About a decade ago, on a visit to my dad’s house, I spied a magazine floating around the house. One morning it was in the kitchen. That evening, I found it in the bathroom. The next day it was on a chair on the back porch. I was in the middle of an engrossing book at the time and, once into a story, I am known to carry titles from room to room to read as I do everything from taking a shower (one look at the crimping and curling tomes on my bookshelf tells you that I am a serial shower-reader) to letting the dog out, a vice that restricts me from being truly and firmly present in my own life in a lot of ways. I digress, as that is a can of worms for an entirely different post. The point is, I didn’t pick up the magazine with the black and white photo on it for a few days because I was nose-deep in something else. I should have done so immediately. Someone liked it enough to move it from room to room as they went about their day and that should have told me it was special.
The Sun is an independent, ad-free magazine published in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. The publisher, an interesting character who pens a monthly column in the magazine that readers seem to love or hate– I’m one of the lovers– started it in 1974 with fifty borrowed dollars. You can read the inspiring story about The Sun’s birth here.
Browse the back issues to get a taste of what The Sun offers. Read pieces from the latest issue. If you’re into photography, short stories, personal essays, and just regular folks’ lives (offered in the touching, funny, and sometimes downright heartbreaking Readers Write series), subscribe. Just don’t wait a few days like I did! I’ve been a reader since that fateful day on the porch and I implore you to be one, too.