Rowling in Twitter war with Trump supporters.
Baileys ends sponsorship of Women’s Prize.
Roxane Gay cancels book over Yiannopoulous controversy.
Sales of Orwell’s 1984 surge on heels of #alternativefacts.
Trump proposes eliminating arts & humanities funds.
Looking back at publishing in 2016.
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Ana’s Dance

by Donna Miscolta

The windows are open to the blue-black sky, but there is no breeze to move the heavy air inside the apartment. Across the street, the diner blinks its electric blue sign.

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Mrs. Shelton

by Michael C. Ahn

Even on weekends Mrs. Shelton wouldn’t leave my head. I thought of her on the bus, at my desk, and in my bed. I suspected my mother noticed me at times, gazing at or playing with my food.

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History

by Cezarija Abartis

The Medici coat of arms, with its shield and crown, hung on a pole on the sidewalk here and everywhere throughout the city, still asserting ownership.

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My Patent Leather Shoes

by Konstantina Sozou-Kyrkou

I feel my stomach bubble all day today. It’s my birthday and godfather will be here in a minute or so. He’s promised to bring me a pair of new leather shoes.

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Three Bedrooms in New Jersey

by Tina Barry

One autumn, a neighbor removed the hanging seats from his daughter’s swing set and trussed a deer he had shot to the top bar. I could smell it as I lay in bed.

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Roadtrip

by Jane Flett

I lean forward to your ear, touch my lips to the point where the hair curls over your lobe, and I wonder about falling inside. I purse them like a kiss and I whisper road trip.

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A True-Begotten Father

By Steve Edwards

I see him on a cold blue February night: He steps onto the back porch to drop a garbage sack by the bin and my mother pushes the door shut behind him, turns the lock.

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Animals

by Robley Wilson

How old was I then? I was in sixth grade, which meant I was twelve. That was another part of my uncle’s argument: I was “old enough” for the fights.

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Circumstances

by Camille Griep

By the time they pull you out of the car, the party is already half over. Harry from accounting has mown through the good cheese and the VP is opening the evening’s lesser quality wines.

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I Keep

by Ian Hilgendorf

I doodled your name a thousand times a day. Even before I seen you, I knew you was made like on a potting wheel, formed together by the fires of my womb.

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