The MAYDAY staff propose their favorite break-up-with-the-job films and TV shows. Celebrate spring by quitting! Or, rather, vicariously quitting through “Office Space.”
Nonfiction
Stigmata
by Gabriella Graceffo
Halfway up a mountain, I’m desperate to see a ghost. Not the way I used to be, letting faucets drip at night, leaving light switches half-flipped; a dozen small gestures begging supernatural interference. Now I look for ghosts to understand why my body feels more haunted than any place.
Resonance
by Ginny Bitting
Pythagoras said you can hear all notes in the sound of one plucked string. A single tone—the fundamental—triggers both overtones and sympathetic vibrations.
Year-End Wrap-Up: The MAYDAY Editors’ Books of the Year, 2022
This year, we’d like to specially feature our amazing friends at Brilliant Books, who style themselves “your local, long distance bookstore.” Though they feature a brick-and-mortar store in Traverse City, Michigan, Brilliant Books distinguish themselves as being one of the largest independent online book retailers in the country, and a crucial example of success in […]
Geranium
by Brittany Price
My mole has gone to Arkansas for analysis. I think: it’s been to Arkansas with me before. I think: it’s the first time my mole’s gone anywhere alone.
Q&A with Novelist, Memoirist, and Nonfiction Contest Judge
Darin Strauss by Elliott Bueler
“Memoir is not quite a record of a life; it’s a record of your memory about some part or parts of your life.”
Thirty Things Overheard While Attending My Friend’s Wedding
by William Musgrove
1. One half of a couple staring at a woman in a pink dress resting her head on a picnic table: Shh, she’s the one from the hotel.
2. The other half pointing at the man sitting next to the woman in the pink dress: Maybe he kidnapped her, and she has Stockholm syndrome.
Mick Jagger Mails a Letter
by Robert Fromberg
Once I saw Mick Jagger mail a letter.
The Trembling Nasties
by William Luvaas
I am told I was a happy, mischievous kid who smeared peanut butter on walls. Insatiably curious, I would sit down next to strangers on buses and start up conversations. I have heard that I liked to make people laugh. I don’t remember any of this.
Smoking with Art
by Patricia Feinman
Our hair and every piece of clothing we owned were impregnated with the stench of smoke—we stank of smoke—but we didn’t care, because we loved smoking.
