We know you've been waiting with bated breath. Here it is: the shortlist for the 2021 Creative Non-Fiction Contest. Many thanks, again, to all those who entered, and to our wonderful judge, Dr. Njoki Wane. Congratulations to the five writers whose contest submissions...
It's finally here: our 2021 Creative Non-Fiction Contest longlist! Congratulations to these thirteen writers, and a heartfelt thank you to all those who submitted work to this year's contest. Light and Shadow: One Painting, Two Lives, Emily McKibbon Zebrafish, Neive...
The 2021 Creative Non-Fiction Contest judge is award-winning educator, researcher, and writer, Dr. Njoki Wane. Dr. Wane has consistently used her positions in academia and policy-making to advance an agenda of equity and an intersectional approach. She is also the...
My introverted grandfather used a code to let my extraverted grandmother know when he was running out of steam at parties: fists by his side meant he had some energy; one fist in the air, spotted across the room, meant he was running on steam; both raised above his head meant he was finished and had no energy left for socialization.
Amidst all the swirling anxieties of the pandemic, I had almost forgotten I was brown. I had forgotten that the eyes looking out from above my mask were deep inky pools which so often failed to reflect familiarity and belonging.I had forgotten that, while my hands were gloved and hidden, my sepia arms betrayed my origins in a sun-washed and sun-dried land.
from LooseLeaf Magazine In 2015 I had a wild dream to start a publication for pan-Asian writers and artists, and that winter, in partnership with a bunch of equally naive and down-for-anything Asian creatives, LooseLeaf Magazine emerged. Like a lot of other grassroots...
“Queer relationships can save lives, not just romantic ones, but platonic friendships, too. Especially because for so many queer people, our families may not know how to affirm or see us.”
Who “I” am is entangled with a host of others, not just other humans and their stories, transnational production processes, institutions of power, but also clusters of other-than-humans, including other animals, bodies of water, lands, and even inorganic elements such as viruses. “I” am vulnerable and plural because the border of my skin is porous and because in my psyche are lodged the thoughts and ideas of others.
I am not homeless in the literal sense and I don’t have the language to describe the home for which I feel intense longing. Terrene, waves, raindrops, bark, foundation, walls, roof, pen strokes on a page, flick of the tongue, tightening of lips, closure of the vocal chords, intimacy, trust, embrace, connection.
I think of all the times as a child my mother has sent me over to the neighbour’s with a bag of garlic, when they asked for just a clove. These acts of care, mercy, and consideration have been happening under society’s collective radar.