Essay by Martha Nichols
Chaos is a gaping seam in the orderly surface that everyone wants to believe in.
Chaos is a gaping seam in the orderly surface that everyone wants to believe in.
I love being sparked by art. It’s one of the best and oldest experiences to which we have access, and when you can achieve that by your own creation, that’s the jackpot.
You’re what the white folks hate, the races mixing, and the girl knows better.
I can only imagine the hell you went through—rejection after rejection.
The statues were fakes: hollow, plaster-like replicas designed to raise the social status of the owners.
Rural southwestern Virginia is not the Deep South, and Appalachia by its very nature is gothic.
Grinning like a mattress-store salesman, Sam handed us all hardhats and protective eyeglasses.
It’s starting again in the U.S.A.
Something essential, something dangerous, loomed in this war and deserved the light of literary day.
I was nervous. Would she in some way feel that I had overstepped the bounds, appropriated her story?