The 2024 Pulitzer Prizes
Paul Auster has died at 77
Janet Reid, aka Miss Snark and Query Shark, left us for the great reef in the sky
PEN America awards boycotted over Gaza conflict
Jane Friedman’s key book publishing paths
Author platform is not a requirement
The Faith Healer
by Ciera Horton McElroy
We don’t know why he came. Ours is not a big city. There are no stadiums, no conference centers, no airport hotels to fill with hosannas. Instead, he has a folding chair at the farmer’s market.
I Baked a Cake as Big as Our House
by Anna Mantzaris
I started small. Bite-size cookies, mini brownies, tiny tarts and hand pies a 4-year old could cup like a fragile butterfly.
The Marked Book
by Sean Gill
The boy begins by saying he has killed a spider, a Goliath among spiders, a monster dangling from the ceiling on a strand of gleaming silk, the grossest thing he has ever seen.
Points of Entry
by Abbie Barker
Sometime before dawn, my son climbs into my bed. “The bat woke me,” he says.
Wandering Boy
by Jim Gish
We did not have to turn off the radio. My father told the mechanics, Ron and Pete, that it had a burned out tube. They just nodded. They knew better.
Todd
by Matthew Farrell
My sister is dating a man I can’t stand. They’ve been together for eleven months. I keep a handwritten list of his faults that is ever expanding.
The Science Hour
by Paul Byall
Early was there to fix a well. He didn’t know much about the universe or the planets, but he knew about all there was to know about machinery.
Paper Nests
by Laurel Miram
Pale yellow pads are best. They contrast well with black Sharpies. No one can miss a bumblebee.
Letter to My Coroner
by Christina Litchfield
We meet on a Monday. You hate Mondays because the weekend means car accidents and those are often tricky and unpleasant.
The Wild Plums are Blooming
by Mark Schimmoeller
The wild plums are blooming. They have bloomed every April since the man moved into the woods.
It all began around a campfire…
Beautiful language
is meant to be heard as well as read, and in fact words were vocalized eons before they were ever committed to clay or parchment. Storytelling began around campfires. We seek prose and poetry that continue the tradition.
Contributor Spotlight:
Love and Hot Chicken
by Mary Liza Hartong
Open Contests
by Stephen Parrish, with the editors of The Lascaux Review