The Writer's Almanac

Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.

Recent Episodes

The Writer’s Almanac for January 11, 2015

While we are gone, our neighbor finds a long-dead buck in our shed, steeped in snow and wood. A broken leg took him down and he found refuge. The deer that had wandered the hills, had run in front of a car. This is the story we make up to understand how he got there.... Read more »

The Writer’s Almanac for January 10, 2015

I remember our breath in the icy air and how the northern lights gathered in a haze at the horizon, spread up past the water tower then vanished into the dark. I remember that January night in North Dakota: We left the dance, the hoods of our dads’ air force parkas zipped tight, our bare... Read more »

The Writer’s Almanac for January 9, 2015

At eleven, my granddaughter looks like my daughter did, that slender body, that thin face, the grace with which she moves. When she visits, she sits with my daughter; they have hot chocolate together and talk. The way my granddaughter moves her hands, the concentration with which she does everything, knocks me back to the... Read more »

The Writer’s Almanac for January 8, 2015

Well, Old Flame, the fire’s out. I miss you most at the laundromat. Folding sheets is awkward work Without your help. My nip and tuck Can’t quite replace your hands, And I miss that odd square dance We did. Still, I’m glad to do without Those gaudy arguments that wore us out. I’ve gone over... Read more »

The Writer’s Almanac for January 7, 2015

All morning in the February light he has been mending cable, splicing the pairs of wires together according to their colors, white-blue to white-blue violet-slate to violet-slate, in the warehouse attic by the river. When he is finished the messages will flow along the line: thank you for the gift, please come to the baptism,... Read more »

The Writer’s Almanac for January 6, 2015

It was back when we used to listen to stories,      our minds developing pictures as we were taken into the elsewhere of our experience or to the forbidden      or under the sea. Television was wrestling, Milton Berle, Believe It Or Not. We knelt before it      like natives in front of something sent by parachute, but... Read more »