Nonfiction
Independence
Today, Americans all around the country will be smiling and happy. Maybe not content; after all, who could be, in the world we live in these days? But for this entire day, people will forget their woes and those of the world, and they will engage in merriment, sunshine, and good times.
By Alexandra Grant4 months ago in Critique
Painting With Water
I want it to be lyrical. I want it to be powerful. I want it to be a warning, a klaxon on the path of life, an irresistible demand, that you stop, pay attention to my warning, so that you can avoid the pitfall I fell into, so that my own experience isn’t in vain.
By Meredith Harmon4 months ago in Critique
Wild Rose (MY ONLY 'FRIENDS' FROM THE PSYCH WARD "soap opera"). Winner in Not Quite There Yet Challenge.
Dostoyevsky wrote that Hell is the inability to love. Among other things, my experiences with psychiatry and drugs, etc. would come to prove to me that the inability to truly love is indeed, at the very least, a type of hell or purgatory. But where this hell originates from is a mystery bequeathed to psychologists and writers to ponder and analyze; although the quality of this analysis is proportional to the writer's own level of evolution and enlightenment.
By ANTICHRIST SUPERSTAR4 months ago in Critique
Conversations
Not Quite There challenge - The Prompt: Share a story that never fully came together, along with what’s holding it back. On Friday I was told I could have the extension I was asking for to continue to complete my book and the rest of what I proposed. How could I not be done with it. I received my grant to write the book back in December of 2024 and it is the middle of 2026.
By Denise E Lindquist4 months ago in Critique
The Novel That Bit Me. Honorable Mention in Not Quite There Yet Challenge.
Fir the Next Great (American) Novel challenge (which, despite the title, didnae actually huv tae be American), Ah hud two ideas an' two entries. Baith included Glasgow as almost a central character. One wis heavily inspired by Trainspotting by Irvine Welsh an' a real-life experience that happened many years afore Ah started writing.
By Paul Stewart4 months ago in Critique
If I Were To Publish An Exclusive Story
If I did, would you pay two dollars and ninety-nine cents to read my story? If you are Vocal+, you are already paying to read my work, and if you are not Vocal+, you have other, more pressing financial obligations.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 4 months ago in Critique
The Weight of Water
I was twelve the first time the ocean tried to take me. My stepdad and I were sailing our Hobie Cat through the Carquinez Strait on a warm May evening, the kind of evening that makes you trust things too easily. The wind filled our sails as we moved toward the Benicia Bridge, everything smooth enough that it felt like we knew what we were doing.
By Tina D. Lopez4 months ago in Critique
Archive to Ashes. Top Story - June 2026.
"You don’t really need these anymore, do you?" he said as I watched the flames creep around the shoebox, searching for a corner to bite into. The rising tone at the end of the question was just a formality. He didn’t want an answer. The fire was lit before I could blink. My nostrils filled with the sickening smell of lighter fluid.
By Cristal S.4 months ago in Critique
Oceanic Cleansing . Runner-Up in Not Quite There Yet Challenge. Content Warning.
By the time I was 20 I had already been living on my own for years. During all that time my feet barely touched the ground. I functioned on the tenet that I could die at any moment, and I knew my body would never be as spry as it was, so why not live hard? There may have been underlying schemas in direct correlation to childhood trauma and undiagnosed neurodivergence, but at my core, I know I was happiest when life crumbled at my feet and I was free to roam as I chose. So, when I found out my girlfriend had been sleeping with the bass player of her band, I performed the obligatory freak-out breakup— I threw plates, cancelled the electric and internet, and brought random people home for her to find in our bed. Underneath the ache of betrayal lay a current of relief. I could quit my job and stop playing house with someone I’d rather not be tethered to like a maypole. I yearned for the life of a vagabond. I did love her, that part was real. The hurt was visceral. I didn’t know how to deal with complex emotions, so I acted rashly; within a month I was packed into the back of a 1999 Toyota Camry with two strangers. The owner of the car needed cash for gas to get home to Halifax, and I had just gotten my first welfare cheque after quitting my job. It felt like divine timing. I stuffed a garbage bag to the brim with dirty laundry but wore the same jeans and t-shirt, no bra, the entire trip. It was hot, we were high or drunk or both the entire time. Eventually, we were there.
By Emily Adams5 months ago in Critique
Unfinished Love Story
I've always been a firm believer in finishing what I start. I set out to get a degree in music. Check. I wanted to move from Minnesota to Arizona to get out of the cold. Check. I live in a great town. Not too hot or cold, not too big or small.
By Julie Lacksonen5 months ago in Critique
The Cost of Modern Progress
I don’t want to go to the grocery store! I’ll order it and have it delivered. My child doesn’t want to call Grammie. He texts her. My husband hates clothes shopping, so departmentstore.com (not a real thing) is open on the laptop. Mary doesn’t feel well, so she went to TeleDoc. On and on, we are gaining more and more convenience and leisure. We can do just about everything from the privacy of our homes, at our computer screens.
By Alexandra Grant5 months ago in Critique
