Author: reckonreview

  • Dear Lazarus

    Fiction By John Woods I find my dad in the woods. He stares out at an ancient lake and wanders along the stone shore in his bathrobe, naked underneath, his manhood frozen to a nub. We’ve searched for 36 hours. The hunting party consists of me and his friends equipped with flashlights and cellphones, others…

  • The Pie Was a Final Draft: Homecoming

    By Michaella Thornton Last month, at age 45, I attended my first Association of Writers & Writing Programs (AWP) conference in my hometown of Kansas City, Missouri, and it was glorious. I sang karaoke two nights in a row with writers I love and admire (Salt-n-Pepa’s “None of Your Business” and Wilco’s “Heavy Metal Drummer”…

  • Ask Your Mom

    Fiction by Kristi Ferguson Leah stepped through the automatic doors and breathed in the cool air with a sigh of relief. She gave a self-conscious smile to the teenage boy who muttered “Welcome to Walmart,” as he handed over a shopping cart. Sweat dripped down her neck and frazzled hair escaped a makeshift bun. She…

  • In Search of Magic

    By Jamie Etheridge I’m writing late into the afternoon when I see them. A fluffle of eastern cottontails scampering across the road. They move like raindrops on water. Plop. Bound. Leap. A wiffle of unreality. Midway, the mother rabbits pause. They rear up on hind legs. Freeze frame, except for twitching noses and ears alert.…

  • Road Trip

    Creative Nonfiction by John Lane I’ve told the story so many times it feels immediate, real, if not true. Studying at my desk one weekday night for a history test back in 1973, several of my fraternity brothers knocked on the dorm door. My roommate was out. I answered the door with no trepidation. Why…

  • Adversity: On Writing Yourself As the Reluctant Villain

    By Barlow Adams Invariably, my best stories are the ones that share some part of me I’d rather not, some aspect of me I wish didn’t exist at all. As a result, my “biggest” most dramatic essays are frequently the hardest for me to write. This leads to an infuriating dichotomy where I often tell…

  • Bottles on the Shelf

    Fiction by James D.F. Hannah Brenda’s stomach sank with the knock at the front door. The phone had been ringing all morning—collection calls—so this had to be someone coming to turn something off. Plus, the kids were getting hungry, and the refrigerator was as empty as her checking account. But no, it was Ellen McCoy…

  • The Spirits Talk Back

    A Review of Jesmyn Ward’s Let Us Descend By Wes Byers It started with a few drops of rain. As my wife and I, along with a friend, waited in the packed audience in the courtyard of Baldwin Books in New Orleans for Jesmyn Ward to take the stage, we saw one or two umbrellas…

  • The Fractured Mirror: Fishing for Metaphors

    By Edward Karshner Maybe it was the forty-eight days without sunshine in Northeast Ohio, but I woke up fitful that morning questioning those stories we tell ourselves about the act of love. That was just the intellectual puzzle I needed to pull myself out of my “bleak mid-winter.” When I was younger, my dad tried…

  • Six of Clubs

    Fiction by Benjamin Bradley The harsh fluorescent lights stabbed Maddox’s eyeballs. He tugged down the forest green knit cap so it blocked his eyes, but the lights bled through. “Can you see shit through that?” Jane asked. “Lights are gonna give me a migraine.” “Future problems, Mad. Keep your eyes on the prize.” Jane flicked…