Jane struggles with what to file, what to throw away. Sifting through her parents’ things, she thinks how much easier this is in the office.
Clare Kirwan lives near Liverpool and writes poems and fiction
The night my father died, he was having trouble breathing, terrified. I held his hand and told him I’d return in the morning. Here I am.
David Galef is a shameless eclectic who publishes in seventeen genres.
He was still on the ground in the morning. His jaw hurt. They were both gone; he was alone. He’d never been so proud of his son, though.
@EricBoydtweets still writes a lot for different things.
“A short life.” She runs age-tremulous fingers over the line crossing his palm. It’s from a knifeblade, but he nods, figuring she’s right.
R. Gatwood is concise.
During the audit, as the woman from the IRS combed through his receipts, he thought of how much simpler things were in the county jail.
Eric Boyd (@EricBoydtweets) writes a lot for different things. He is a winner of the PEN American Center’s 2012 Prison Writing Contest.
I’d eyed the scars halfheartedly concealed by sleeves for months. To believe would’ve been affirmation. To intervene would’ve saved her.
Melissa Thomas has written three novels and enjoys being Canadian.
He picked up her pink ribbon and felt his life unravel. He was envious even of the search dogs, her scent so fresh in their memories.
Jillian Schmidt lives in Oregon with her husband and several bicycles.
“Most of the tooth is still there,” he said. The child only cried harder.
R. Gatwood is no good at comforting the disturbed.