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For highly sensitive people who absorb everyone’s emotions I was sitting in the coffee shop last Tuesday, minding my own business and trying to write, when the woman at the table next to me got a phone call. I couldn’t hear the words, but I could feel the tension radiating from her body like heat
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I once agreed to help someone move on the same weekend that I was already committed to attending a wedding, a work deadline, and what I like to call “recovery time” (which is really just me lying on my couch questioning my life choices). Why? Because when they asked if I was free Saturday morning,
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I’ve been meditating consistently for about three months now, and I need to tell you something: it still feels like trying to wrangle a caffeinated squirrel most days. Despite what the Instagram wellness gurus might say, my mind hasn’t transformed into some Zen Garden of perpetual calm. If anything, sitting still has made me aware
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I was procrastinating my own deadline when I stumbled across Eva Asprakis’s bio. By the time her first book was published, she’d accumulated four surnames: her mother’s French-Canadian name, the one on her British passport, her Cypriot family name from her stepfather’s adoption, and her married name. As someone who’s spent years thinking about narrative
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I was standing in the produce section of my local grocery store last week, debating on the difference between organic and regular bananas (because apparently this is what passes for major life decisions in your thirties), when I thought about Karissa Chen’s Homeseeking. I thought about Haiwen—her protagonist who’s doing the exact same thing in
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How a Cambridge graduate transformed a single summer’s day into a masterpiece of adolescent truth In the landscape of contemporary literary fiction, few debut novels manage to capture the delicate intersection of grief, adolescence, and the weight of a single day quite like Alice Chadwick’s Dark Like Under. This debut has been making waves in
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I used to have three uninterrupted hours every morning to create. My desk was pristine, my supplies organized by colors, my creative practices as consistent as breathing. Then I became a mother, and suddenly my art felt like a luxury I could no longer afford. The transition hit me like a train. Where I once
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There’s something sacred about the hours before the world wakes up. In that space between sleep and the day’s demands, I’ve discovered a ritual that doesn’t just start my morning—it resets my entire creative being. As creatives, we’re constantly pouring ourselves out. We give our ideas, our energy, our very essence to our work, often
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Imagine being a Black woman writer in 1900, watching white authors profit from stories about their people while getting every detail wrong. What would you do? Pauline Elizabeth Hopkins didn’t just complain—she picked up her pen and wrote the stories herself, creating some of the most powerful and unapologetically Black literature of her time. She
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Have you ever been told you had to pick a side? That you couldn’t be all of who you are because it makes other people uncomfortable? That your complexity—your refusal to fit neatly into someone else’s box—is somehow the problem? In 1892, a brilliant Black woman named Anna Julia Cooper stood before a room full
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Kat McAdaragh 