My mom made sure we were in the car by three in the morning, quickly cramming us into a rented tour van. Eleven of us were on the way to Mama Cuca’s house...
Dreamers Creative Writing is dedicated to writing that is from the heart.
Tucked into the soft cushions of the couch, I look out through the branches of the Christmas tree at the front lawn.
An ounce of prevention is worth a pound—or, in some cases, several hundred—of cure. This age-old-adage is the cornerstone of Alex Nedvetsky’s self-help health book...
I'm pleased to announce the release of Issue 2 of the Dreamers Magazine. In this issue you’ll find an exclusive interview with Steven Heighton...
I'm pleased to announce the launch of the first ever Dreamers anthology. The Dreamers anthology contains all 119 poems, stories and essays...
I'm a boy. I take tentative, soundless steps across the oak floor towards him. My muscles feel limp. y gaze finds everything - the blue armchair he's seated in...
Adele had known the man whose body was found nestled among the bags of expired bread behind the 7-11. His name had been...
The Idea of North came to mind when I began reading Laurelyn Whitt’s poems in Adagio for the Horizon. The videos about the North...
“I am so broken,” you say. Raising my head, I am struck by this new look in your eyes. Mesmerized, I don’t even wonder as...
Writing is dangerous. It’s a broken bone mended wrong. A healing scab you pick until it bleeds. It opens wounds and forgets how to close them. Instead, leaves it gaping.
That time you are eight, and you trip crossing the road, and almost get hit by the oncoming traffic. Your mother yells at you, and you hear the animal in her voice...
Alone on a mesa, a pink crabapple tree embraces the wind, its branches reaching up and out like a menorah, its petite blossoms a pointillist image...
My outdoorsy boyfriend lived for the feeling of shoving his feet into one-size- too-small rock climber shoes and dangling off the sides of cliffs.
Already 5’9” at twelve years old, I never knew where my hands were until I bumped into a doorway or where my feet were until I tripped over...
Whenever my siblings mention the frying pan incident, I laugh along with them, even though I find it tragic and and far from funny.
A Spiny Orb Weaver spider has taken up residence in the potted plants next to my back door. It is an odd looking creature...
“Aargh, these weeds. And I was just here,” Shifrah Fogel Bernstein thought, as she got to her knees to yank out the invaders, the botanical equivalents...
