What Direction Now?

Life at the intersection…

What Direction Now?


Latest stories

I thought I had my finger on the pulse (Dear Shadwick 2)


New breath, less weight, less of me to worry and worry about and hurry now because you never know when the drive will end, when the great regaining will commence, will the sense of things ever start making, start taking the ready remedy rather than waiting for the real one, a stowaway stolen away steeled against the coming knife blow, nice how the show holds the curtain until I’m able to...

A city boy before (Dear Shadwick)


Provider biding time to ride the rails in search of need, heeding little warning signs to mine the fine line fractures between skull plates and pate and sated with weighty graciousness, giving feeling like potato sack needs, bleeding into air, beaded drops blending with bees, helium heavy and floating fine in between breathing heedless people, seeding into brain stem and interstitial DNA...

All My Surrounding Sounding


Down for good, or better, but never out forever, not as long as lungs hold air and let it out again, not as long as brain holds cliché back for not even one moment before firing toward fingertips, slipping from synapse to synapse with no resistance to speak of, no tongue to say, No, tongue to call its own and only, one and lonely one and the same way the good leader leaks the lessons through...

Crying Out (Loud)


Slide the crying toddler aside with one hand and with the other stroke his hair, saying, “Look! See there!” and pointing at a yawning cat to distract him from the stacks of shattered plates and broken bowls. Show the boy a songbird singing or a crystal raindrop falling from a cotton cloud, hanging down from a string of silk, skillfully gathered long ago by his grandmother’s...

What’s the plural of hiatus? (hiati?)


So, the holidays brought me back home again to Indiana…and they also saw a steep drop-off in (published) production. I still did some work, but none that will see the light of day here (or ever?). Any way, I hope your New Year was happy. And, even more, I hope it will continue to be so. I don’t really believe in resolutions (I’m pretty resolute in this), so I won’t make...

Sign of the Times – Open Mic


“Open Mic Night Fridays @ 8” too late for me, sitting here, sipping green tea, trying to simply witness, to fit this brain of mine back behind my eyes. I want to write, but to my left, two ladies chat, forth and back, with high loud voices. I have to hear them, no choice, as their peaks reach me even through my ear phones. If I weren’t so blurry, like the steamed window dripping to my right, I...

Signs of the Time – Pour Over Coffee


“Pour over coffee” off the mark for me because lately beans have left me shaky, crazy achy in chest and brain, strained and straining, draining and strangely dripping out, from nose and eyes and ears, everywhere but mouth. I’m mute and dumbfounded, soundless, drowning in a different cafe every day. Perhaps, you’ll say I’m wallowing, that I should simply swallow down this potion...

My Ro-Blog (a semi-intelligent attempt to understand the artificial)


Hello, friends! I started another blog called SubsonicSonatas, a site about robots and how much I don’t know about them. I will publish there pretty consistently throughout the fall and then sporadically thereafter (at least, that’s the plan anyway). But, don’t you worry. I’ll still be posting some stuff here as well (also sporadically). Thanks as always for reading...

What Now?


Hello? A sound slung lowly, slowly, into the echo chamber. I’ve moved and moved back (and moved again)—and so has the site itself since its last listed entry. Unfortunately, some bits were lost in transit, musings mine no more, set free like doves or bubbles to float again among their brethren in the ether. Some lines might have lived on, survived to flourish elsewhere but didn’t...

Finale: Letter to Me at Fifteen


Dearest Andy, I know you’re worried now about tomorrows, feeling like you’re going in blind, but keep in mind that hurry and rush won’t help your feet find the right path for you. For instance, at fifteen, they don’t tell you that what school you go to will matter much less in the end than what you learn there, the work you do, and what new ideas and material you begin to...

What Direction Now? Life at the intersection…

About Andrew.

Andrew Cartwright grew up in Indianapolis, IN, but has lived over the years in such places as Denver, CO; Fairfax, VA; and Rivne, Ukraine. He is a former nonfiction editor for both Indiana Review and phoebe; he has also worked for the intersectional feminist journal, So To Speak, and the national literary magazine, Electric Literature. His work has appeared in The Normal School Online, Copper Nickel, Esquire Ukraine, Literary Hub, and Word Riot.

For more information about me and links to other writing, visit my author page at cartwriter.com

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A Day at a Time…

December 2019
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