Showing results for Nonfiction
It is not the anniversary of her death that wrecks me but a day some weeks before it. It is the anniversary of the day I sat on my porch, barefoot, polyester graduation trappings in hand, and thought to call her but then did not because I was too busy.
The summer I dated a painter I did not love, I modeled sometimes for a retired professor's drawing class.
I began my life in a trailer. A black and white shaky construction plunked on a corner some farmer had carved out of an old cow pasture. One silver maple with a rotten core clung to life. I watched the world outside through drafty windows and remember the shade slapping the sash when the wind picked up.
Jen Palmares Meadows
In the afternoons, I stripped off my boyish clothing and watched back to back episodes of Saved by the Bell, feeding my unhealthy obsession for Kelly KAPOWski. The perky brunette with her slim ankles and come-hither hair tosses was the ultimate teenage bombshell.
What can be said about this game that hasn’t already been said about Christmas morning? Better than that. The first day of a summer break. Better than that. Evening fireworks on the 4th of July. That, too. Better than all. A graduation, an engagement, a marriage, a festival, a celebration. An outdoor fete to anything.
Vin Scully alone in a broadcast booth, talking by himself, talking to us. Assuring the world that all’s well in Dodgeralia. Calm. Composed. At home, in a park he’ll depart at season’s end. Handpicking his words, off endless branches, branches’ branches, in a deep memory he builds, maintains over many years, keeps polished like a jewel.
It is a game of beautiful pauses, pauses that take up so much of the game’s duration that calling them “pauses” seems inaccurate; the moments of action, rather, are what interrupt the long stretches of inaction.
Ten years removed from my youth baseball experience, I find myself in a car with four baseball-obsessed college buddies, headed toward the Hubert H. Humphrey Metrodome to see the Minnesota Twins play a mid-September game against the Detroit Tigers. I have no idea why I’m here.
Julia Dixon Evans
I wanted to focus on the real victims, unthinkable crimes against them, but I kept coming back to those batting cages, to that uniform in Coach B's house.
Legs Get Led Astray
The original 2012 essay collection, redesigned and with three new essays by the author.
"Ellen’s gigantic, circular novel leaves everything on the page. It’s one of the most thoughtful and creative books I’ve read in a long time."
—Chicago Review of Books, "The Best Books of 2017 (So Far)"
"PERSON/A is a fresh take on familiar feelings of loss and obsession. The novel feels like half autobiography, half fiction, and both halves will leave readers stunned."
—The Los Angeles Review
"I’m more stunned than able to decide or articulate what I really feel about Person/a, and that’s marvelous."
—The Lit Pub
"You want this."
– Ashley Ford, Buzzfeed Books
“I’ll read anything Chloe Caldwell writes... WOMEN is an urgent reminder that narrative is how we make sense of obsession.”
– Elisa Albert, author of After Birth