Author: Nonfiction Contest

By Susan Silver “My mother is a poem I’ll never be able to write, though everything I write is a poem to my mother.” – Sharon Doubiago My fingers moved furiously across the page. Moving with strokes trying to stay...

By Bridget Sampson Chatsworth, California, May 12, 2006 “Gotta interview a guy in jail,” my husband says. “Wanna come with me? “ “Jail? Me? I donʼt know, Neal. Well…maybe.” I reread a few of the articles I give my students....

By Brian Joye You are 10 years old. You come home every day from school and chug two bottles of soda. Your thirst still doesn’t go away. You tell your mother, and she just tells you to drink water. Water will quench your thirst...

By Angela Pilson By the end of spring break, I’ve had enough of Judge Judy, Dr. Oz and ornery, cranky grandparents. My mom and I have been in Florida since Friday morning, and although I have not seen them in two years, I am...

By Dylan Magruder 140 lbs. The summer soccer camp at Furman University made me fat. That is, quitting the soccer camp after five days. On that fifth day, the college students teaching us showed us how to make goals. They lined...

By Lois Carlisle The most mysterious thing about my mother was her white recipe binder. She would send me to pluck it from the baker’s rack when I was a little kid. She spilled past me in the front room after she returned from...