This spring marks the launch of Burrow Press Writes, a series of 12 creative writing workshops we’ll hold throughout the year. Six in the spring, six in the fall, all focused on various themes and genres of creative writing, and … READ MORE

Functionally Literate (a literary function) is a quarterly-ish reading series that aims to connect, entertain, and possibly intoxicate, Orlando’s larger community of writers, bookworms, lit nerds, and the intellectually curious.

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My father liked to say that the only thing to do in Florence, South Carolina, is eat dinner at Cain’s BBQ, and I am beginning to think he’s goddamned right. Of course, many thousand more restaurants exist here now, most of them slick chains, but the notion that my father, the Colonel, once had still holds water and holds it pretty well.

Braden inches sideways so Sissy can squeeze in beside him on the upstairs landing. Now he can’t see the living room wall downstairs where Mom or Dad’s shadow falls sometimes. He wants to see their shadows. When he does, he imagines their fight is like those shows with puppets behind the screen, where, in the end, nothing bad ever happens.

Andrea Cole didn’t simply return to school pregnant. Nope, in her adult and responsible, super Andrea-Cole way, she’d taken small steps throughout the summer to prepare all of us for it. She’d met with the principal and all of her teachers, file folder with the color-coded tabs of her medical records and relevant state laws ahead of her like a shield.

"Stop putting words in my mouth," she said. She took a long sip of her merlot and eyed him above the rim of her glass. Through the living room window behind her, the traffic was backing up on the rural road that ran before their house — cars slowing the way they would if behind a tractor at dinner time, or if somebody's dog had been run down.