Melita Schaum Awarded Fall 2010 Orlando Nonfiction Prize
MELITA SCHAUM is the author of two books on the modern poet Wallace Stevens and two books on women’s issues. Her fifth book, A Sinner of Memory, a collection of her memoir essays about the wonders and catastrophes of midlife was named runner up for the Great Lakes Colleges Association New Writer Award for 2004, and finalist for ForeWord Magazine’s Book of the Year. Her poetry, short fiction and literary essays have appeared in such...
Rio de Sangre by Kate Gale
In a story conceived by Los Angeles author and librettist Kate Gale and featuring a vibrant score by Emmy-award winning composer Don Davis, Rio de Sangre depicts love in the midst of war and political turmoil in the face of idealism. The opera has been performed at the New York City Opera and Walt Disney Concert Hall. In our writing lives, there are many people who want something from us. Kids who want sandwiches, husbands who want...
“The Flat and Weightless Tang-Filled Future,” by Lyn Hawks
Ronalda lights a Camel but leaves it burning on an egg-crusted plate. Everywhere she sees what needs doing: stovetop glazed with grease, counters studded with crumbs, corners laced with cobwebs. She swabs the counter while the boys’ jeans clink against dryer walls, while the baby squalls from the living room, while her head spins as fast as that silly, don’t-go-breakin’-my-heart song jabbering on the radio. Thank goodness Diane’s...
“Tin Man Tick-Tock,” by Alyssa Cooper
It’s like someone forcing you wide open with metal hands that can’t feel. (I sure do love redheads, sweetheart.) It’s like that Tin Man grabbing around on your insides and wrapping your intestines all in his hard cold fingers that never numb you but just slice like ice. (You’re just pink and red everywhere, aren’t you now?) You reach out to grab him back but his razor sharp skin leaves shrapnel in your fingertips that grabs onto your...
“Learning to Talk,” by Patricia Henritze
Truth is for Sissies My father never uttered three honest words in a row. He lied like it was a gift, like it was his right, like there was no difference between truth and lies and it was petty and small minded to think otherwise. He taught me to parcel out truth in the smallest increments – grains of truth, layered between lies to confound the listener and make them doubt themselves. Or maybe I’m lying, because fathers...
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