12241398_10153671352826145_848806948969916751_n

FREELANCE JOURNALIST & WRITER 

Hey there! My name is Michael Ramsburg. I'm an Appalachian writer from West Virginia. My work focuses primarily on the people and places in this region. I write narrative, long form and feature journalism for publications like the Pulitzer Prize-winning Charleston Gazette-Mail and the New York Times Upfront. My poetry, creative nonfiction and fiction have been published or are forthcoming in Et Cetera, The Junction and Human Parts, among many others. My debut collection of creative nonfiction, tentatively titled Red Rover, is forthcoming.

12241398_10153671352826145_848806948969916751_n

FREELANCE JOURNALIST & WRITER

Hey there! My name is Michael Ramsburg. I'm an Appalachian writer from West Virginia. My work focuses primarily on the people and places in this region. I write narrative, long form and feature journalism for publications like the Pulitzer Prize-winning Charleston Gazette-Mail and the New York Times Upfront. My poetry, creative nonfiction and fiction have been published or are forthcoming in Et Cetera, The Junction and Human Parts, among many others. My debut collection of creative nonfiction, tentatively titled Red Rover, is forthcoming.

EXCERPT FROM MY ESSAY: THE TRILLIUM (CREATIVE NONFICTION)

Her scared eyes were ajar. Her bulging brown tapetum were like angry oceans, ready to swallow pupils that had observed too much. She looked at me. I watched as she breathed one last breath, the air from her snout moving the tiny green blades of trampled grass near her face ever-so-slightly as she exhaled. One last breath — then nothing. I rested my hand on her chest. Checked for a flattened pulse. Made sure she was gone. Drug her down the mountain. Listened as her human-sized corpse smacked against the truck bed. Studied the way the sharp metal knife blade carved thin lines into her body. Felt her thin, opaque skin pull free from thick muscle. Watched my caramel flesh turn crimson as her blood smeared on my hands. I’d bury her bones, her once life-filled organs, in a shallow grave behind my house. It was a last-ditch effort at showing dignity. An attempt at keeping the bobcats and loose hounds away.

EXCERPT FROM MY ESSAY: THE TRILLIUM (CREATIVE NONFICTION)

 

Her scared eyes were ajar. Her bulging brown tapetum were like angry oceans, ready to swallow pupils that had observed too much. She looked at me. I watched as she breathed one last breath, the air from her snout moving the tiny green blades of trampled grass near her face ever-so-slightly as she exhaled. One last breath — then nothing. I rested my hand on her chest. Checked for a flattened pulse. Made sure she was gone. Drug her down the mountain. Listened as her human-sized corpse smacked against the truck bed. Studied the way the sharp metal knife blade carved thin lines into her body. Felt her thin, opaque skin pull free from thick muscle. Watched my caramel flesh turn crimson as her blood smeared on my hands. I’d bury her bones, her once life-filled organs, in a shallow grave behind my house. It was a last-ditch effort at showing dignity. An attempt at keeping the bobcats and loose hounds away.

NEVER MISS ANY OF MY PUBLISHED WORK.

Sign up for my weekly email. No spam - I promise!

NEVER MISS ANY OF MY PUBLISHED WORK.

Sign up for my weekly email. No spam - I promise!

 © 2018 MICHAEL RAMSBURG

LITERARY  /  JOURNALISM  /  BLOG  /  CONTACT 

 © 2018 MICHAEL RAMSBURG