Stories
Nonfiction
He’d be buried in the town he so desperately wanted to leave.
Nonfiction
Progressive stages of revision eliminate incidence in favor of essence.
Nonfiction
Art touches the soul and moves life in ways that commerce cannot.
E. L. Doctorow noted that writers seem to get business ideas almost right.
Nonfiction
My grandfather committed my grandmother to a mental asylum.
Nonfiction
Neither blood nor belonging accounted for my presence in Ghana.
Nonfiction
I want to focus on bears. On knowing them, and on what they need.
Nonfiction
We loaded the packs and started down, into the bluing of dusk.
Story of the Week
The survival of our world depends upon the cultivation of better language.
Nonfiction
Widow. I look up the etymology. To separate, split, cleave, divide.
Nonfiction
Advance planning was never Hank’s strong suit, he had to leave her.
Nonfiction
Fitzgerald was about to turn thirty and felt the press of time.
Nonfiction
Fiction, no matter how short or long, is the art form of human yearning.
Story of the Week
After breakfast I set out to see what my wild neighbors have been up to.
Nonfiction
Identify where you came from, where you are, and where you wish to go.
Story of the Week
The event was an accelerator. So much matter crashed, vaporized.
Story of the Week
I should never have the notebook and the pencil in the right pockets.
Narrative High School Writing Contest
Women should hate it when people whistle at their backs as they walk past.
Nonfiction
Later, in a sudden about-face, she gives herself to him entirely.
Story of the Week
I grew accustomed to seeing the sun rise and set from the school.
Narrative Taste
Why kill something so mild-mannered, entertaining, and sociable?
Nonfiction
They do good things for us, the bats. But we do not want them there.
Nonfiction
In other words, beachfronts like Bolaño’s and mine are Nowhere.
Nonfiction
The boat’s one of the most flagrant symbols capitalism ever spawned.
Story of the Week
It is natural that the novelist should doubt his ability to cope with his task.
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.
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.
