June 9, 2017 | Interview
Interview with Dan Chaon
Bryan Furuness
As far as structure goes, I’ve always been interested in the way fragments of narrative can play off one another. All of my novels have been puzzles—games—that I’ve created for myself.
June 8, 2017 | Fiction
Those Things You Do
Michael Seymour Blake
You ignore the sudden impulse to bash your office mug collection and dance barefoot on the broken glass shards. Instead, you brush your teeth and get into bed because you have a busy day tomorrow!
June 8, 2017 | Nonfiction
Ghosts
Brent Fisk
I began my life in a trailer. A black and white shaky construction plunked on a corner some farmer had carved out of an old cow pasture. One silver maple with a rotten core clung to life. I watched the world outside through drafty windows and remember the shade slapping the sash when the wind picked up.
June 7, 2017 | Poetry
Secondhand Smoke
Martin Ott
The man who bought Hitler’s bed did not have nightmares as a child.
California
Claire Greising
I don’t know if I ever actually listened to Blink-182, but I told people that I did.
Hinterland Transmissions: Folly At The Laundromat
Steve Anwyll
Of course the laundromat goes quiet. I glance around. We're all shocked. I catch the eyes of a little girl. Hair in pigtails. She looks scared.
Grass Snake, Hailstorm
Lucie Bonvalet
I walk in the mud by the river. The mud is cold. The mud swallows one foot, then the other. It's hard to remove my foot, the mud won't let me.
Believeland
Jason Koo
Woke up alone today in my own bed
after a solid sleep for the first time
in over three weeks, feeling strange there,
almost rested, but not quite, how big
my bed was around me, how new
My Father is a Collection
David Bersell
I used to think my father was a baseball card.
Osmin's Drinks
Joshua Bohnsack
Preparation:
- In pint glass, pour Rumchata over ice.
- Top with Dr. Pepper or Root Beer, whichever he is feeling.
- Drink through a straw.
Four Poems
Lisa Low
I carve horses out of watermelon. I swallow / fish eyes like gum drops. I pray under / neon chandeliers, string chrysanthemum / in my hair.
Three Poems
Ruby Brunton
i think i was an onion in a former life / i think you chopped me / lord how high were we last night
Three Short Fictions
Ryan Bender-Murphy
I knocked your socks off and away they went into another neighborhood, city, state, country, world, and dimension.
Please Interact with This Advertisement
Benjamin Brandenburg
Your content will resume after you answer a brief survey.
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The Storm
Zeke Perkins
A lot of people had just given up. Other people had made survival plans. Schmitty and his folks were holing up in their basement with shotguns and rations. He asked if I wanted to join them as he was allowed to bring one friend.
"This isn't like going to Hershey Park, Schmitty," I told him, "I'm staying with my family."
Inside The Happiness Factory
Jeremy T. Wilson
The baby is adorable, and I wish she really was mine, I was really hers, and this was a picture my wife took, my beautiful blue-eyed wife and my beautiful blue-eyed baby.
Four Poems
Caitlin Scarano
Remember when every stray dog was a love story and the snow that night cleared the crust that had gummed my eyes shut? No, me neither, but fuck it. Let’s get lit one last time.
An Interview With Christine Sneed
Michael Deagler
I think everyone has heard this a lot but it’s still true — read with curiosity and hunger — reading is as important as writing, more important, probably, when you’re first starting to write.
Three Poems
Lori Jakiela
Growing up I never saw road kill. / A government worker was paid / to take the bodies away / and nobody’s day was ruined by death.
The Pie Toxicity Scale
Leyna Krow
On a Tuesday morning in May, everyone in Spokane, Washington woke to the smell of pie. It was blueberry – sugary with a hint of vanilla.
On those Wednesdays
Katy Kim
I wish I had that glorified high school / experience— where some boys / are chugging expired strawberry liqueur / and everyone, I mean everyone, / is sprawling on the grasscarpet
An Interview with Rebecca Schiff
Michael Deagler
I don’t have any goals except to make the reader think and feel. What they think and feel is up to them.