Creative Nonfiction

Trains

Up the steep wooded hill behind my house in northeastern Tennessee lies an open field that has always reminded me of Bambi’s meadow. I often wonder, as I watch them pass through, if the deer that traverse our woods stop at its edge and counsel their fawns on the danger lurking…

The Letters

Let’s go in here and talk,” she said, guiding my shoulder toward her bedroom. Granny Bill closed the door and sat on the small stool that fronted her oversized maple dresser. She fidgeted with her hand mirror and comb while I looked around, not knowing whether to sit or stand. I…

Seeing Pink Elephants

Before 2016… It’s usually around seven when I wake up, when the circadian alarm announces it’s time to contend with a horrifying, if somewhat obscene, morning ritual known as the DTs—or, to employ a more gentle euphemism: “seeing pink elephants.” What this means is I go to the bathroom, close…