Michelle Wing
Michelle Wing is a poet and fiction writer, who brings in a paycheck working as a journalist at a small town weekly newspaper, the Calistoga Tribune. She also writes a blog on life from a Zen perspective, found at www.rrzbeginnersmind.blogspot.com. She lives with her partner Sabrina in Sonoma County, California, on an acre and a half, with three dogs and eight cats. Her home office is painted lime green and citrus yellow, and the...
Summer Wood
Summer Wood, 4th Gift of Freedom recipient, is the author of the novels Arroyo(Chronicle Books) and the forthcomingWrecker (Bloomsbury, 2011). Her non-fiction work has appeared in National Geographic Traveler and other venues. Wood teaches for the University of New Mexico at the Taos Summer Writers’ Conference, and offers workshops, in Taos and elsewhere, on the craft of narrative.www.summerwoodwrites.com. 4th Gift of Freedom...
Barbara Yoder
Barbara Yoder writes and edits fiction and nonfiction and leads writing groups for women. Currently she is writing a book of healing stories and exercises to help women writers connect with their personal imagery and midwife their creative pieces. Her fiction has appeared in Natural Bridge and The Worcester Review, and she is the author of The Recovery Resource Book (Simon and Schuster, 1990). Barbara has served as executive director...
“How to Become a Dyke, Step Three, Birds,” by Nickole Brown
A book of birds. A story in birds. Each breath a bird, each dream slipped from your ear to your pillow out the window a song: cardinals laughing at you—birdie birdie birdie— on a lonely Valentines, then robins swarming the last bits of red another February day, so many of them on the holly tree the branches tick with their picking and you stop the car. But you are so cold, you have to get to the store, and in the florescent buzz of...
“Heart of a Locust,” by Nahal Suzanne Jamir
My son runs into the wind, and his shirt billows out behind him. He says he will sail away. I grab his arm, hard, and pull him away from the wind, from the street, from the cars in the street. “That hurt,” Jake says. “Too hard.” “I told you about running,” I say. “You can’t run. It’s dangerous. Only on the playground.” “There aren’t any cars. I looked.” “It’s always the car you don’t see.” He squirms and squiggles, using his body...
WAVES ALIVE |