ISSUE.22
Fall.2006

 

 

 

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750 WORDS ABOUT CANCER
By Rebecca Housel

We are not diagnosed with a deadly disease, we are merely interrupted, as if in the middle of an engaging phone conversation, and then, a child tugs at the hem of your blouse to ask an absurd question that has no answer.

AN ESSAY ON TANGO COMPOSED WHILE LISTENING TO ADRIANA VARELA
By Patrick Rosal

If like me you donít know well the cruel music of tango, then you donít know how its truths can haunt you.

THE ORIGIN OF SAUSAGE
By Rachael Peckham

For as long as I live Iíll never forget the sight (and site) of those carcasses, split in half from jowl to tail, their feet literally hooked to the ceiling for gravity to do its work.


THE THINGS I'VE LOST
By Brian Arundel

My virginity: in 1980, a couple weeks short of 16, in a ritual so brief, awkward and forgettable that I have, in fact, forgotten it. My heart, or so I thought, in 1985.

HEAT
By Rita Ciresi

All hell broke loose in my first French class when our teacher tried to explain the linguistic differences between those who measured the temperature in Fahrenheit and those who measured it in Centigrade.

PRIVATE BATH
By Fleda Brown

I had to wrap my slippery thin traveling robe around me and head down the hall past the half-dozen other rooms, hoping to God no one was in the bathroom during my morning window of personal opportunity.

THE ELECTRODYNAMICS OF LOVING OLD MEN
By Sheyene Foster Heller

I love the way the fiery temper of your youth has smoldered, how youíve become careful in making conversation and generous in making love.

CONFESSION
By Michelle Valois

My English teacher's daughter was one year younger than me, but seduced me in that clever way Catholic girls have of making you think it was all your fault.

TEACHING ERRORS
By Jillian Schedneck

As my bitten fingernail zigzags over his sentences, I realize that even my fingers donít match my image of a fourth grade teacher, who should be neat and composed, with a rosy complexion and trimmed, polished nails.

CIRCLING
B
y Lisa Kahn Schnell
There was a woman who died while I was in Daffiama; she was young and eight months pregnant. I didnít go to the funeral, but those who did said you could see the baby circling around inside of her, like a hand moving under a sheet.

Essays on the Craft of Creative Nonfiction

Lia Purpura on Miniatures, Peggy Shumaker on Brief Forms, Rebecca McClanahan on the tranformative power of Reflection, Diana Hume George on Copyediting, and Jeff Gundy on Speed.

Go to Craft Essays

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authors retain copyright over individual works