The NBA longlists
Give something a name, and suddenly it’s a thing
NBA gives Drew Barrymore the boot
No more mandatory deposit at the copyright office
Groups file suit to block the insane Texas book rating law
A generational shift at PRH
Fiction
Nonfiction
Poetry
Cafe
Flash
Resources
Bulimics Go to the Gas Station
by Chloe Cook
It’s Sunday, which means instead of eating in the cafeteria, one unlucky counselor (sorry, Jamie) must lead our small recovery circus to an undisclosed location for food.
Two Poems
by Sheree La Puma
Give me silence & sadness, a taste of citrus swallowed after a shot, something bitter like daughters who have parted ways.
First-Person Eye-Witness Reports: The Factual Sightings of Nessie
by Meg Pokrass
Probably the weirdest and most wonderful report of all was that made by the elderly Ms. Margarita Polkraski on June 8th, 1993.
Confession
by Hayden Saunier
I fell in love with a field of rye. / It happened this spring for the first time and I am not young.
Height Determined by Distance
by Tommy Dean
We’re in the car again. Dad drunk and playing with the radio from the passenger’s side, his knuckles bruised and swelling. He takes his anger out on the walls.
In the Museums of Heaven and Hell
by Goldie Goldbloom
On either side of the halls of Heaven and Hell are the great glass-fronted cases displaying the glories of this world.
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.
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:
Box Office Gospel
by Marissa Glover
Open Contests
by Stephen Parrish, with the editors of The Lascaux Review
