I found this gem in the American Archives of Public Broadcasting. Granted, it’s from before 2008, but it’s still a nice reminder of an era before Donald Trump.
In those moments, the unease begins to seep into my thoughts. It’s as if there’s something terrible in the room with me that I can’t quite see because it’s too awful.
There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.
For my daughter, the shell is a shell, until it becomes a shovel, a swimming pool for fairy dolls, a marker of her grandmother who died when my daughter was a baby.
Job hunting out of college is rough. Job hunting in a pandemic and recession is a mess.
That’s some damn good pie, Agent Cooper.
Where do I come from is a deceiving question. It seems like there should be a straight-forward answer. For the siblings in C Pam Zhang‘s How Much of These Hills Is Gold, a question like… Read More »Place and Identity in How Much of These Hills Is Gold