Welcome to South Loop Review: Creative Nonfiction + Art Online, where writing has an occasion.  The occasion to answer a thought, explore a question; the writer wants to know why.

Here there are only essays that are not bound by any form or convention.  Here the essay can reach to its height in the form of a lyric, expand in digression, breadth the arch, coil into a list, delve into memoir, or spring into the spire of the question itself all with grace and unexhausted energy. Here the reader will not find narrative; narrative is used to push the essay forward.  Here you will not find the "I" on too narrow a path; "I," "we," and "you" are present in one form or another on the wide open road to exploration.  Here you will not find perfection; to be human is to be imperfect and the essay knows this. Here there are no finite answers; only infinite questions.

South Loop Review: Creative Nonfiction + Art Online is dedicated to present to the reader exemplary forms of the nonfiction essay.  "The motor of the essay is thought," writes David Shields in his essay "Against Narrative," and that is what we present to the reader; writing that is seeking to answer a question.

              —Araceli Arroyo, editor emerita  South Loop Review: Creative Nonfiction + Art Online

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Editor
Jenny Boully

Editor Emeriti
Josalyn Knapic
Araceli Arroyo

Summer, Issue Five

Selections from our Summer issue include "Don't Forget the Dust" by J.R. Corey and "Life in Miniature" by Allie Leach.
"Manic sun storms the living room where I sit in a miniature, spiral-post rocking chair, my mother ordering me to get my coat. Since the thought of never returning home fails to enter my mind, I grab only my favorite jacket - the little, red, imitation leather Michael Jackson knock-off. If I had known that I'd soon be secreted in my mother's outburst, I would have grabbed Don't Forget the Oatmeal, one of my favorite storybooks. The book details Bert's distractions as he sets out to purchase oatmeal; though he takes the proactive step of tying a string around his finger to help him remember what he's after, in the end, he fails."

read full essay here

"As I walk into the Mini-Time Machine Museum of Miniatures in Tucson, I feel like Gulliver, towering above a world of Lilliputians. I stare into rooms, the size of mailboxes, and find every day objects playing new roles inside these miniature worlds. The bottle cap is a pie pan; the gold picture frame is a table; the top of a mason jar is a chandelier; the breadbox is a house. The white leather boots and ceramic rose teapots could be earrings. The hatboxes could comfortably fit a family of four ants. The posters could be postage stamps. Women coo, couples swoon, children yelp like toy poodles, calling their parents into rooms. The museum, only two years old, a toddler itself, still has that new car smell."

read full essay here

Older entries

May 27 2011

Spring/Summer, Issue Four

November 10 2010

Fall, Issue Three

April 14 2010

Spring, Issue Two

December 2 2009

Winter, Issue One