Emily Stimpson Chapman This is a story about a table. It begins, in the early years of the twentieth century, when a young immigrant couple from Czechoslovakia bought a home in the Duquesne neighborhood of Pittsburgh. The neighborhood was a bustling one then, filled with Catholics from around the world. For six days, the men worked in the steel mills, and on the seventh, they … Continue reading My Catholic Table
Originally posted on dearlilyjune:
Dear Lily June, As human beings, we live in the flimsy structures of our fleshy bodies. Our hearts, like birds, are protected only by a cage of ribs; our minds, like yolks, sit inside the bony eggs of our skulls. It is a system designed to be fragile and frail. We are not built to last forever. In my youth, I… Continue reading Forgiving the Flesh–In Which I Recount the Ways My Body Has Betrayed Me
FROM THE LAUNDRY ROOM I am so awkward. Honestly, sometimes things seem perfectly normal at the time and then I just don’t know what I was thinking. This post is cringeworthy, so be forewarned. If you are uncomfortable with boobs, stop right now and go enjoy your weekend. I have an author page on Facebook. I hate Facebook, but it’s out there and it reaches people … Continue reading Revealing Dress
Originally posted on Write Science:
by Shane L. Larson On 19 April 1610, Johannes Kepler wrote an open letter to Galileo Galilei, musing on possible future voyages that would allow explorers — human explorers — to see what Galileo’s telescope had shown. He mused that some day inventors might “provide ship or sails adapted to the heavenly breezes, and there will be some who will not… Continue reading Feeling Small in a Big Cosmos 03: Proverbs
Originally posted on Punch Drunk Village:
I’m turning OLD this year. But I’m taking it all quite well, really. There are benefits to aging of course. Social benefits, for example. And one in particular I find quite tantalizing. Since I’ve always been a tad socially-reckless — over-sharing, stirring the pot, making listeners squirm — what I’m most looking forward to with turning old is my newfound license to I-Don’t-Give-A-Shit (IDGAS). Surely you are already aware there is… Continue reading Licensed to “I Don’t Give a Shit”
Originally posted on Same Page Team:
By: Daniel Reynolds There are generally two schools of thought when it comes to universe construction: the seven day method and the Big Bang. The former defines itself as a thoughtful process with a note of fantastical whimsy. The latter works–but damn if it isn’t loud and messy. After this year’s San Diego Comic Con, DC Comics made clear… Continue reading Marvel vs. DC: Whose Universe is it Anyway?
Originally posted on Jason Preu:
Should you ever find yourself In the most fortunate position Of riding in a glass elevator Please take a brief moment To attempt this experiment: Take the elevator up to the top Push the button for the bottom floor Place your head against the glass Focus on the scene below The ground rushing up to meet you Hold your breath… Continue reading XIV – On Days Slipping By
Originally posted on GLITTERING SCRIVENER:
A little story about strangely full circle writing careers and saying yes for you. In the summer of 2004, I was 27 years old, and at the Breadloaf Writer’s conference, where I was boring an editor to tears by talking about my short story collection. No editor wants to hear those words, particularly not out of the mouth of a… Continue reading YES, NO, MAYBE SO: OR, Congratulations, Your Book Is Coming Out Again, But Written By Someone Else!
Originally posted on blue milk:
I am going to assume the person who left this comment on my post Don’t get raped is a man: When it comes to any kind of crime, I think it is important to make a distinction between blame and responsibility. In all cases all of the blame belongs to the perpetrators. However, in some cases, some of the responsibility… Continue reading But why shouldn’t she take some responsibility too for the rape?
Originally posted on Dave Hannigan:
One night last week, I tried to figure out how many matches my mother saw me play as a child. I know it was less than ten. It may even have been fewer than five. There were a couple of street league finals I forced her to turn up to. There was definitely a county juvenile hurling final with St.… Continue reading Requiem for an Irish mother
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