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It’s almost Halloween and I only feel like being Thomas Pynchon.
Rick Hale will obtain 30 banana splits and one English degree in 2011. He is here.
It’s almost Halloween and I only feel like being Thomas Pynchon.
Rick Hale will obtain 30 banana splits and one English degree in 2011. He is here.
The storm was at its peak when they came seeking shelter. What luck, I still had some space left under the stones in the manor house floor.
C. William Hinderliter lives in Phoenix and has read entirely too many Victorian murder mysteries.
They never notice that each year fewer of them go home. And they never notice that each year there are more creatures in the woods.
Jamie Rosen writes a lot of stuff. Some of it is @dollarbinblues.
First interview after the accident.
Interviewer says: tell me about yourself.
He says: tell me about myself.
Ryan Ridge lives in Long Beach, California and maintains an archive of past work here.
The bees stung her three times on her hand as she collected the day’s honey. Still, she didn’t mind. You knew where you were with bees.
Simon Kewin writes from the UK. It’s easier that way because that’s where his house is. His blog Spellmaking is open 24/7.
The thing that lives with me most from Haiti is the odor. Charcoal for cooking food and the smell of burning bodies.
Mike Donoghue mostly lives in his head, but resides in Vancouver.
Months later, he unscrews the gate at the top of the stairs. Unanchored, it folds in on itself, a small bundle waiting to be put away.
Dennis Y. Ginoza is an MFA candidate at Pacific University. He lives on the Kitsap Peninsula.
Men are from mars, women are from Venus. I slide a quarter into the telescope. Where am I from?
JP Allen tries to take things away until there’s just enough left.
The box thuds at her feet: mug, wedding photos, the 25-year pen. The platform trembles, the cold rush of air precedes the oncoming train.
Linda Simoni-Wastila wishes she had a shorter last name. She writes and gives a damn in Baltimore.
Her bedroom. No mirrors. Behind a dressing screen, she said, “Blindfold.” I put it on. We kissed. The snakes of her hair hissed in my ear.
Clarion grad H.V. Chao has published fiction in Epiphany and Diet Soap.