Kevin Van Aelst

by Elizabeth Nagel

Poor and in graduate school, Clem and I had our priorities straight. Buy music first, furniture follows. We discovered Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition. Sounds of Pictures, mingled with the folk music of the sixties, filled our apartment. We’d crank the volume up as high as others in our building could tolerate.

by Cheri Register

As I get older, I grow wearier of the political fray that used to engage me so. The cynicism and polarization of American public life send me scrambling for refuge. I seek out places where people regard each other as worthy human beings and can talk about common pursuits without first having to choose sides and name their enemies. The Loft, of course, is reliably civil. Another place I go might seem an unlikely choice:  On a Saturday afternoon each month I drive to the Minnesota Women’s Correctional Facility, commonly known as Shakopee prison, to teach a two-hour class on writing prose. We began in October 2009 with ten writers and by our May meeting had “lost” four, who were released from incarceration to make new efforts to thrive on their own terms.

by Alexandra Franzen

CEO of You, Inc.

Whether you’re a freelance journalist, a contracted copywriter, an aspiring novelist, or the editor of a post-punk graphic art zine, you are a brand.

That’s right—a brand. Just like Sony, Nike, Apple, and Wells Fargo. Do your grieving and get over it. It’s time to take your rightful position as CEO of You, Inc.

by Nancy Edwards

I went to Denver last weekend to attend a baby shower for the impending birth of a grandson. I took with me three children’s books that belonged to my aunt, my mother, and me. The books are old and dog-eared with the soft pages coming loose from the bindings. They were published in 1910, 1921, and 1945, respectively. My name in large crayoned letters attests to my pride of ownership.