Hope all is well, and if it’s not, maybe I can help distract from whatever is bringing you down. I just want to check in, give a few updates, and offer up a writing prompt for you to run with (if it tickles your fancy).
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I’ve gotten a ton of awesome submissions in the past few months. …
I think a lot, especially more recently. If there’s any silver lining during a global pandemic — besides the fact that I no longer need to come up with excuses not to do things — it’s that most of us have a little more time to think.
To think about what? You name it. We have time to think about our creative projects, our futures, our mortality, our bank accounts, our first post-COVID vacations, why our last relationships didn’t work, whether the Jets will go 0–16, what type of booze we want to drink tonight.
Yet, with all those possibilities…
During a recent visit to my parents’ house, I noticed an abnormal amount of bird shit on the side of my dad’s car. Within seconds of hearing me mention the sight to my mom, my dad chimed in from another room.
“Is that fucking cardinal out there again?”
My parents were not entirely sure if the bird was a cardinal, but they were certain that this red bird had been the culprit of numerous Cadillac attacks. He’d been shitting on my dad’s car every day — sometimes multiple times a day — for at least a week. …
I’ve been wanting to do a writing prompt for a while, so here it is.
Prompt: What stopped you and how did you get started again?
Guidelines: I’m looking for creative non-fiction and personal essays, up to 1,000 words. Each writer is only allowed one entry. (Please follow TBP’s guidelines for formatting, etc.)
Getting published: After reading all of the submissions, I’ll publish up to 5 pieces in The Bigger…
It’s been a while — and a lot has changed since I last reached out. I just want to share a few important updates and highlight some of my favorite stories we’ve published in the past couple of months.
In the beginning of June, I unfortunately lost a job I’d had for 3+ years. Luckily, I was able to land a new one quickly. But the circumstances forced me to think about what I wanted to do and made me realize how passionate I am about this publication.
So, during this global pandemic, I’ve been able to dedicate…
Who’s the best president? People will debate points like economic success, bills passed, wars entered or ended. But I feel like we’re focusing on the wrong things.
What if we judged the quality of U.S. presidents the same way we judge normal people: based on how hot they are?
Politics aside (kind of), who are the top 10 most doable presidents — and, more importantly, how can I sleep at night now having written this?
I could not tell you the last time I rode a bike.
Before cellphones, a heap of bikes strewn across a driveway or front stoop were communication enough. Pulling up to a friend’s house, I didn’t need a text to answer my questions of Where you at? and Who’s all there?
I remember hanging out late on summer nights, under the stars because it was too nice to stay inside. We’d sit for hours on a corner overlooking this big hill. When it was time to pack it in, I’d say my see you laters and hop on my bike.
I sleep all day. Not because I’m depressed or anything — it’s just what I do. Most days, I have nothing better to do. Feels like I spend most of my time waiting, to be honest.
The benefit of resting so much is that I have all the energy in the world when the man and woman get home. They seem drained but always find the time to make sure I’m happy and tell me about their days. Boy, do they love to talk about their days.
The man, in particular, does not shut up about his day. I think…
Another football season is upon us. For many, that means countless hours consuming NFL and college games, pre- and post-game coverage, and fantasy football analyses about who you should have in your lineup. Most of us have our own game-day traditions, whether it’s tailgating with season tickets, getting wasted and watching the games at a bar, or sitting on the couch rooting for Dad’s beloved Cowboys.
I recently read an article by probably my favorite writer, Timothy Kreider. It was about his accidental ritual of Wednesday night beers with friends. In his piece, Kreider suggests that every now and then…
When you’re a kid and your balloon flies away, your initial sadness is softened by the spectacle of the balloon floating off into the distance — shrinking smaller and smaller until it’s completely out of sight.
Think of the possibilities: Your balloon could’ve floated anywhere. Maybe it found its way into the big city, picked up a part-time barista gig, and does improv on the side. Maybe it met a bunch of balloon friends and drives out to a lakeside cabin on the weekends. Maybe it dated around and got its heart broken. …