I got the sense, at times, that I ought to be looking, rather than reading. The tapestry of language is the message.

Jung Young Moon hasn’t exactly transformed Texas into a magical place, but he has used the state as an inspiration to manipulate words in magical ways.

This collection celebrates itself and dances, fully realized, through the world around it. González’s poetic eye resides in her crown chakra, as if she, herself, is Azabache.

Thors writes the body as metamorphic and volcanic (the site of secrets threatening to erupt), yet somehow still human.

Each sentence, traveling first through Brum’s body and then across the chasm between the two languages, demands the utmost attention.

Wyoming summons a host of ideas about working-class people in hard times, about people doing bad things for good reasons, about the choices one makes when there are no good choices.

Her second job, beyond teaching them how to write, inevitably becomes reinforcing their power, listening to their stories, and offering help to report the rape or find therapy.

Sheryl St. Germain, who writes about the loss of her son from addiction, and the addiction that runs in her family, quantifies her grief: it’s fifty miles long.

Barrelhouse TV Workshop: Love is Blind Part 3

Barrelhouse TV Workshop: Love is Blind Part 2

Barrelhouse TV Workshop: Love is Blind Part 1

Barrelhouse TV Workshop: Love is Blind Preview

Before this era of isolation, I was in the habit of playing basketball once or twice a week with a group of creative writing friends at Florida State. I am the last pick, not particularly athletic, with basketball skills long stunted by a hesitance to play after my younger brother outgrew me.

The world attempts to work, homeschool their kids, and day-drink responsibly – and yet they still have time for hobbies, it seems.

You can grow up nestled in plastic and still find something beautiful in it. Accola’s work seems to argue that we should try.