by Tracey Loscar The air remains heavy and hot, despite the fact that the sun has long since disappeared. Summer nights in the south aren’t so much a cooling off as a kicking off of the heavier blanket, where the sheet gets left on, keeping some of the air trapped….
By Naomi Ruth Lowinsky “I’m a green-and-yellow basket case,” you tell me, shuffling from bathroom to bedroom and back. We lean on each other, laughing. The basket weaver of the stars sent you to me, my green man, my pollen, my salmon leaping upriver. A tisket, a tasket, we’re in…
by Mary Scanlan I shuffled into my home office with solemnity and in silence, coffee in hand and ready to start my morning ritual before the day’s noises began. It was a relatively mild November morning in 2014. The sun was struggling to rise, as was I. After a brief…
by Timothy Caldwell Lightning strikes in the distance. He begins counting, “One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three, one thousand four…” Thunder arrives. “The storm is four miles away, Grandpa. That’s what Daddy taught me,” he says. “That’s right,” I say, as the clouds suck more afternoon sunlight…
by Betsy Burr Sometimes in life you get a reputation—good or bad—for something you didn’t do. Jacky Dunford snatched my scooter right out from under my nose and sped off across the street. Enraged by this breach of neighborhood etiquette, my five-year-old self took off after him on my tricycle,…
By Paulette Zander The 57 books I’ve read about the art and craft of writing boil down to three rules. Rule #1: Never pay someone to read your writing. Rule #2: Listen to your muse. Rule #3: Do not let friends and family read your work. I have broken all…
By Julie Young Kara skipped into our cluttered kitchen with a huge lace bow tied in front of her silky red dress. Her smile created dimples on each side of her porcelain cheeks; her caramel eyes sparkled with pride as her little fingers untied the bow and then dipped lace…
By Benjamin Jackson My daughter Emma was born in the last cold days of December, 2001, unmoving, unbreathing, unable to live without immediate surgical intervention. The very first thought I had upon seeing my very first daughter for the very first time was that I hoped I hadn’t made a…
By Paul LeBlanc Our daughter Emma (LeBlanc) just finished her MFA program here at SNHU and was one of two student speakers at this weekend’s graduation. For any of us who love literature or harbor secret or not-so-secret hopes of being a writer, I think her talk will resonate. So…