Nonfiction
Nonfiction
I’m a theatrical lyricist. I would never choose to look fat in public.
Features
Truths don’t eclipse each other—they only complicate each other.
Story of the Week
I am always hungry & wanting to have sex. This is a fact.
Features
If they don’t give you a seat at the table, bring a folding chair.
Nonfiction
The boat’s one of the most flagrant symbols capitalism ever spawned.
Story of the Week
His hands were the last to go under, pressed together into a little steeple.
Nonfiction
I asked for water, and he shot me a look of henpecked resentment.
Story of the Week
It is natural that the novelist should doubt his ability to cope with his task.
Nonfiction
We loaded the packs and started down, into the bluing of dusk.
Nonfiction
The story is filled with demarcations, limits, invisible as well as overt.
Story of the Week
I’d never seen my mother’s breasts. Or anyone else’s, for that matter.
Story of the Week
This Lee was a woman, and she was a painter, and she was good.
Fall Contest Winners
I saw my mother’s face turn dark like the winter sky before a storm.
Nonfiction
The story doesn’t begin until the van breaks down, I always say.
Story of the Week
The store was one of his last-ditch efforts to make a pile of money.
Narrative By Hand
You could not look at Leila for long, and yet you longed to look at her.
Narrative By Hand
Words and sketches from Gail Godwin’s upcoming novel Flora.
Narrative By Hand
The notebooks reveal insertions, deletions, queries, and corrections.
Narrative By Hand
Manuscript pages from The Blue Flower and The Bookshop.
Narrative By Hand
Some people are so beautiful they belong everywhere that they go.
Narrative By Hand
My parents had seven children; some of us have bank accounts.
Narrative By Hand
Handwritten drafts of “Byzantium,” “Easter, 1916,” and other poems.
Narrative By Hand
The handwritten first draft pages of Robert Olen Butler's first novel.
