Skylark in Tawny Mist BY Julie Ann Wenglinski
Before surgery, a rabbity young man in a white jacket hurried by and put his hand down the front of my dress, then bustled away. On my gurney to the OR, a chatt...
Before surgery, a rabbity young man in a white jacket hurried by and put his hand down the front of my dress, then bustled away. On my gurney to the OR, a chatt...
Many years later, when Grandpa followed her into the abyss, I'm convinced that he whistled for her and she reached out to him.
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
maybe my wife would remarry and live off the fat of my labor and I wouldn’t begrudge her because I was in a better place, drinking Bloody Marys on the great gol...
It is physical, the restlessness from starvation. Like an animal foraging for survival, the starving individual has heightened senses, increased activity, and a...
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*Featured Image: “Stop The Violence- Gun” By Robert Francois #Guns and People Non Fiction Essay Contest! [su_box title=”STAY TUNED:” box...
At 6, I suddenly knew I was adopted by the telling of a fairy tale. Not only did I belong to my parents, but also someone else! The myth of the adoption agenc...
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...
My mother died of Alzheimer's disease. The full catastrophe. She became a turnip––blind, deaf, unable to speak. Her gorgeous dark, thick, red hair––stringy and ...
Watch and listen as Storyteller Sandy Schuman takes you on a delightful audiovisual journey to his father's 1936 Manhattan, where unions are formed, while men's...
What I care about are the relationships and activities that feed my resilience, stretch my gratitude and help me love harder in the time I have left. I feel mys...
We are fortunate, I keep telling myself. Dennis has chronic leukemia, a rare type called LGL. I barely remember the initial shock the first time the oncologist ...
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.
At the hospital I met a young woman who’d smashed a light bulb, poured the glass into her afternoon Diet Coke, and drank it. Then she called her husband to tell...
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...
My mother took the greatest care of her porcelain Virgin Mary. She was two feet tall, dressed in white from head to toe, and as my mother claimed, cried when no...
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