The blog, Sophia Everything, is filled with creative imagery and unusual phrasing. This short piece captures the essence of a moment in time. It starts off in the middle. There is no explanation or apology. It is something beautiful and something small.
But sometimes, just the affirmation of time passing is enough. Because we were little. Little people living someone else’s big life. Borrowed. Un-earned. We weren’t caviar. Weren’t hired gardeners. We didn’t tan, or say I love you with diamonds and reservation dinners. We were little. Like, picnics and hikes and scary movies half-watched in the dark. Something different. Something I cannot impose upon your senses, make you see. Something small. But something, always, unequivocally, irrevocably important.
High Street Peach’s Post: The Quiet Rebellion of Reading Women
This is an excellent example of an intriguing, well planned, and enticing blog post. The title “The Quiet Rebellion of Reading Women” attracts exactly the kind of reader who is interested in modern society.
The first paragraph explains a little about who the writer is without going overboard. Unless reading a memoir, incessant details of the writer’s personal life can leave a post looking too long and misdirected. “While I’ve always been preoccupied with reading about the lives of women, I never actively set out to reject male authors.” This relatable style of writing appeals to most readers while avoiding the eyes-glazed-over outcome of over sharing.
High Street Peach briefly considers great literature throughout history and comes to the conclusion that most popular books are written by men. The post provokes readers to ponder the reach of feminism from a disarming and engaging perspective. I’m curious to see which books are reviewed.
Review: Chris Milam’s story: Church Food
Chris Milam’s chilling 100 word story, Church Food, depicts an anorexic line between charity and cruelty. Written from the perspective of a man down on his luck, he describes the mundane thoughts that go through a survivalist’s mind. “Who can I bum a cigarette from?” “I hope they serve cheeseburgers with absolution.”
Milam’s astute observations grip the reader in a way that won’t let go. He describes the volunteers as soft-spoken and angelic kids. The kind who won’t end up in a soup kitchen. His story leaves us with many unanswered questions. How did his character become so lost? How long has he been without food? Although there are obvious curiosities lurking in the background, the voice of a moment rings far stronger than background details. A truly haunting portrayal of good intentions felt forcefully.
By Chris Milam
We all squirm because we are all early; the volunteers haven’t emerged from the kitchen yet. Staring into the hive of havenots, two thoughts occur: Who can I bum a cigarette from? and I hope they serve cheeseburgers with absolution.
Teenagers finally float from the back carrying trays of meatloaf, green beans, and applesauce. I inhaled four plates plus three oatmeal cookies. The kids were mannerly and soft-spoken and angelic. They won’t land here on a Friday evening when they’re my age.
A smiling, faithful woman hands me two meals in Styrofoam boxes to take home. It’s almost cruel.