Showing results for Nonfiction
There is nothing romantic about being young and dark and confused. Pain is real. It's funny on Twitter but it sucks irl.
Age 10: Wrote an essay for school about how I wanted to be a rapper when I grew up. When I got home and told my dad about it he said "Rap for me" then lay in my bed while I rapped "Lose Yourself" by Eminem for him. When I finished he told me I needed to "get into it more, not just stand there with [my] hands in my pockets."
“For years after the war and after the camps, Chava Rosenfarb woke up every morning at 4:00 a.m. to write. She’d open her eyes in the darkness and slip out of bed without waking her husband...
And then I found her on a VHS. My double, my twin, my doppelganger. Laura Palmer.
Sunday paper. Card Showers announced for Cecile Jarry, 99, and Fred Aldrich, 90. Meeting of the Sherlock Holmes Club this Wednesday.
Against what, exactly, is Karl Ove Knausgaard struggling?
I towed my worldly goods to a remote plot with real snakes in the grass, real primroses near pathways, and I wasn’t a tisket-a-tasket girl running errands but an adult with a narrow skill set that had sent me toward serial opportunities, jobs, my career not careering but ascendant as I checked off items on widely circulated how-to lists, but no one could tell me how to succeed at love.
My daughter made pee pee in the potty, and my mother, who watches her on... more
In the summer between Michael Sam’s selection in the NFL Draft and the day he was cut, his jersey ranked as the second most popular of all rookie jerseys, behind only Johnny Manziel of the Cleveland Browns. Almost like there are gay sports fans.
I pass a woman who holds a red polka dot Christmas music box in her lap. I never see her turn the key, but as I scan the aisles for my specific things—the white balsamic vinegar, the slivers of blanched almonds—I hear Jingle Bells faintly, somewhere behind me, no matter where I am.
"I didn't want to ever be outside of this moment. I knew at some point I would look at the picture I'd just taken and feel an overwhelming sense of loss. I thought as long as we could manage to stay inside this particular hotel room, to avoid our phones and every person with whom we'd ever come into contact, we would continue to feel whole. We were revolutionaries, goddamnit. These were our accumulation of beautiful moments. Before the world fractured us. I don't expect you to understand how I became Brad Pitt in that moment, how we all just flew along down the highway. Bandits. Ex-patriots. In love with this countryside, if not this country. Paper Moon. The Last Picture Show. All of this shot in black and white. Only the final scene in color."
Legs Get Led Astray
FOUR NEW ESSAYS BY CHLOE CALDWELL! Plus the original essays that made you fall in love with Chloe!
Jason Phoebe Rusch
Jason Phoebe Rusch is a queer writer from the Chicago suburbs. His full-length debut Dualities explores gender and patriarchy from the perspective of a man who was socialized and is currently still read as a woman. He is interested in complication and nuance and messy human failing, his own and that of others.