A large sign at the entrance of an ancient Egyptian gallery at the museum warns viewers of mummified human remains enclosed in a sarcophagus in the next room and suggests an alternate route to bypass the “triggering” mummy. It reminds me of trigger warnings; how quick they are to label a story before the reader has a chance to peek in. I actually wanted to see a delicate face wrapped tight in ancient linen, to bear witness to a past where someone was loved enough to be held for eternity.| Reckon Review
WRITING THROUGH ADVERSITY IN THE POST-TWITTER AGE AND THE HEALING POWER OF LITTLE STORIES | By Barlow Adams| reckonreview.com
Editor’s note: This story reads more like a folk tale than creative nonfiction, even with the beginning sentence stating that it’s a true story. However, one section of Amanda’s cover letter brought everything together in a way that we felt was important. We also didn’t want to interrupt the flow of Amanda’s writing and ask […]| Reckon Review
A framed photo of a boy and his dog sits on the roughhewn table with claw feet, and the angled cottage rises behind the boy in lines dark as charred bone. The boy squints and rests his hand on the dog’s head. We know not the dog’s name, although there may have been a time […]| Reckon Review
Few things are as daunting as a blank page or an empty screen, the sheer weight of expectation lurking in all that white space can be crushing. It’s a heaviness that settles in your chest, threatens to cramp your fingers, daring you to prove you have the words, that you’ve still got it, whatever it even is. During times of grief, illness, burnout, or sheer loneliness—that challenge can feel like too much. I can’t count the days I’ve opened a word document, stared at the blinking cur...| Reckon Review
It was 1993, and Eddie Callahan, twenty-four years old, had three problems: He was in love with a married woman, he was going bald, and he drank too much. The guys in the kitchen of the Sunset Diner, where Eddie worked, thought these things were a hoot. Old Joe, who wasn’t that old, was forty-seven, […]| Reckon Review
The week you died, before I knew you were dying, a black blur crossed my path in the cold, still morning. The creature paused to look back at me, a dog with no owner in sight. As I jogged closer, a narrow snout and a lack of collar signaled it might not be domesticated. The animal stayed still, tail down, until I got too close.| Reckon Review
She had to drive three hours to meet the man. Cross the border into Tennessee, then Alabama. It was less like driving to another state and more like driving back in time. She’d taken a sick day for the trip, didn’t want to waste her limited vacation days. She got depressed when she thought about being chained to a desk in her own home. Sometimes she wondered if her coworkers even existed, or if she just chatted with bots all day.| Reckon Review
PARENTAL RECKONINGS: Lassie, there’s a writer in a well!| reckonreview.com
By Amy Barnes| Reckon Review
The guests at my brother Sean’s wedding have formed a huge circle on the dance floor, ready to watch Uncle Johnny and Aunt Peggy do their Peabody. They’ll have the floor to themselves. It’s a tradition in Mama’s family, a kind of initiation performed for each of the many cousins at their receptions. My aunt and uncle stand very straight and still, their bodies several inches apart, his arm around her waist, her hand on his shoulder, elbow sharply high. The hands they reach out with to...| Reckon Review
COUNTRY CRAFT: What does it matter?| reckonreview.com
Change is in the air, a secret, indefinable scent. Mr. Smith is back home, and he is singing away, his number one song, Oh! Susanna. His warble falls flat in some places, and he mangles some words, but the song is recognizable by all. Mrs. Smith is sick of Oh! Susanna, so very sick of […]| Reckon Review
The house was so dark during those long winter evenings without electricity. You and I did our homework by the light of a hurricane lamp and the weak beams of setting sun that managed to crawl through the dining room window. The kitchen, with no windows except one over the sink that inexplicably opened into the closed garage like a trap, was hard to navigate. We needed a flashlight, do you remember? I was in fourth grade, which would have put you in seventh. Now, that seems so young.| Reckon Review
By Stuart Phillips| Reckon Review