2024 Allegra Johnson Literary Prize Winners

“A Good Boy”

          Baby dreams, according to Loren, were flashbacks to your time in the womb. They were fevered visions of red uterine walls and rays of amber light cutting through amniotic fluid. They felt warm. You could hear the soft echo of your mother’s heart beating and her stomach gurgling, the whoosh of her blood as it carried oxygen to you. But, he stressed, baby dreams didn’t happen when you were asleep. They happened when you were awake. You could summon one whenever you felt like. I asked him how.

          “By positioning your body in a very specific way,” he responded. I stopped at a red light and looked at him.

          “Okay, like how?” I asked, slightly impatient.

          “You do this,” he said as he closed his eyes. He then tucked the pinky finger of his left hand against his right rib, securing the pinky with his right elbow. There was silence in the car. Loren, always fidgeting, was still, his smooth brow meditative beneath wild, unkempt teenage boy hair. When the light turned green I hit the gas as gently as I could so as not to disturb him.

          His eyes fluttered open, dazed. “See? I was just there. Nice and cozy. I even felt like sucking my thumb.” I laughed and said he was full of it, but he stayed serious. “I swear,” he said. “I must have been positioned like this in the womb. The physical sensation of my pinky under the elbow triggers my baby brain which then triggers a baby dream.”

 “Of the Making and Markings of Heavy Blood”

Magali had the funny thought then that when it came to grief, Dalé’s was like instant coffee, dissolving into his day-to-day routine, the sting felt for just a moment before he and the grief became one. Magali was like tea. Steeped into oblivion because that was the way Doña Maria Candelaria had taught her to brew tea and now, she could not fathom taking the teabag out before she finished her mug. Back then, Magali had grieved with her father, exchanging stories, crying freely, and making each other laugh. When her father had died, well, there was no one to grieve with other than herself.

Sonja Berry, nominated by Brian Sonia-Wallace

Carolyn A. Fox, Master Class in Creative Nonfiction

Peter Giannini, nominated by Eileen Cronin

Gabriela Kruschewsky, nominated by Rosebud Ben-Oni

Julia Morris, nominated by Francesca Lia Block

Iraj Isaac Rahmim, Master Class in Novel Writing

Abigail Salcido, nominated by Melissa Larsen

Stacy Suaya, nominated by Henry Lien

Anthony Beightol, nominated by Stephen van Dyck

Linda Bird, nominated by Eileen Cronin

Linda Bird, nominated by Shawna Kenney

Gabino Cabanilla, nominated by Brian Sonia-Wallace

Cari Cannon, nominated by Shawna Kenney

Sue Cardenas-Soto, nominated by Gordon Grice

Juan-Carlos Cruz, nominated by Mark Sarvas

Georgianna de la Torre, nominated by Gordon Grice

Catherine Dorrough, nominated by Malia Márquez

Job Eagleson, nominated by Chris L. Terry

Amanda Espy, nominated by Aatif Rashid

Matt Garabedian, nominated by Kris Neri

Nikki Gordon, nominated by Shawna Kenney

Mitko Grigorov, nominated by Robert Eversz

Megan Guthrie-Wedemeyer, nominated by Aatif Rashid

Thomas Halloran, nominated by Jessica Barksdale

Sarah Ho, nominated by Eduardo Santiago

Heather Hund, nominated by Malia Márquez

Mark Hünken, nominated by Robert Eversz

Jacob Lopez, nominated by Wally Rudolph

Ken Luer, Master Class in Novel Writing

Diane McDaniel, nominated by Amy Friedman

Ardia Morning, nominated by Melissa Larsen

Elizabeth Morwick, nominated by Kris Neri

Moss Napoli, nominated by Henry Lien

Autumn Oyemade, nominated by Rosebud Ben-Oni

Lori Passarelli, Master Class in Creative Nonfiction

Sheryl Recinos, nominated by Robert Eversz

Phylise Smith, nominated by Mark Sarvas

Richard Solla, nominated by Malia Márquez

Jessica Stillwell, nominated by Tempany Deckert

Jason Tanamor, nominated by Jessica Barksdale

Ann Wagner, nominated by Robert Eversz

David Whiteside, Master Class in Creative Nonfiction