July 14, 2015 |
Author Notes on "The Wolfman In Barry Bonds"
Tim Denevi
On the night during which the events of this essay took place—August 8th, 2003—the San Francisco Giants beat the Philadelphia Phillies 9-1. Barry Bonds hit a home run, yes, his 648th...
July 13, 2015 |
Introducing: HOBART HANDBOOKS!
We are launching a new project, HOBART HANDBOOKS, the first project of which is our Handbook on Baseball, collecting some of our favorite pieces from our last thirteen years of online baseball
July 12, 2015 |
Some Horns (Pt. 5)
Nick Francis Potter
Well, you see the horns there. They're a good size, I think. And so me, I ask about them, I say, You got horns?
July 10, 2015 | Interview
My God This Piece of Shit World Sure is Pretty Sometimes: An Interview with Kevin Maloney
Pat Siebel
I began reading a PDF of Cult of Loretta, but stopped a few pages in. I’d already, by instinct, picked up the pen beside me several times. There were sentences to underline, pages to dog-ear. What
Three Poems
Molly McGuire
fuck me here on this scabrous mountain while we all watch each other among sacred olives fuck away desire.
Animate
Marin Sardy
The story goes that Mario is Luigi’s brother. Nearly all we know about him is that he is a brother.
Non-Reader Spotlight: Rebecca Klaes, Part 2
Rebecca and I read Atul Gawande's Being Mortal and talked about it.
Those Bears (pt. 4)
Jarod Roselló
I heard about what happened last week.
Oh yeah, that was just—
It wasn't right. I'm really sorry about that.
The Child Bride and Her Artificial Flowers
Carabella Sands
His family was there. My family was there. My bouquet was made of flies.
The Guacamole Principle
Mansour Chow
Sometimes we appreciate things a lot later in life than we should.
A Hobart Symposium
Robert Shapard
Authors in Flash Fiction International
from the U.S., Mexico, Israel, New Zealand, India, Australia, and Brazil
respond to questions
Review of Campbell's Soup Slow Kettle Style Portobello Mushroom & Madeira Bisque
Jac Jemc
Words cannot possibly describe the utterly disgusting experience that was the consumption of this bullshit soup.
deaths in the family
Giancarlo Paradiso
Watching the blood drain was the moment she knew/ that she didn’t have it figured out."
Ha-Kovshim
Karen Marron
The tourists stand on the hostel balcony, shirtless, sun on their golden skin and hair or maybe their skin is the sun.
Flying Machine (Pt. 4)
Lydia Conklin
Okay, now -- I'm going to tie this end to the box. Lydia, throw the other end over our tree. Gilly, stand guard over the box.
poems
Elizabeth Ellen
Tanja and I were competing to see who had moved the most as a child.
“I know of at least fourteen places we lived before I was eighteen,” I said.
Tanja started naming places she had lived. She kept naming her grandma’s house over and over, between every place.
2 Fictions
Uzodinma Okehi
Nothing Works: 1
-New York City 2005
I should be through thinking about it. Ok, but I remember just going batshit, breaking up with Vanessa on the payphone. Hanging up, couple minutes,
It's Today Right Now
J.D. Hager
Yesterday my mom called me up and asked me to buy her cigarettes. I told her no and hung up.
2 Fictions
Ryan Bender-Murphy
After the Bombing
Santa did not know how to react to the sight; he only stared. At the granite block, there were three rows filled with ten men, each of whom was Santa. The only thing that
How to Get Fired from a Coffee Shop
Kenta Maniwa
Focus too much time on watching Amanda make cappuccinos.
3 Fictions
Siel Ju
In times of great dissatisfaction, you will occasionally find yourself dating two men.
Quality Time
Ed Meek
I was afraid the security guards would stop us, but they just shrugged when I took the plane out and put it on the field. One of them even said something nice like, “Whoa, that is a cool.” I taxied it from the end zone; it took off and buzzed up into the sky.
Interrogations
Gretchen Schrafft
We’d do it with whatever was laying around: a jump rope, an extension cord, stray fistfuls of fishing line. Down in the basement, while the babysitter watched Spanish-language television in the living room, we pulled these things taut, secured wrists, ankles, and torsos to my father’s old recliner. Toby was a boy scout, so his knots were better than mine, but I was by far the more skillful interrogator.