The Desk By Sara J. Sutler-Cohen
My room was the base of operations for Dad’s drug dealing enterprise, a career he must have selected—I imagine in hindsight—to sustain his life as a musician
My room was the base of operations for Dad’s drug dealing enterprise, a career he must have selected—I imagine in hindsight—to sustain his life as a musician
*Featured Image: “Stop The Violence- Gun” By Robert Francois #Guns and People Non Fiction Essay Contest! [su_box title=”STAY TUNED:” box...
I sometimes wonder if I’d given Otis a different name, something like Bronson or Butch, he’d have been born with more brawn than soul. Otis is only two, for Chr...
I sit out in the chill wet evening, all the roses are dead on the bushes, waiting and hoping and knowing, here we are at last and so soon.
As part of our ongoing commitment to nurturing the voices of marginalized groups and writers of color, Memoir Magazine is sponsoring a free online memoir class ...
They did not think: moonlit bank where my ancestors were unloaded from ships or branch from which bodies once swung. They did not have to...
When the clinic called for physicians, I volunteered. Of course, I wasn’t gay—all I needed was proof. I needed to find the clinic and its patients repulsive.
Over-explaining can be especially harmful in regards to nonfiction because we essayists are often accused of doing some serious navel-gazing—where we can’t look...