Category Archives: Creative Non-Fiction

“Blue Blazes” by Cameron Hunt McNabb

Between 7000 and 10,000 Kelvin, a flame blazes blue. But this is only my most recent understanding of blue blazes. The earliest comes from my grandmother, who was also ignorant of anything in Kelvin. Her simile “It’s as hot as … Continue reading

Posted in Creative Non-Fiction

“She Was Playing a Part I Could Understand” by Terry Barr

I watched The Last Picture Show again this week. Sonny, and that poor girlfriend of his, “Charlene,” are still making out in the last row of the Royal Theater, The Father of the Bride playing in their semi-shadowed faces. As … Continue reading

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“This is Not a Tree” by Renae Tucker

I invited a murderer to several of my birthday parties. That sounds harsh, but so does a knife plunging into a thirteen-year-old’s body. She got me Polly Pockets, I think. Then, we played games like hide and seek, but on … Continue reading

Posted in Creative Non-Fiction

“Wicked” by Megan Newcomer

Preface There is something so elegant about destruction. In every moment of devastation there is a single breath, held in. That single breath beats on the walls of your lungs to escape, but somehow we all cope much better if … Continue reading

Posted in Creative Non-Fiction

“Honeymoon” by Joy Krause

She paused midway up the last porch step carefully avoiding the rotted wooden edge to listen to the night’s silence. She knew that sound, had known it for her fifty-two years. She smiled in reverence to Trinity, North Carolina’s country … Continue reading

Posted in Creative Non-Fiction, Non-Fiction Prose

“The Real Thing: My Life in Coke” by Deborah Gold

When I was ten, I would sit on the floor in front of the television, winking at the door-length mirror angled towards me. Wearing periwinkle Danskin elastic-waist shorts and a striped sleeveless top, I hugged my bare knees to my … Continue reading

Posted in Creative Non-Fiction, Essays

“Tobacco Road Revisited” by Rita Welty Bourke

What must my father have felt when he came into the house at the end of the day, and his five-year-old daughter held her arms up to him, and her breasts were nearly as large as those of a grown … Continue reading

Posted in Creative Non-Fiction, Essays