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After that incident I sorted people into two categories: those who could sing and those who couldn’t. I was now relegated to the land of Couldn’t, an exile from the country of music.
By Alison LutermanApril 2022It was too quiet: no bellowing of elk, no call of owls. As I opened the front door, I could smell the beef stew I’d left simmering on the stove, but there was no music, and our dog Neva did not greet me.
By Teetle ClawsonMarch 2022I have bipolar II disorder, which is characterized by rock-bottom lows interspersed with occasional bouts of manic hyperactivity. After some tweaking of my antidepressant cocktail, this maelstrom, too, will pass. I just have to lash myself to the mast and wait.
By Kathleen FoundsFebruary 2022Going natural, looking professional, shaving it all off
By Our ReadersFebruary 2022I wondered if I had stumbled upon some universal principle: the more beautiful the illusion, the more egregious the lie.
By Sam RuddickFebruary 2022Collecting bottles, tossing leftovers, taking out the garbage
By Our ReadersJanuary 2022A middle-aged New England lawyer, you were dressed like a cowboy. This, as much as anything else, underscored that it was over between us. A suede-fringe jacket. Snakeskin boots with stacked heels. An oversized Stetson. What, I said, no spurs?
By Judith Claire MitchellDecember 2021My granddaughter barely speaks. Her name is Effie, which in Greek means “well-spoken.” Maybe in Greece she would be. Names aren’t expected to match the person. If they were, we’d be named upon our death, when someone would have a stab in the dark at getting it right.
By Douglas SilverDecember 2021Maybe I write because I want visibility and invisibility, each on my own terms. I want you to accept these paragraphs as photographs from my mind, and I want these photographs to tell you something useful about me. Yet I don’t want you to see me.
By Dan LeachOctober 2021It’s like arriving at your destination after a long drive, only to realize your mind has been elsewhere the entire time and you have no memory of the lights you stopped at, the turns you made, the glide in and out of traffic. Morning arrives again, and I stand in the kitchen, startled to exist.
By Steve EdwardsSeptember 2021Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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