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Last Rites
by Kim Steutermann Rogers I wake to fog rolling up the hill like it’s late for something. A whirl of misty clouds rushes through the cracks of the old house and slips down the valley. I see shapes and figures in the mist, their hair long, their arms beckoning. Mother always said I had second…
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Soundscapes: Word Treasure
By Erin Calabria I am fifteen, sitting cross-legged on the floor of my bedroom with a book of poems in my hands. Because I am fifteen, I don’t talk to anyone. I spend much of my time alone in this room, but then again, I am not really there either. Instead, I am traveling between…
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Marty Elmo
Fiction by Drew Coles The very first thing on the very first day of school, the teacher brings Marty Elmo to the front of the classroom to introduce himself. He says his full name is Marty Elmo Flood, he is from Newland, North Carolina, there is a ghost living in his attic, and he once…
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Artful Academics: A Sermon and Prompt for An End Time
By Brandy McCann The world is changing. The wheel is turning. The tower is crumbling. It’s post-pandemic; it’s the dismantling of the old patriarchy; it’s little and big resistances to the-way-things-were everywhere. These are exciting times; these are scary times. We’ve been wandering around in the wilderness for nigh on 40 years now, and sometimes…
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You Don’t Know How I Get
Fiction by Heather Bell Adams Kayla Ridgeway and I met at the tail end of a mothers’ morning out, of all places. I was packing up the diaper bag and buckling Henry in the carrier. Kayla tipped back a cup of fruit punch and didn’t so much as wince at the sweetness. She had one…
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My Rugby Life. My Writing Life.
By Chris McGinley I should’ve started earlier. I didn’t begin writing fiction until I was fifty. Yes, I’m pleased with what I’ve achieved so far. I’m thrilled to be included in writerly events, to exchange rejoinders with people way more talented than me–Bonnie Jo Campbell, Chris Offutt, Julia Franks, Silas House. And I’m over the…
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Hey My Son
Fiction by Anthony Neil Smith Izzy already had the baby when Jackson met her, but he didn’t know if it was her baby – they looked nothing alike. Izzy was dark, tall and thin. Honduran. The kid? Blonde, chubby, white. Jackson guessed he was about a year old, but Izzy said he was younger. And…
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How to get ahead (by really trying):
An interview with debut novelist K.J. Micciche By Stuart Phillips This strikes me as a painfully believable story. That was the first line of my critique of K.J. Micciche’s first manuscript from her first workshop at the Fairfield University MFA program. Our group had exchanged excerpts, and we were plowing through in an effort to…
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Vacancy
Fiction by Kate Deimling I’m in the middle of a mission when there’s a scraping noise, like somebody opening the gate around the pool. I ignore it. I’ve been shot, but if I can make it to the medicine man in the woods, I can get back to full health and do the train heist.…