Nonfiction

"Enveloped, or How I Felt with You" by Julia Haw, 40" x 36" Oil on Canvas, 2007-2012, Mud Season Review

NONFICTION ISSUE #23

The Funambulists

By Jonathan Rovner
 
 

Conjure up two people—let’s say one man and one woman—and place them in a nondescript room. Don’t slap them down like stamps in an album; people are fragile, after all. Fill the room with tension. The problem, of course, is that tension doesn’t look like anything. You might have to use your imagination. Maybe floodwaters are filling the room with a sluggish inevitability…
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"Vegas Heights" by Cathryn Sugg, 9' x 7' Oil and Mixed Media Femmage, Mud Season Review Artist

NONFICTION ISSUE #22

A Song for the Beautifully Useful

By Barry Maxwell
 
 

I discovered the clock radio in an out-of-the-way niche of Granny’s living room, wedged on a bookshelf behind a ribboned bundle of last year’s Christmas cards and a stack of miniature New Testaments. It was an early ‘60s model, a minimalist white cube atop a round footing, designed to look space-age and modern, with no place in Granny’s poor-folk country décor….
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Siskiwit Lake with unnamed island. Photo by Thomas Jefferson Stevenson. Image courtesy of the Historic Green Shed Museum in Cornucopia, WI.

NONFICTION ISSUE #21

Cornucopia, Unincorporated

By Nancy Wyland
 
 

When I was younger, Dad often remarked about Cornucopia being “unincorporated,” as if this were a point of interest or amusement. I could tell it had something to do with the town’s size, but only after I looked up the word “unincorporated” did I realize the charming irony of a village proclaiming its independence within a town of 230 people…
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"Storms Never Last," Tornadic Supercell by David Smith, 24" x 18" Oil on panel, 2014, Mud Season Review

NONFICTION ISSUE #19

Healing Waters

By Melissa Wiley
 
 

A tornado’s hurried intake of breath uprooted a pine tree in my parents’ garden, my mom calls to tell me earlier on a Sunday morning than I need to hear it. What would they have done if it hit the house while they were sleeping? she asks…
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"Hilltop Road View of Seattle" by Allen Forrest, 16"x20" Oil on Canvas Panel, Mud Season Review

NONFICTION: ISSUE #18

Garbage Heap Wonderland

By Gretchen Comcowich
 
 

We pass the last neighborhood before the forest begins. We walk beyond the houses where mountain-hardened residents are tucked away. As we crunch through old snow, the barking dogs and sounds of ATVs fade….
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"Old’s ’84" by Matthew Cusick, 30" x 45" Inlaid maps on panel, 2014, Mud Season Review

NONFICTION: ISSUE #17

Mapquest to Auntie Iryne’s

By Lori White
 
 

Mapquest to Auntie Iryne’s by Lori White Leaving From:

FURMAN AVE, VENTURA, CA 93003

Pack the following:

Water to silence your mother’s nagging cough

The only dress you own and a pair of sandals to solve any wardrobe objections your father may have (you can change in the back seat)

KLEENEX!!!!!!!

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Image from "Droplets," a photographic series by Natcha W., Mud Season Review

NONFICTION: ISSUE #16

Sap Rising: A Natural History of Neighborhood

By Arthur Plotnik
 

Like old homesteaders circling their spread and recalling the early days, we often walk the forty steps of our cherished one-tenth-acre plot reflecting on when we settled in an unsettling Chicago neighborhood some three decades ago. We didn’t face locusts, dust storms, or massacres (though one murder took place around the corner)….
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"The Risk of Being Complicated" by Lorette C. Luzajic, 36" x 48” Mixed Media on Gallery Canvas, Mud Season Review

NONFICTION: ISSUE #15

Where It Ends

By Elizabeth Gaucher
 
 

The wider and darker the bruise, the greater was the evidence of our commitment. In hindsight, that was a pretty unsettling attitude for a couple of twelve-year-old girls to have about their favorite pastime. Sandy and I invented “tennis basketball” one summer in the early 1980s, ostensibly just to occupy our bored selves…
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Image from the "Ethnic Karen Textiles" collection by Stewart Manley, Photograph, Mud Season Review

NONFICTION: ISSUE #14

Knit to Feelings

By Megan Bush
 
 

Tell me about yourself, humans ask. We query friends, family, lovers; in supermarket parking lots, at dinner tables, in bars, in bedrooms. Over time, the answers become threads woven into cloth. The stories wrap us together, like children pressed against their mothers’ chests, like naked lovers held between one set of sheets…
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