Personal History

December 01, 2014
By:
Simon Moya-Smith

“What are you writing?” the man at the bar asked me.

“A piece on Turkey’s president who recently said Muslims – not Columbus – discovered America.”

“Well …. did they?”

“Of course not!” I blurted. “And neither did the Jews.”

“So it was Columbus, then. …”

November 25, 2014
By:
Mark Rogers

I haven't participated in Thanksgiving for many years now. It is hard to celebrate the holiday when you know that it was created to commemorate the massacre of Indian people.

November 15, 2014
By:
Mike Taylor

I live and sleep in the mountains. Been living this way for a year now, so I guess that technically makes me homeless. I know an Indian who was similarly homeless, but she got a PhD and now does research at MIT. So there's always hope for Indians in my situation.

October 26, 2014
By:
Gregg Deal

This morning as I sit in front of my eggs, corn beef hash and yerba mate, I am thinking about my next step.

October 21, 2014
By:
Mark Rogers

I have been spending less time with my writing as of late as I have been prepping for a second round with the Veteran's Administration.

October 17, 2014
By:
Crystal Willcuts

Sometimes bravery is the smallest of things, a grain of sand lying under a mountain of regret. This, I felt as I watched my mother die. Exactly two years before the moment she left this world, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. It started with a pain in her breast that wouldn’t go away.

September 17, 2014
By:
Andre Cramblit

I remember my first week at Dartmouth College. It was after a week-long bus ride from California. Dartmouth, the Ivies, the East Coast, College in general, they are all worlds away from the reality of the California Rez (American Indian Reservation).

August 31, 2014
By:
John Christian Hopkins

I can close my eyes and remember the day my friend died. I was sitting in the kitchen on the stairs that led to the second floor. It was on the fourth step, where I always sat because it had a large window to my left. 

It was a hot summer day. August 16, 1977.

August 31, 2014
By:
Simon Moya-Smith

Rats on the platform. Tough guys with tattoos quiver, juke, shriek. Moments later, they're tough again. Dates guffaw. "You're a bitch," one says. "Screw you!" he shouts. "I just don't like them." .... The coward. He leans to vomit on the rails; friends hold his skull.

August 21, 2014
By:
Simon Moya-Smith

We arrived at the beach around noon, and everyone there was as naked as a the day they were born, except for the lifeguards – a pair of theatre geeks who were belting out show tunes, flailing their arms at the crescendo, all the while old hippies and young hipsters sat bare-assed behind them, dam

August 20, 2014
By:
Mark Rogers

I wake up panting and sweating from every pore. My body is a twitching mass of pain, as usual, and today is a 7 out of 10 day. My normal level is a 4 or 5, just a dull whole body ache that I can work through.

August 16, 2014
By:
John Christian Hopkins

No wonder so many famous authors become alcoholics; it can be a lonely, depressing life.

I never chose a writing career, it chose me. I still recall how excited I was to discover my first new word.

It was bat.

August 15, 2014
By:
Mark Rogers

I love music to the point that I taught myself to play some guitar so I could understand how it's created. I guess being the child of a former singer and a former musician has created this hunger for music of any form.

July 25, 2014
By:
John Christian Hopkins

I almost received a new Indian name. It was when Sara and I went to our third Denny's restaurant in three states on the same day. I had been craving Belgian waffles for a week.

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