Existential collapse is often treated as the domain of men coming face to face with their mortality. For me and other women, our crisis wasn’t how much life was left, but how much of it we gave away.
We attribute divine inspiration to madness, but escaping the cycle of mania for the comfort of a calmer mind doesn’t mean abandoning artistic greatness.
Maybe handwriting is neither a lost art nor an anachronism; perhaps new technology will show there is some useful alchemy left in the way language, the body, and our sense of identity intertwine.
“To them, we’re nothing but videos to share on Facebook and hashtags to boost on Twitter.”
Twenty-one years later, a young woman’s murder continues to haunt the people who loved her.
Words can’t possibly capture the experience of being a parent, but when you need a name, who do you become?
To not have “saviors” and hero narratives dictate what they should want, for one thing.
The acquittal of the man who stood trial for the murder of Cindy Gladue inspired a swell of voices calling for change.
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