In today’s mail I found this:  9 longish pieces from Ploughshares in one bound volume.

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One of the 3 essays was written by my favorite writing teacher, Eileen Pollack.  Brilliant and funny and gut-punching and sardonic and lovely, poetic language.

I was flipping through the pages and, no offense to the fiction writers, but I’m so drawn to nonfiction lately.  What’s that about?  I feel like it’s time —- even though summer is infamously known for lighter reading, for romance and mystery, for the “it” thriller,  for big-fat-juicy novels like THE WINDS OF WAR or OUTLANDER (aaaaahhhh!),— for a giant essay collection, or a nonfiction book that will lock me right down into my chair … and not let me up.


Are you reading any good nonfiction?  You know, the kind that makes you want to scream and yell and insist on punishment of death that the rest of us read it?  Like, right now?