Heidi Turner

Scene: doctor’s office. I am twelve, turning thirteen. The doctor is in her fifties. I put down the book I’d brought with me.READ MORE

Nick Maurer

“We tell ourselves stories in order to live.” This first sentence of Joan Didion’s essay, “The White Album,” ignites her investigation of the social unraveling of American society in the 1960’s, an unraveling that parallels her own psyche. READ MORE

Kathryn H. Ross

I often say I’m not good at anything—I can’t sing or do sports. I’m not great at math, and though I love science, you won’t catch me in a lab. Working with my hands only lends itself to semi-ambitious pet projects, arts and crafts. I’m a decent cook, I love painting and molding clay, I enjoy drawing—but these are low-burn passions.
Writing is in the fire.READ MORE

Shauna Barbosa

I grew up in a Cape Verdean community in Roxbury, Massachusetts. As a young girl, I learned that Cape Verdeans were fetishized because of our mixed Portuguese heritage, our curly hair, and as a friend once put it, “the exotic look” in our eyes. I believed those things made us unique. Until I discovered our land of literature. Warm brutal buried dreams of the Atlantic Ocean.READ MORE

Julie Schulte

Writing is my most terrifying desire on the best days and most pestering necessity on the worst. I would agree with Anaïs Nin when she claims that for her it is nothing short of a matter of life and death: “I believe one writes because one has to create a world in which one can live. READ MORE