Interview with Max Andrew Dubinsky (PLUS: Win A Free Book)

by Joe Bunting | 160 comments

Several months ago, I read Max Andrew Dubinsky’s short story, “The Boy With His Heart on His Sleeve,” and didn’t care for it. Too sappy. The metaphor too easy. So when he published a book of short stories last month, We Can’t Go Home Again, I only bought it because it was $0.99 cents.

I’m so glad I did.

If I could use one word to describe We Can’t Go Home Again it would be Ash, like cigarettes, sin, and death. The characters are dirty with it, and Max asks us to look unflinching into their lives. To say I was impressed is an understatement.

How to Deal With Performance Anxiety

by Joe Bunting | 53 comments

I've been blocked today. In the last two weeks, the Write Practice has grown by 50%. I've dreamed of this place as a community of writers based around practice, and I'm thrilled and a bit humbled that so many are seeing the potential for such a community for their own...

The Desert

by Joe Bunting | 71 comments

PRACTICE Write about the desert. Write for fifteen minutes. When you're finished, post your practice in the comments. Here's my practice. Hopefully you can do better. David strode out. Two steps at a time. The hard packed sand-dirt scraped under his feet. There was no...

Your Favorite Christmas Story

by Joe Bunting | 11 comments

Well, submissions for our “Show Off” Writing Contest are now closed. I'm excited to tell you seventeen of you decided to submit your Christmas story to the contest, with a total of eighteen stories (yes, one of you submitted twice—you know who you are—it...

The One Secret to a Deeper Memoir

by Joe Bunting | 26 comments

When I was 13, my best friend’s father, the pastor of my church, came out as gay. Years later, I decided to write about the experience.

I had this memory of my best friend being harassed by members of our church congregation as she walked home from school, but when I asked my mom about this, she reminded me I couldn’t have been walking home from school with my friend since we didn’t attend the same school. I had created that memory out of stories I’d been told.