Author platform is not a requirement
The 2023 NBCC Award finalists
Fairly Trained gets consent for AI training
Sellout poet made over $150 in 2023 alone
Review bombing is not tolerated at Goodreads. Ha ha ha ha ha!
What to expect when you’re expecting a parade
Fiction

Nonfiction

Poetry

Cafe

Flash

Resources

Waves

Waves

by William Ogden Haynes
That bowl, whose waves long ago gently caressed / the scent of Sunday dinners, finally washed up / in the swampy cul-de-sac of my kitchen counter.
Lilac

Lilac

by Alexis Misko
I feel the kind of sticky / I should feel if this were Georgia, / if I were in an Alice Walker novel / with a fist full of blackberries / staining my southern grin.
Three Bedrooms in New Jersey

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.
Orchard Avocation

Orchard Avocation

by William Ford
I’m a laid off mooch / of a prof using up fuel / to cut grass close / around apple trees / where voles eat roots / and breed and breed / deep in the grass, hidden / from fox and hawks.
Memories of David Foster Wallace

Memories of David Foster Wallace

Following is a transcript of a memorial service held for David Foster Wallace on 26 October 2008 at Underwood Park in Normal, Illinois.
Roadtrip

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.
Christine Elizabeth Eldin, 1966-2012

Christine Elizabeth Eldin, 1966-2012

by Stephen Parrish
Aspiring writer, loving mother, and dear friend Chris Eldin took her life at age 46 after a long and baffling absence from public view.
A True-Begotten Father

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.
A Proof

A Proof

by Andrew McCall
My father does not believe / That the small things accrete, / That the infinitesimals / Lean together to form a whole.
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:

by Mary Liza Hartong

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Best Writing Contests of 2022, recommended by Reedsy

by Stephen Parrish, with the editors of The Lascaux Review