Once I was involved in a political revolt. The situation leading up to the revolt was horrifying. I’ll just mention the worst of the atrocities. The dictator was sawing people in half at the waist. Led by a wise, bald man, we succeeded in overthrowing the autocracy. My personal heroism was as follows: I rescued a baby from a river, and after we restored a peaceful democracy I contacted a dentist, because many children had lost their retainers during the struggle for freedom.
This was a dream.
The only reason I can describe this dream, three years after it occurred, is because for one year I drew every one of my dreams in cartoon format. I’ve been asked why I did this, and I’m not sure why I started, but I continued because when I shared the first picture on Facebook, it got lots of likes and my friends said it was funny, and I will do almost anything for a laugh. So I created a Facebook page.
Full Grown People will be back next Monday with a brand-spanking-new essay, but in the meantime (while I’m cooking and drinking and guarding the good stuffing) maybe you’d like to catch up on some essays you might have missed? You can poke around in the archives or search by category.
Or, here’s a little list. Every year, editors of small magazines get to nominate six pieces of work for the Pushcart Prize, a huge honor in the lit world. The deadline is December 1, so at the end of November every year, there I am, with much gnashing of teeth and pulling of hair. I want to nominate all of them—I love each essay on this website for different reasons. Alas, this was my long list of possible Pushcart nominees before I narrowed it down to six:
Two years ago, in early October, I found my husband, Stan, in the garage, fondling a pair of chicken wire breasts.
“Do you think these are even?” he asked.
For a moment I thought maybe we’d gone too far.
But the feeling passed. I examined them with a critical eye. “I think they’re perfect.”
1. Keep close track of exactly how much sleep you’ll get if you fell asleep right now. Repeat every half hour.
2. Ponder why you said the dumb-ass thing you said today. If you didn’t say a dumbass thing today, revisit one you said sixteen years ago, at a job you used to have, to people you don’t know anymore. Consider how badly those people must think of you.
3. Resolve to use this time wisely. Think about cleaning the bathroom but then remember that you hate cleaning the bathroom and, plus, the cleaner is in the other room and you wouldn’t want to wake anyone up. Instead, decide to do some serious writing, unlike the stupid writing you do for a living.
When my father was a teenager in Atlanta, wild dogs had become a problem in Adams Park. He and his friends were enlisted by the park rangers to ride through the park on horses, shooting the dogs. He never said much more about the incident, but why would he need to? The bare bones of the story were plenty.
I didn’t entirely believe it, but it was still my favorite dad story.
Fun Facts about FGP: • The editor and founder is Jennifer Niesslein, and the staff photographer is Gina Easley. (Psst—she’s amazing.) • It debuted on September 4, 2013. • Jill Talbot’s essay “Autobiographies” was honored as a Notable Essay in Best American Essays 2014. • Sara Bir’s essay “Smelted” was chosen for Best Food Writing … Continue reading About
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