Nonfiction

Narrative Taste

Why kill something so mild-mannered, entertaining, and sociable?

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Lynn Ahrens

Story of the Week

I could not tell what visions were vanishing in the dying slave.

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.

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Needless to say, when it was my night to read I was beyond terrified.

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Writing is a subversive activity that exempts you from the rules.

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I wanted from my father what I had never wanted or sought: his advice.

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It holds a place in my heart: Never forget the suspenders.

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It was the sixties, and I was in college and incredibly restless.

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My advice can be succinctly expressed in three words: Persist, persist, persist!

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Getting answers is easy. The difficult thing is knowing the right questions.

Story of the Week

I am always hungry & wanting to have sex. This is a fact.

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If they don’t give you a seat at the table, bring a folding chair.

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Truths don’t eclipse each other—they only complicate each other.

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Follow your dog, and you might just live to write for another day.

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You can get anyone to sleep with you—if you want it bad enough.

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Abandon the idea that arts and sciences are mutually exclusive.

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Reviewers are curs and their opinions are not to be taken seriously.

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Our lives are often shaped by small, seemingly trivial choices.

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My advice is to take advice with a grain of salt.

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I worry that I will be kidnapped by my cab driver and driven to an ATM.

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To see—and to see properly—is the writer’s central responsibility.

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It is only the failures of love that I regret, those times when I did not give myself so generously.

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“Ten lo,” she says when you’ve finished. Have it.

Story of the Week

His hands were the last to go under, pressed together into a little steeple.

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Nonfiction

I asked for water, and he shot me a look of henpecked resentment.

Nonfiction

We loaded the packs and started down, into the bluing of dusk.

Story of the Week

This Lee was a woman, and she was a painter, and she was good.

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I saw my mother’s face turn dark like the winter sky before a storm.