Writing Practice

The nakedness wasn’t what kept Daniel riveted behind the clear glass beads hanging in the archway to Martha’s studio. Nudity was a constant in his life. Neither Henry nor Martha hid their bodies from their son like his friends’ parents did. That’s why his friends...

She was the cotton candy and carousels of county fairs. Her friends were the horses—energetic and grateful to be part of the inner circle. I daydreamed about horses going lame so there would be room for me. Understandable for a ten-year old boy. Sad for a...

Pinch me was the only thought in Jeandarc’s head while she watched the gallery door open, again and again, for more patrons. Yesterday, she turned twenty-eight; Today, she was celebrating the opening of her first New York Art Show. She worked hard to get here. But she...

If he hadn’t deserved it, Jeandarc would never have cut her brother in half. But he did, so she did— no regrets. She might’ve responded differently at another time, but an eight-year-old mind is a reactionary thing. Hannibal, her fourteen-year-old brother, had been...

Whenever I dip into childhood memories Mary Creswell appears. Waiflike with a bob of straighter than straight black hair and a covetable pointed nose. Every time she cried it sounded like she was laughing. The oldest of what would be six sisters— Irish twins, all— she...

Patrick flinched from the glare in the rearview. “Jesus Christ, lady.” It had to be a woman. Women were constant over-users from high beams to perfume. No sense of moderation. He flipped the mirror to reduce the glare and discovered the true source of his...

It was a June Cleaver-Donna Reed morning. Breakfast was eaten around the table with my father and mother. My older siblings had already left for school. Pink grapefruit coated with sugar lingers on my mind and tongue. I’d just swapped the grapefruit for a bowl of...

Fane Harrison lingers outside the door to the studio behind the box office, housed in one of a dozen red longhouses that belong to the Black Hills Playhouse in Custer State Park, South Dakota. She arrived six weeks ago, her undergrad diploma still warm in her...

Henry Bannon rolls out of bed because he no longer jumps, leaps or bounces. He relieves himself in the bathroom and washes his hands. Ever since Ava died, over twenty years ago, he’s tried to convince himself to skip the lathering and rinsing of the hand soap. But the...

University students, bundled like pigs-in-a-blanket, pull stocking caps and darned hats over their ears, while women with long hair and unadorned faces maneuver strollers with toddlers and babies and large dogs on leashes. Off in the distance, the early morning sun...