everyday art culture & Magic
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By Owen Patterson  I don't have a favorite childhood vacation memory. Although, one vacation does stand out.
In the mid '70s... I was 9 or 10 years old. We vacationed in Orlando, Florida.
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By George Leipold  It was an unseasonably warm day in April.
“I can’t go on another walk. We won’t find him.” I said with defeat and exhaustion in my voice. “I know,” said my roommate, “I’ll go.” The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
By Alex Carrigan  Last year, I reviewed Howls from Hell, an anthology of horror literature from the online horror literature group HOWL Society. A group on Discord dedicated to all things horror, the previous anthology was a mission statement for the group and the kind of work that could emerge from their collective. One year later, the group is taking more risks when it comes to publishing horror literature with a new themed anthology.
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 He stood alongside the oil-stained Greyhound stall as my bus lurched to a stop in lane six. Blaring horns bounced off grimy station walls, screeching at those pretending sleep was possible. Like me, he was young. His posture was relaxed, but I wasn’t as I stared at him through the smudged glass. The shaggy hair, honey-brown face under artificial lights, thin bow-legged stance – every detail was Jose. Though it couldn’t possibly be Jose, my heart fluttered.
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By Alex Carrigan  When I decided that I wanted to write book reviews regularly, I decided that one of my goals as a critic would be to expose myself to more perspectives and points of view that were completely alien from my own. I felt like if I was going to write about other people's work, I would need to suspend my own experiences and my specific mindset to try and let these writers educate me and challenge me. I wanted to write about the questions I had to ask and the answers given to me from writers who weren't like me. Doing this has exposed me to some incredible writers and works, but more importantly, it made me realize how necessary it is to continually educate oneself.
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 Mom’s calendar page boasted a busy week that August when she was living at Napa’s Redwoods, a retirement community. There were the usual events: Bingo, Wednesday luncheon, hair appointment, church. But that week, the activities director had organized two extra bus trips. Monday was a winery visit. Wrapped in the heady perfume of ripening grapes, guests would sample hors d’oeuvres and sip wine against the backdrop of Napa Valley’s lush vineyards. And for my eighty-two-year-old football-loving mother, Tuesday sounded even better. The Oakland Raiders had their summer training camp in Napa; Redwoods residents would watch the Raiders, and then go to lunch.
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By Cassandra Bristow  Sometimes that tale as old as time is so tangible I can hardly breathe.
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By Meaghan Curley  Incandescence by Mehreen Ahmed is equal parts endearing, philosophical, and sentimental.
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 I got the call that my grandmother was dying on a weekday afternoon. It was a sunny spring day, objectively beautiful. I studied the imposing Gothic church outside my apartment window as I listened to my father’s uncharacteristic silence. When he could finally speak, he told me a priest was on his way.
My grandmother had dementia, so the feeling of losing her wasn’t new. I didn’t ask why this moment was declared as the beginning of her dying. I ended the call and got in my car. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
By James Lawson Moore  So, a weird thing happened to me the other day.
It was around 3PM, and I just picked up a half dozen unique donuts from this place at the strip mall near my house at school, called Amazing Glazed (corny name, but they have good ice cream and coffee so who’s complaining?). I don’t have a car and my girl had a class down in Norfolk, so I had about a 12-minute walk back to the house, right? I make this trip all the time, so what’s the worry? |
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January 2023
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