Creative Nonfiction

It was a routine visit, but my heart was cartwheeling in anticipation of a test I couldn’t study for.

Despite my efforts, Mom’s drinking problem seeped through until I could no longer hide the stain.

What’s my purpose if I can’t teach my daughter the satisfaction of using her hands to create something out of nothing?

Abandoning all pragmatism, we packed up our things, broke the contract on a house we were set to buy elsewhere, and moved to the beach.

Control, or rather the pursuit of it, is on my mind as I scrub the kitchen and bathroom counters today…

If politics divides many families, it was actually a sweet spot for my mother and me, the one place where our instincts and ideologies were almost totally aligned. So I…

My mother didn’t meet the son I named Daniel until she was 72. She was living in the nursing home in Maine, and Jeff, 23, was visiting from California for…

In theory, sharing a 14-hour drive with my daughter sounded like a reasonable idea. But as soon as she takes her first curve, I reflexively grab for the door handle…

The everyday, lately, has been uneven. Our house lost power. The dog injured her leg. My husband has shingles. My employer is bankrupt. My father-in-law tore his aorta. And yet…

I can only imagine what it must have been like for LJ’s birth mother to relinquish her baby, to wrap her in layers against the November chill, set her down…

For the first time since my water broke, I feel like melting into my husband’s hazel-green eyes, but then I notice the abnormally deep creases beneath them. At the hospital,…