Shuly Cawood

Jan 6, 2024 | johnsoncitypress.com | Shuly Cawood

When we put down our beloved dog in September of 2022, I told my husband, “I need a two-year break from having dogs.” He didn’t altogether believe me. He thought I might change my mind. “I won’t,” I said. “I know myself.” The door to that room was shut, and I wasn’t ready to open it. Our dog had been wonderful — well-trained, sweet to people, and very bonded to us — and she’d had her challenges.

Nov 16, 2023 | pres-outlook.org | Shuly Cawood

All the dances where you showed up hoping to meet someoneor you had met someone and hoped to see them on that wooden floor,under those bright lights—somewhere in the bubbling crowd—or you had broken up with someone or they had ended it with youand you hoped to God you would not cross them in any long line. All the laces you tied, the socks you pulled on, the tank topsyou sweated through.

Oct 14, 2023 | johnsoncitypress.com | Shuly Cawood

When I told people what city I was about to go see, everyone said I would hate it. Why was everyone so sure I wouldn’t like where we were going for my husband’s conference? The truth is that for a few years this city had been on my wish list of places to see in the US: Las Vegas, the place where everyone says that what happens there, stays there. I wanted to know its secrets. I wanted to see this city in real life since I had only seen it in movies.

Sep 16, 2023 | johnsoncitypress.com | Shuly Cawood

I could tell you this story started in July, when I got a call from someone I love who lives seven hours away. Or I could tell you this story started last year, on my birthday, when I told myself I’d had enough — that I wasn’t going to let fear stand in my way anymore. kAm~C x 4@F=5 E6== J@F E9:D DE@CJ DE2CE65 :? s646>36C H96? 2 7C:6?5 D6?E >6 2 BF@E6 7C@> {2@ %KF]k^AmkAm~C >2J36 E9:D DE@CJ DE2CE65 H96? x H2D G6CJ J@F?8[ J@F?86C E92? 6G6? x <?@H]k^AmkAmqFE :?

Aug 1, 2023 | thesunmagazine.org | Joseph Rodriguez |John Scotto |Shuly Cawood |Mishele Maron

In the summer of 1980, when I was ten years old, a stranger sneaked through our trailer’s unlocked side door at 2 AM. He lifted a few gold-plated necklaces from my mother’s wooden jewelry box, then entered my bedroom. When I woke, the man pulled his hands out of my underwear. I sat up and watched as he adjusted himself awkwardly, almost apologetically, in the chair he’d dragged from the kitchen to my bedside. His dark hair was illuminated by moonlight streaming through the windows.