Writer’s block? Gaaah, have a punt on the page. Take off without a map, see what you find. Here are some tips for when my mind’s a real mess and I reckon I’ll suck it and see.
Wander into Story
Nostalgia, A Cautionary Tale
Nostalgia, A Cautionary Tale
by Emma Davey
I have an excellent memory. If I close my eyes, I can drop myself into a favorite kindergarten field trip or the way I would always eat Grandma’s-brand vanilla sandwich cookies before dance class. I remember the first time I saw Shrek, the first time I visited New York, and the leopard print outfit I wore during my seventh birthday party. That acute degree of recall means I spend more time than I care to admit ruminating on the past, my thoughts constantly rubber-banding between house things were and how they are now
Searching for Kishke King
Searching for Kishke King
by Karen Resta
Manhattan was the starting point for my search. Kishke isn’t easy to find, but I’d checked ahead and knew this place was one of the last Jewish delis that served it. One might call kishke an exclusive item, in a sense. Hard to find. Niche. Was it a luxury item? I’d soon find out.
The Final Nightingale (Farewell to Nedra Talley)
The downside of an enchanting revelry comes at waking to realize it was all a dream. This was the feeling on learning Nedra Talley, the final nightingale of that inimitable trio, The Ronettes, had emitted her last sigh.
Sorel Syndrome
Sorel Syndrome
by Sai Pradhan
Twice this past year, I experienced a racing heart, confusion, and a general loss for words at art shows. If only it had been an abundance of awe-inspiring beauty and meaning that was responsible for it!
I Am Quite at My Leisure
I Am Quite at My Leisure: A Journey Through Jane Austen, Stardew Valley, and the Romanticization of Spare Time
by Ireland Headrick
Donald Sutherland sinks back in his chair, tears gated, eyebrows wild and raised, preparing to deliver Mr. Bennet’s final lines in Joe Wright’s 2005 film adaptation of Pride and Prejudice. He is dressed in a voluminous white frock, his cravat wrapped up to the chin, his brown waistcoat buttoned almost, but not quite, to the top. In the generous light of a double-hung window, he sits underneath a dark-toned oil painting of a sheep. The desk in front of him is piled with books, suggesting an interest in reading, as well as a white orchid and a watering can, suggesting an interest in horticulture.
How Art School Is A Scam (And Also Totally Necessary)
How Art School Is A Scam (And Also Totally Necessary)
by Dave Baker
When I graduated high school I was a bit lost. Shocking, I know. I didn’t know what direction to take my life other than to go to college, because that’s the thing you do. I knew I wanted to make comics and be a cartoonist. But going to college seemed like a complete waste of time.
Notes on Darius Jones’s “Legend of e’Boi (The Hypervigilant Eye)”
Darius Jones sits alone on stage minutes before tonight’s show at the Cunneen-Hackett Arts Center in Poughkeepsie, calmly detonating blasts from his alto saxophone, two-to-three second streaks booming across the theater and fading to a moment’s silence just in time for the next one. They’re foghorn loud, piercing, but they seem like more than mere warm up exercises. Perhaps he’s testing the structural integrity of the joint and/or mapping the room’s acoustics—gauging the capabilities of tonight’s worksite and the best ways to utilize them.