A LITERARY COLLECTION FROM VERMONT WRITERS

Why do writers write? It’s an intriguing question with as many different responses as there are writers. Some writers seek a private revelation, a detailed examination of their experiences and internal responses. Such memoirs may be shared with the world or with a limited audience or not shared at all. Other writers may have urgent information, feeling a compulsion to make that information known. This motivation frequently takes the form of an essay. Essays aim to deliver fac

Every Week We Laugh On April 26th, 2026, my husband died, and I returned to my seat on the roller coaster of grief. From here, I can slip through the days while gazing out at the world without anyone looking in, especially during moments when tears blur my vision. I am self protective and quiet, watchful and aware. Grief carries contradictions. I hold emotional opposites: I am hungry/I don’t want anything to eat; I want companionship/I want people to stay away; I want to go f

My path into American Sign language and the world of deafness was neither direct nor typical of the time. Although my father experienced hearing loss as he aged, deafness was off my radar throughout my childhood. Signing was not an overnight passion. In fact, it took several discreet experiences before I started the journey. My very first “real” summer job was as a driver’s education aide. During the 1960’s and 70’s, Maryland public high schools provided driver’s education tr

I was married for over fifty years and I have to admit we had some rough times, especially when one of us was unfaithful, oh the tears and screams and threats and groveling, you’d think it would be impossible to ever come back from such melodrama but no, we clung to one another in spite of betrayals and misspent hours, and the thing was, my husband adored me, even when he was angry and frustrated, always thought I was the most beautiful, the sexiest, smartest, most joyful per

The minute I wake up I know it's a hungry day. A day when I am so hungry that I try to eat myself and when that doesn't help I try to eat a stranger on the street corner. Sometimes I'll just walk into people's houses and take a bite out of their ankle. It's not enough. Still hungry — in this case — for pretty things that I can take home and tuck inside my drawers and closets. Things that belong to me and no one can take away from me, ever. Luckily, I live in America, where ta

I swim out into the middle of the lake, and treading water with a slow scissors kick stop to have a look around. From here both shores are equally indistinct, smudged in the shadows of the late afternoon. I am the most myself in water, out here where I do not belong and cannot stay forever, where it is my head alone that shows above the surface as if that is all there is to me: my thoughts, my hopes and dreams, the many complicated ways in which I imagine things matter. The m

On Sunday, October 1, 2017, 867 people were shot by over 1,000 rounds of gunfire while attending a music festival in Las Vegas. Sixty of them died. Emergency support services were overwhelmed. All available medical personnel were called in but there were not enough to care for the shocked and bleeding victims who witnessed the murder of friends, spouses and strangers while holding their own deaths at bay. It was the deadliest mass shooting in United States history. All this w

out the garden by spiders and crawling folksies squatting cross-legged by the bee balm wearing catscratch outfit sunhat deadheading flowers digging clover brilliant overhead birds talking geese on another side of the lake dozed off by hypnotic insects humble bumbling around me tumbling into blossoms other flying things meandering all ways or none rosemary hollyhocks thyme all that sage hiding in the rows of elephant ears crouching with all the wild the mild pret

May, 2010 My husband, Rich and I were riding our bikes along the Inner Mongolia, Hohhot Ring Road, when he noticed his front tire was flat. We had travelled a number of miles from Rich’s University apartment. Though he knew where we were, I was lost and somewhat unnerved. How would we get back? I had been visiting Rich for the first time since he started teaching at the Inner Mongolia Normal University (IMNU) 5 years before. Each of these years, for one semester, he taught wr

By Janet Smith - the inexperienced grandmother It was an innocent purchase at a neighborhood garage sale. Just $5 for a faded and somewhat battered toy lawnmower that captivated a 20 month-old little boy. The other grandmother said “no, it’s broken, see?” But the boy would not be deterred. The offer of “Creemees” was insufficient to distract him from this purchase. He would have it or nothing. The less experienced grandmother caved and bought it and the little boy triumphan

I remember Benjamin, the smartest dog in the world and also the freest spirit imaginable, offspring of a big black lab, Mikey, and a little white terrier who was named Isaiah even though she was a girl, this being the '70's when hippies named their dogs and children randomly without much reference to gender. Mikey and Isaiah lived next door to one another and flirted desperately, all of us in the commune knew they were fated to make beautiful music together. Benjamin was one

“Out of the night when the full moon is bright, comes a horseman known as Zorro!”

One of my earliest memories was playing in the basement of my grandfather’s house. There were many old toys and curious objects from my mother’s childhood. By then they were quaintly old fashioned, but always fascinating to play with whenever we visited. However, the jewel of this basement playground was the magnificent old Victrola and the collection of records from an earlier age. The “Victor Talking Machine” was the first popular sound recording devise. My grandfather

I hadn’t realized the Gulf Coast gets so steamy hot. I take off my shoes, sweating and squinting in the sun. Karl’s pale Nordic skin is getting flushed. We’re standing at the end of a pier looking out into Lemon Bay, holding between us a shopping bag from Fresh Direct containing four cardboard cartons filled with the crematorium ashes of our parents. We’ve collected them over the years, one after another. They are identical, having been produced by the same funeral home

Although only one day past the winter solstice, the sun was setting in the mid afternoon. It was that day, the Friday before Christmas 1988, when the phone rang. “Gail, it’s for you,” Rich said. A woman’s voice on the other end of the phone identified herself as a social worker at Mary Fletcher Hospital in Burlington. “I work in labor and delivery,” she said. “We have a patient whose baby is due sometime next week. The mom-to-be is hearing, but the dad is deaf. The American S

July 4, 2026 Dear KC, Gosh it’s been a long time. Rich and I have been wanting to write for a while now, but as you might imagine, we’ve been busy. However, we heard that you have been experiencing some challenges lately and wanted to let you know you are in our thoughts. Hearing about your recent troubles has resulted in our reminiscing about how the three of us met and how our relationship grew to be as strong as it is now. Goodness, it was so long ago. I was an 18-year-old

They gathered at the house almost three months after their father's death. Nobody had expected the suicide, even though mother had been moved to a nursing home last year and he'd become more dour and silent than usual. One Thursday morning he’d trudged down the steps to the basement, spread out a sheet of plastic in a last bit of housekeeping fervor, and shot himself in the head. David had discovered the body during his daily visit. The house sat empty since then, but Shay

Every day, two boys from my class, the rough redheaded twins Billy and Bobby, chase me down Valentine Avenue all the way to P. S. 46. I don't know why, don't know why I run, don't know what they will do if they catch me. It is just what we do. Mama, I say, I'm scared to walk alone to school. I don't tell her about Billy and Bobby. She says, don't be a baby, you're ten years old, I'll watch you from the window. But she can't see beyond the corner no matter how she stretch

In May 1998, our eldest son had just finished his first year of college and I decided to buy flowers to celebrate his homecoming. While checking out with a simple but cheery bouquet that said “Congratulations!” a giant jar sitting on the counter caught my eye. Taped on the glass was a note in large letters “RAFFLE! Support your local charity.” Donating to a good cause with the added possibility of winning a prize is an easy sell for me despite my never having won anything. I

Lily Blanc sat at a small round table at a favorite coffee shop, waiting for her “friend, Alyssa. Like so many others in the popular, cozy place, she whiled away the time scrolling through her cell phone apps. As she focused on an appealing New York Times puzzle, two women walked by juggling their designer coffees, sweet treats and over-sized personal bags toward the table behind her. The women seemed to be friends who hadn’t seen each other in a few weeks and were now catchi