Today I’d like to talk a little about cliches, purple prose and other pitfalls that lay in wait for you, valiant writer. But first, a lengthy and rambling aside. In my humble experience, there’s a …
“I have this crushing anxiety every time I submit anything,” I tell this woman–essentially a stranger–sitting across from me. Her brown hair is trimmed into a straight, clean line and she has these beautifully …
This month we have some fantastic guest contributors and artists to share with you, gentle reader. Award-winning novelist, game writer and journalist Lisa Brunette shares some of her experience as a writer. Author Trevor …
“So what does Pif stand for, anyway?” Bringing new editors onto our team, this is a query I’ve heard a lot lately. It’s a fair question, and one that you might have as well. The …
Derek Alger, longtime contributor to Pif Magazine, passed away on October 29th, 2014.
My mother was the baseball fan, grateful for the arrival of the Mets as an expansion team in 1962 after the loss of her beloved Dodgers who left Brooklyn for Los Angeles at the end of 1957 season.
My grandparents on both sides had names from a distant past, names more likely to be found in history books than at contemporary social gatherings.
While in the military service, my father was stationed at Army Letterman Hospital in San Francisco, where both my younger sister and I were born, a year apart.
The video experience was unexpected, the actors who were supposed to play the children in the family in the group therapy session were on strike and my father was in a panic.
So, my father went to medical school, and worked as a magician on the side, which I’m sure he’d had an interest in since childhood, and to top off the act, he became a psychiatrist.
