Women are smarter than men…REALLY!!!

Culture Monk

women college

What are you trying to say Kenneth, that the average woman is smarter than the average man?”  she asked

“In a certain context…..yes!” I replied

~ When it comes to the percentage of women that are in college and graduate college with a degree versus the percentage of men….the numbers are overwhelming. What was once a “man’s world” can arguably now be referred to as a “woman’s world”.

Women have turned the tables in the arena of College and academics. They outnumber men as students, graduates, and we’re already seeing this shift in professors as well; in countries like Australia, women outnumber men when it comes to holding faculty positions in college.

What does this mean? Am I inferring outright that men are simply more stupid than women now? Well, in some ways maybe I am. After all, when you look at the likelihood of a single man…

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Community & The Culture Monk…REALLY???

Culture Monk

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~ I was sitting at coffee this past weekend with a friend who was sharing with me how much hanging out at coffee had changed his life,

” I’d been suffering from a number of mental illnesses for nearly twenty years, and a couple years back my therapist at the time encouraged me to start going to coffee to meet people. Ever since my life has gotten so much better. You and I Kenneth have been talking for a year or so now, and I know at least fifty to a hundred people here at the coffee shop. I finally feel like I have a real semblance of community” he said

When I asked him what he used to do before he started hanging out at coffee, his face soured up, “Actually, after work most days I would pretty much just sit at home and watch television till I’d go…

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Do I Own My Story? But What If It’s Also Your Story, and You Don’t Want Me To Tell It?

This is a problem all autobiography/fiction writers/pseudo autobio writers come across…worth thought

BREVITY's Nonfiction Blog

zz hertzel Laurie Hertzel

By Laurie Hertzel

Like any good student, I sat in the front row, took diligent notes, and believed, for a while, everything my teachers said. As a young newspaper reporter, I had ambitions beyond daily journalism, so for years I attended as many workshops and seminars as possible, studying narrative writing, fiction, and, eventually, memoir.

“I own my story,” I obediently jotted during a memoir lecture—or words to that effect. “No one has the right to tell me what I can or can’t write.”

But when I began working on my first memoir, I realized that it’s not that simple. Yes, I own my story—that is, I have the right to tell the stories of my life.  But I don’t live in a vacuum, and in order to tell my stories I cannot help but tell the stories of others. Do I have that right? Do I have the…

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From Within by Richard Thomas

Cease, Cows

The first time they come to measure my son, he is only eleven years old. Two men knock on the door of our humble home that squats on the outskirts of Shell County, my boy and I eating macaroni and cheese, our eyes turned mid-spoon to the interruption. Outside the darkness is as black as pitch, matching their uniforms, their helmets slick, each of them with a measuring tape in their hands, dust devils spinning across the land—dirt and garbage lifting high up into the night.

They simply walk inside and lift the boy from his seat, one of them holding him as the other measures height, then width, then depth. They never speak, only nod at each other, and then retreat into the night, the door left open, silt slipping inside and across the floor on the heels of a soft breeze. I blink, the boy shrugs, and we…

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Patient 608A by Michelle Chen

Cease, Cows

Mount Valdis. When I first heard the name it sounded like a real nice place to be. I imagined a mountain shrouded with mist surrounded by swarms of gorillas and so many colorful birds and log cabins that they’d stack up, one on top of the other, and just about make everybody who went there burst into tears.

Momma’s hip is nagging her but she is still sitting next to me on my crumpled white sheets, all thoughts of chiropracting and Doctor Trieste out of her head as she argues with the doctors about my treatment. As far as I can see, they are planning to try something new. As far as they can see, I don’t understand a single word.


Sometimes this girl with skin the color of cracked toilet pipes and the craziest old glasses I’ve ever seen passes by my door while she’s getting her toiletries or waiting for new blue pants and a…

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