Jill Talbot

Editor’s Note

Jill Talbot

I wanted to give you roads. So here’s a map, (a found road essay), an atlas of the issue:

A gas station in Beatty, Nevada in 1973. Twenty-two miles from here, off the U.S. 93, four cars with out-of-state plates laze in the parking lot of the Outlaw Motel. Who knows what’s really going on here? The blue sky looks so brilliant against the yellow sunflowers in a South Dakotan summer. A flock of blackbirds flies off a field somewhere near Columbus. And there on the side of the road, looking up and out at the surrounding emptiness, it wasn’t so difficult to imagine. The night train from Venice. Around the wide square driveway, down the hill and around the turnabout with the lit lantern beacon in the middle across the street from the red barn and the muddy yard. The road to Hana, the 68-mile highway that skimmed along beige cliffs, single-lane bridges. A road after a flash flood in San Angelo, Texas. The stacked stones of a roadside liquor sign in Ohio. We are half-way there. Speeding the curves of a road braced by the blue light of snow. Gas up the car, pick a direction. Downtown Seattle (Spring at 5th Street). Turning a corner, heading down a blind alley. Assuming that my sadness was confined to America. From the canyons of the Badlands to the geysers of Yellowstone to the snowcapped mountains of Olympic National Park. Through Nebraska, a one-lane highway dotted with stalks of corn and orange cones. Toward the Moab Rim, and just one long block’s walk to the head of the Hidden Valley Trail. On Arizona Highway 93, there is a place called Nothing. The caves of Cappadocia. Speeding down a country blacktop on our way to I-64. Memory is little more than a rocky path. Ten-or-so mid-century Cadillacs buried nose in the ground in Amarillo. A liquor store on 205 West and 400 South in Salt Lake City. Up through Chester, past the general store and the single church with its cemetery full of Revolutionary War dead. Highway 50 from Fallon, Nevada to Delta, Utah. It is staggering to be here.


JILL TALBOT is the author of a collection of essays, Loaded: Women and Addiction (Seal, 2007); the co-editor of The Art of Friction: Where (Non)Fictions Come Together (University of Texas, 2008); and the editor of Metawritings: Toward a Theory of Nonfiction (Iowa, 2012).  Her work has been published or is forthcoming in journals such as Brevity, Carve, Fifth Wednesday, The Normal School, Passages North, The Pinch, and Zone 3.

CO-119 from Longmont to Boulder is a road she carries with her, the way the slant of the Flatirons press together in the distance. She keeps an oversized photograph of a road approaching the Rockies in her living room. The clouds above the snow-capped mountains dark.  She looks at it often to remind herself that years ago, she drove through a long storm.

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