The Sandbox

Beth McNichol
Jul 06, 2024
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If my regular Wednesday interviews are lessons in living from wise folks, “The Sandbox” is my open space to consider what I’ve learned from them, a kind of memoir unfolding in real-time. Here, you’ll find those collected essays, which are published one week after each triptych of interviews has been completed. ♣

The Sandbox #4: Storytelling

Beth McNichol
·
Sep 18
The Sandbox #4: Storytelling

Was there something else I’d rather be? Someone else I’d rather be? I wondered if I should tell Gio about the four pandemic months I spent studying to be a counselor before I realized the depth of my hatred for creating Google Slides and writing research papers in APA format. How I wanted to hug my old Associated Press Stylebook by the end of the semester.

I settled for the truth.

“I’m going to be a writer when I grow up,” I said with shaky confidence.

“Cool,” he said, offering a validating fist bump.

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The Sandbox, No. 3: Mythologies

Beth McNichol
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Aug 14
The Sandbox, No. 3: Mythologies

The peppery, charcoal scent had dogged my senses all evening, from the moment I removed the jersey from its drawer in mid-March. It was too familiar to be the musty odor of a dark corner and lost time, but still, I could not place it.

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The Sandbox, Issue No. 2: Absence & Plenty

Beth McNichol
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Jul 10
The Sandbox, Issue No. 2: Absence & Plenty

The silver-haired man at the table in front of me swiveled in his chair to face me.

I was attending my first writer’s conference, in the spring of 2022, and the Andy Griffith lookalike and I were waiting for a concurrent session to begin. We made small talk: names, how far we had traveled to be there, etc.

Then he got down to business.

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The Sandbox: Issue No. 1

Beth McNichol
·
Jun 12
The Sandbox: Issue No. 1

The drive-in movie theater in my grandmother’s town was a wide, grassy lot on the side of a rural road where the only other memorable landmark for miles was a frozen custard stand. The beat-up metal speaker box you hooked over the car window garbled with static, breaking up the rhythms of the countryside with the congested squawk of a Hollywood soundtra…

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