The deadline to submit your creative nonfiction for The Hoya’s Love Locks special issue is fast approaching. If, for some strange reason, you don’t know what this is, here’s a description of the project:
Inspired by the New York Times’ “Modern Love” essay series, The Hoya’s “Love Locks” project will publish submitted creative nonfiction pieces from students, professors and alumni.
The selected pieces will address love in a deeply personal, honest way — in the form of a true story — and explore predicaments that their writers have dealt with in their own lives.
We know that many of you are longing to submit your tales of love and romance, but might need some inspiration to get you started. So we’ve gathered some pieces for you to take a look at.
Perhaps you want to write about love and family…
“When my father finished telling me this story, he made me promise never to mention Raphi in front of my grandmother. No one ever did, he said, because it could make her angry or hysterical. He insisted I hide the secret from her in my own life just as he did in his.
But I wasn’t very good at hiding things, so I sought out my shadow uncle.”
“My father would often start to say something, then say “Forget it.” It would be right when he was going to be real with you, say what he was really thinking. Then he wouldn’t. It was almost as if he would be in danger if he did.”
“My mother passed just a few weeks after I was born, and so I never really had a mom. Technically, I never suffered a loss.
Mourning someone you’ve never really met is a very strange predicament to be in. Rather than grieving over the person, you grieve over the ‘what-ifs.'”
“Our family used to have a dog. Sometimes, I almost forget what he looked like, what he sounded like, or even what he smelled like. It has been five years since a change of jobs and an impending move to the city made us realize that we, as much we didn’t want to say it, were not the right family for him. It wasn’t fair for him anymore. And just like that, a couple with a dog and two young kids of their own picked him up while I was at school one day. They left his blankets where he slept and his bowl by the door.”
“And yet, we had been in love with each other once, fiercely and absolutely. Yes, our son and daughter were the children of divorce, but they were conceived in a love that was passionate and tender. They were innocent. They deserved better than a childhood spent bearing witness to our worst selves.”
Remember, submissions are due by Oct. 30.
Photos: The Hoya