in your life, if you take the proper precautions. Keep in mind that the main skill required for this period of your life is that of settling; as in settling for things you had never considered you would need to settle for in the first place. … Continue reading Tips For Aging Women by Christine McDowell Tucker
The (Very Uncomfortable) Art of Letting Go: When Movers Lose All Your Furniture by Katie Wilkes
“Your new life is gonna cost you your old one.” —Margot Berman I forget if it was around the time of a full moon or another supercharged energy portal that I tend to lose track of, but just when I had made the decision to try out this nomadic lifestyle, an intuitive friend posted that message online. It felt kinda ominous. But also reassuring that as giant of a leap as this was, it was also arriving at a fitting time. Sure, I thought, it’ll cost me familiarities and conveniences of DC life. Creature comforts … Continue reading The (Very Uncomfortable) Art of Letting Go: When Movers Lose All Your Furniture by Katie Wilkes
Writing For A Generation by Joel F. Johnson
We write for a target audience. Readers differ in their demographics as well as their literary tastes. When my novel, Never, was published, I began meeting with book groups, and they were all baby boomers like me. I realized I’d written a book for my own generation. Never is a coming-of-age story that takes place in the segregated south. Folks my age (I’m turning seventy) can remember Martin Luther King and the turbulent sixties. Southern readers have shared with me their memories of growing up with a Black maid, often articulating a version of the bewildered … Continue reading Writing For A Generation by Joel F. Johnson
Writing Through Autocracy by Karol Lagodzki
The one and only time I put a knife in my pocket heading out to church was on Sunday, December 13, 1981. My mother, a single parent, was working a night shift, and my job at age eleven, in a true latchkey-kid fashion, was to get myself and my seven-year-old sister to holy mass. That was far from unusual. I was in charge on most Sunday mornings at that age. I’d usually wake up early, turn on channel one (of two), and watch cartoons for a few minutes before anything else. That morning, instead … Continue reading Writing Through Autocracy by Karol Lagodzki
A Stone by Debbie Bennett
It was a flat grey stone, the kind you found in tourist shops, with pre-set words. What a strange gift from Andrea, I’d thought, and plunked it into my pocket—carelessly. Only later, I found my hand often curving around it, feeling its weight, its contours. Where was she now? All those nights I found myself awake, throwing on some clothes. Inside my car, I cruised through the dead-quiet night streets. Sometimes, the streetlights, or the cold probing lights left on in closed stores, allowed me a glimpse of a huddled shape under a doorway, or … Continue reading A Stone by Debbie Bennett
Moonlight by Ronald Stottlemyer
This is the light of stillness after everything has been said and thought, after the day has been brought to its knees once more, after the excuses, the bargainings with self, conversations that started so hopefully, but stopped. Don’t expect the darkened maple to turn over a bright leaf, find its own breeze. What pours in through the blinds is unmoved as the numb paw of your hand half opened or closed on the snow bank pillow, cold as the truth of its sleep. Let that radiance lift me weightless, timeless, into its night, and … Continue reading Moonlight by Ronald Stottlemyer
The Dying Art of Silence? by Fred Wilbur
If ‘silence is golden,’ why do we squander it so foolishly? If you try finding ‘peace and quiet’ in contemporary life, you will be gob-smacked to encounter it. We praise the sounds of nature: babbling brooks, whispering leaves, bird song. And granted, there are buzzing mosquitos and growling bears, but it has been shown that humans need the restorative powers of the outdoors. When nature takes a destructive turn, we anthropomorphize its “nasty: weather, “raging” floods or describe (the sound of) tornadoes as a fast approaching freight train. Which brings us to the notion … Continue reading The Dying Art of Silence? by Fred Wilbur
Heaven Spot by Mark Belair
In a dark subway tunnel between stations, a concave safety niche holds a grotto of graffiti unseen unless you happen to glance out when the train lights hit it. The moment you notice its radiance you’re past it, though if you close your eyes a vision of its brash vision remains. Someone braved the trains and third rail and cops to spray what graffiti artists call, considering the danger involved, a Heaven Spot. A Heaven Spot that tags you— in your own private grotto— like a dangerous dream. Mark Belair’s poems have appeared in numerous … Continue reading Heaven Spot by Mark Belair
Once Upon A Memoir by Trudy Hale
I am in an abusive relationship again. This morning was the first time it occurred to me to label it as such. Not a lover or husband, or friend, but the memoir. My own. A book I have been writing—too embarrassed to confess for how many years. And like one of these kinds of relationships, it’s been on again off again. I have finished a tweaked and polished draft, some of it quite good but there seems to be a problem. So, the other day I’m sitting in C’ville Coffee with Susan, Mitzi, and Nancy. … Continue reading Once Upon A Memoir by Trudy Hale
Birthday Boys by Will Underland
When he woke it was with awareness that it was his birthday and thus with an ebullience lacking on most other days when waking and rising were almost painful, at least relative to the contoured comfort of the womb-like bed that held him gently and all but captive. The hardwood floors were cold in the new apartment, so when he entered the kitchen, bed-headed and still rubbing sleep from his eyes, he was sure to stand in the narrow slats of morning light that shone through the westerly wall’s window. She saw him, smiled … Continue reading Birthday Boys by Will Underland