A New Kind of Literary Pulse

I have a quiet father. Not quiet like a rock, but quiet like a book. He is particular with his words, as if they were stepping stones. He is collected, not scattered. Firm, not flaky. Resolute, not ... [+]

Nature is calling. As a new intern in the medical intensive care unit (MICU) my bladder is not yet trained to resist this instinctual human need. The team has been rounding for six hours, discussing ... [+]

As a young freshman, I dreamed of how BYU would change me. Would I become a more devout Christian or a scholarly expert? As I near graduation, I fear losing the metaphorical "scaffolding" of religious ... [+]

They were best friends. One died during the summer, the other eight months later, to the day. The Wall Street Journal article said that his parents had long since torn the blood-stained carpet out of ... [+]

A blood-curdling scream of fear silently echoed through my veins as I woke up from a nightmare that left me paralyzed. Sweat started dripping from my head as the uncertainty of life shook my whole ... [+]

"Can I have a fry? They look good today."
She leans forward, hand perched over the spuds like a vulture.
"No," he chuckles, swatting her hand away. "I asked and you said you didn't want any." ... [+]

I put on my mink jacket and sunglasses and began to drive to a local parking lot. The air, despite it being April, felt brisk that day, almost like the weather understood what I was about to do. As I ... [+]

Imagine standing backstage and hearing, moments before the curtains open, that the crowd of freshly trained marines had booed the last performers off stage. My knees would buckle. Janie Thompson ... [+]

Writing is like unraveling a knot. It always seems to turn out that the twistiest jumbles are easiest to pick apart, while the simplest snarls morph into a recursion of stuck-fast loops in loops. To ... [+]

I remember being a little girl going to the department store with my mom; all the girls' clothing was as expected: frilly and pink, embroidered with butterflies, usually itchy and always sparkly ... [+]

I was sixteen years old the first time a man told me that I was pretty enough to be a server.
I was just a host, but a good one. One of the best, which isn't even bragging, because being a host ... [+]

My hair started falling out about three weeks into treatment. I expected clumps (for the doctors, websites, and survivors said, "expect clumps"), and I imagined my hair falling out in neatly packaged ... [+]

Tick-tock, tick-tock; the sound the clock would be making if it were actually working, but instead we're stuck at 5:47. It's only a practice test, but practice or not my pulse quickens and my body ... [+]

I have one favourite.
Because it happened to me, believe it or not, I am writing a true story.
Aswang. As-wang. A Filipino monster who is a beautiful lady with magnetic charm and ... [+]

The red light has me squirming in my seat. My tight bladder makes waiting to pull into the gas station across the road an eternity. Just as I am sure that warm liquid will soon be streaming down my ... [+]

The cobblestone streets press unevenly onto the soles of feet. And despite the sleepiness that is meant to be felt at this hour, washed over and induced by the swiftness of stars wiped across the sky ... [+]

A large, green pot rested on the stove, with heat rising off and warming my nose as I took in a deep breath of steam and starch. Potatoes – a five-pound bag of plain white potatoes turned into the ... [+]

To my unborn child,
Yearning to hold you in my arms, I think about what you will look like. Will your eyes resemble mine or your fathers'? Will you smile from ear to ear or sheepishly as you ... [+]