Filling my lungs in preparation to exhale Tanner Wareham’s “Bitterman,” I tried to steady the restlessness inside me. We were going to be late. I despise being late. To arrive even on time feels perilously close to failure. The traffic ahead was Gothic in its own right—a slow, mechanical dirge, like a funeral. I pressed the clutch, lifted my right foot off the brake, pressed the accelerator, and lifted my foot off the clutch. The car would be momentarily lifeless if my t

Passing the familiar countryside, with grapevines aligned in unison, becomes a blur of green as I drive. I can’t help but chuckle to myself for ever returning to this valley. It's been years since I left this place to go into the big city, working my dream job designing for the elite. Leaving was the only chance to experience the world beyond the grapevine. My younger self yearned for an opportunity to be something, watching businesswomen on TV wearing beautiful clothes, maki

The following piece of fiction contains a collection of fears voluntarily admitted by tutors within the RWC. Enjoy. (* cue creepy...