Issue 17 / Spring 2019 For years, I was silent. I told no one. Today that changes, partly because of you, moving your eyes across this page, participating in my liberation. Or my re-traumatization. Or elements of each. I won’t pretend it’s just one or the...
Is writing not something of great magnificence? If so, why can we not make a difference? The world has never been static, neither has writing. It is dynamic. It makes the world revel and reveal itself. Out went the traditional writing feather or pen, and in surged the...
Mary Quade, finalist in SFWP’s 2013 Literary Awards Program for Nonfiction, is also a poet. We discussed writing essays and poetry. SL: Your collection of four essays, Ideal Uncertainties, was a finalist for the 2013 Literary Awards Program for Non-Fiction. What...
ALABAMA I recently resigned from being the faculty advisor for the Georgia College Bass Fishing team because of a heavy workload. The sixteen anglers on the team are white Southerners. I boasted about having the best rednecks in Georgia on the water. We were ranked...
April 1964 The day room air hung heavy, dense with the body odor that comes from waiting for bad news. As all twenty of us settled in, the atmosphere was hushed. Even Ellen, who ordinarily spoke loudly to anyone who would listen and usually ended up talking to...
