The wind swirled figure eights atop the yard’s lone tree when David pulled into the driveway, and the thick rain pummeled the pavement in erratic, grenade-like, bursts. Rain bands, from the outer arms of the storm-so Calypso was nearly there, and the supply run he’d just made would be his…

My Year Visiting Big Cat Sanctuaries The lion, hunched in place, let loose a guttural bellow unlike anything I’d ever heard. “What was that?” I asked the nearby volunteer. “A lion’s roar,” he said. “ That’s a lion’s roar?” I replied, incredulous. He held up a hand, said, “Listen.” From…

My hand trembled as I signed in at the front door inside the entrance. Muffled music played from down the hall; I followed, checked my watch, sat down on a tatty couch outside a door marked “LIVE RECORDING.” …

Rhythm, Part One: The importance of rhythm in great writing is often overlooked in prose workshops and lectures, and I’m perplexed as to why. Among poets the discussion is par for the course. Rhythm as a building block of lyricism is inarguably a crucial facet of literature, no matter the…

Not long ago I had the good fortune to be a member of Lan Samantha Chang’s fiction workshop at the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference. We met in two different locations — two days in a living room setting dubbed “Dragon’s Den,” and on the other days, a large classroom. But…

The tumultuous, rapidly descending, and wrenchingly emotional early months of 2020 have prompted me to meander back through my computer archives and hunt for the poems I’d written about a decade ago, that channeled a glimpse of just such an ominous future. I hadn’t set down to write these poems…

July in Orlando. The air, dense with moisture, erupts into a downpour nearly every afternoon. Puddles swell, parking lots flood. The water sloshes onto the thin fabric of my dance pants as I hurry into the Winter Park Community Center, where I meet up with other members of Gypsy Sa’har…

A selection of poems inspired by dance The Swamp-Goddess She appeared to me once, out back in the shed I built with my Pa — where we disappear to play guitar. One day at fourteen I stumbled in upon her: naked from the waist down, all smooth curves and furry…

Our Research Notes series invites authors to describe their process for a recent book, with “research” defined as broadly as they like. This week, Vanessa Blakeslee writes about from Curbside Splendor. + When the premise for Juventud took root in my imagination and I knew the story largely took place…