Best of Write from Wrong: Creative Nonfiction

The Creative Nonfiction pieces we have selected for our “Best of the Year” issue have not only found a place in Write from Wrong, but they have also found a home in the hearts of our editors and readers. As you can see from our editors’ comments below, “Peels” by Thalia Bardell and “Cancer of the Mouth” by Carolyn Sun are paragons of the Creative Nonfiction genre.

“Peels is simply one of the best essays I’ve ever read. If I could publish Bardell every month, I would.”- Greg Howard, Creative Nonfiction Editor

“Each of these creative nonfiction pieces, though discussing vastly different subjects, scenarios, and scenes, have one feature in common not only with each other, but with every successful creative nonfiction piece: a strong voice.”- Siobhan Watson, Managing Editor

“The imagery and layering in “Peels” built up emotion in a brilliant way”- Courtney McNamara, Spotlight Authors Editor

“Each piece was beautifully imagined, managing to bring the best of the creative and nonfiction genres together.”- Paulina Stachnik, Photography & Arts Editor

“Peels” (7th Issue)

“Cancer of the Mouth” (8th Issue)

[I was in third grade and I was standing in the kitchen watching Mom peel carrots. She was standing at the big white sink with a bag of carrots open on the counter to her right. In her left hand she held the shiny silver peeler. As she skimmed the carrot, the wrinkly outer skin peeled off in long strips. They curled out gracefully from behind the peeler and landed in a growing pile at the bottom of the sink. The colors that stood out to me most. The translucent, blue-yellow light of late afternoon filtering through the large kitchen window. The impossible orange of the freshly-peeled carrots against the stark white kitchen sink.] – “Peels,” by Thalia Bardell

[“There are no black patients at Sloane Kettering,” my father says as we crawl in traffic on 68th Street in his black Honda minivan on a quest for the cheapest parking garage. “The only blacks I see are the people who work there—the orderlies, janitors, receptionists,” he continues. Even though it’s just the two of us inside the car, I still find myself looking around to see if anyone has overheard. I make accidental eye contact with a bookishly attractive Asian woman with question mark eyebrows in the passenger seat of the car next to ours and feel annoyed. As if she’d violated some unspoken rule not to look in my direction while I’m looking in hers. As if in that moment of eye contact, she’d let me know her life was immeasurably better and less burdensome than mine. “That’s great, dad.” I tear myself away from the woman’s imagined gloating. I’m in the habit of proclaiming stuff is great even when I don’t think so. “But, maybe you can cut the racial talk out when we go inside.” “Don’t say sheet,” my father says in his Korean-accented English as he gives up the search and veers the car into a parking garage that costs thirty dollars an hour.] – “Cancer of the Mouth,” by Carolyn Sun


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