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Prone to Swoons: How Not to Write Cliche When You Are One
I blue-screened in front of the mirror, addled by a full day of beer and wine and a prolonged period of undereating. My body just didn’t have enough of what it needed to keep me conscious right then, overwhelmed as it had been many times before: after my wisdom tooth surgery, four-wheeling accident, childhood fever. I swooned, as I have discovered myself prone to do.
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When Black Wallace Met Shortstack
A loner by choice and a fighter by nature, Black Wallace would have been content to remain friendless, wifeless, and childless for the rest of his days.
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Drunk-Writing Emails to My Nephew (A Weekend Activity)
Hi T, it's Bekah. I told you that I would write to you, and for you to write to me, with your writing and for writing advice. If you really want to write and if you enjoy it, I want to be your mentor.
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My Body, My Temple: An Appropriation of Divinity
Full-bearded and husky, my tattoo artist was dripping in ink. What I’d assumed at first glance to be benign lipoma in Pierre’s forearms turned out to be ball bearings, at least three in a dispersed line up each arm, bulging under the skin.
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A Brief History of Amy Lowell
I acknowledge my own debt to Lowell, and thank her for her poem “Patterns,” which inspired one of my tattoos.
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I Told My Dad I Could Never Love His Novel Like He Did (I Was Wrong)
I get it, Dad. It’s your baby, I said. He’d just finished the most current of several iterations of his novel and now he was trying to persuade me to edit it.
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How a FB Memory Re-Converted Me (to Social Media)
No wonder my mom was worried. Looking at myself from five years ago—rail-thin, smiling fiercely in my birthday purchases—the story starts coming together in my mind. I think I’m ready to tell it.
