Oh the joy of ripping open a package with my name on it!
Earlier this year I subscribed to Creative Nonfiction, whose issue number 35 I have just finished reading. It is an exciting mix of essays and blog entries on a wide range of topics. To give you an example, here is a mashup of ten of the first sentences:
Many Travel Stories Begin as an Attempt to Impress Pretty Women. I'm a little... out of the loop. There are two wooden figures on my husband's desk. Sachiko must be considered "different" here in Japan. One day in 1934, he sequestered himself in his family's greenhouse in London to perform an experiment. Two five-inch syringes with bright orange caps have been placed atop the white linen of the grand banquet table, like little sterile centrepieces. We know exactly where the spill occurred: 44.7°N, 178.1°E. On a cold spring day in 2002, I found a damp and crumpled piece of paper on a beach near Reykjavík, Iceland. The facts are indisputable.
It's not just the words of the book that spoke to me, but the book itself. Here, I'll show you what I mean: