Featured Articles

Tiny Love Stories: ‘First Love Never Dies"’

Two days after Christmas, Maxwell called. “Might drop dead tomorrow,” he said. A loud-talking, adorable joker from Jersey, he’d hired me as a deckhand narrating Seattle boat tours in 1996. We fell in love, felt invincible with the Space Needle and Kurt Cobain’s house in the distance. Fast forward to Parkinson’s, heart failure, a D.N.R. “One to 10, how scared are you?” I asked. “Seven,” he replied. My heart dropped. “Do you still believe in God?” I asked. “Tell you tomorrow,” he joked, and we laughed ourselves breathless. “I love you forever,” I said. It’s always been true. — Nicole Hardy

Stories from Seattle: Living Alone in a Former Sanatorium

The day after the WHO declared COVID-19 a global pandemic, I discovered I’ve been living in a former sanatorium. I’d heard rumors since I first moved into my condo in 2005—a roomy one-bedroom right on the beach just south of the Fauntleroy ferry that I could never afford in today’s market. People said it was once a mental institution, or a place for alcoholics to dry out. One neighbor swears that in the ‘40s two dead bodies floated past one morning when he was skipping stones at the beach with a friend.

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I'm a cross-genre creative writer and developmental editor based in Seattle, currently at work on a memoir of the year I spent sailing the world. 

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