Darren Tanian stared wide-eyed at the party planner, a short bald man in a green polo and khakis named Chico. Darren said, “What do you mean I’m not getting paid?”
Swallowing Light
Jonathan Douglas Dowdle was born in Nashua, NH and has traveled throughout the US, he currently resides in South Carolina. Previous works have appeared or are appearing in
What Exactly is Creative Nonfiction?
When I was an undergraduate at UNM (University of New Mexico), I took Intermediate Creative Nonfiction, a class that should have branched out into various forms of nonfiction, but instead stuck solely to memoir and the personal essay. This does not mean I am not in favor of the memoir; it is the genre that holds…
Tips on Selling Your Book and Brand
I have had multiple questions from writers about marketing over the past couple of months. I also see many writers who don’t seem like they know exactly what to shoot for when they are marketing their books. I’ve been on the web a long time. I have made a good deal of money in marketing,…
Splash Splash
Gene Lass has been a professional writer for more than 20 years. He served as Managing Editor for KSquare magazine for most of its run. His work has appeared in Electric Velocipede, KSquare, and The Albatross. His first collection of poetry, Like a Moth on a Pin, done in collaboration with photographer Dawn Zellner was published in 2019.
What are We?
I wasn’t comfortable here, I should have just said “no!” The house was abandoned, and from what Kelly confessed to me while driving here, made me angry.
How to Edit My Work for Submissions
When I started piano lessons, my teacher insisted I do daily exercises to improve speed, dexterity, and precision. I dreaded tedious repetition of drills designed to fine-tune my playing or, as my teacher put it, “to do your best work.”
Requiem for Chopin
Elaine was lucky for two reasons. She had flood insurance and she had somewhere to go.
Her new life, far away from the dire-faced officials on the Public Access channel was finally coming into focus after the two-hour layover in Chicago.
Poem: Among the Most Primitive of Mammals
B.J. Wilson is from Louisville, Kentucky. He holds an MFA from the Bluegrass Writers Studio at Eastern Kentucky University, a writing fellowship from The Hambidge Center for Creative Arts and Sciences, and a Pushcart Prize Nomination for poetry. His poems appear in Exit 7, Gravel, New Madrid, Tar River Poetry, Valley Voices and elsewhere. His first chapbook of poems, Tuckasee,
5 Writer’s Blogs You Should Be Reading
I tried to make this easy. I started with 10 blogs, and then I realized that, that’s a lot to follow. Here are the top 5 author sites you should be following. They are fun and entertaining, so this shouldn’t be difficult.
Mark Twain is a Slob by Willa Cather
If there is anything which should make an American sick and disgusted at the literary taste of his country, and almost swerve his allegiance to his flag it is that controversy between Mark Twain
Best YouTube Channels and Podcasts by Authors
If you spend any time on Twitter as a writer, you might be lucky enough to find the #writingcommunity. This community is filled with an extraordinary amount of creative, intelligent and kind authors. Most have expertise in writing, publishing, agents, #pitmad pitches, and a great deal of other subjects that are must for survival as…
Afterlife
I never thought much about the afterlife. Until now. I can’t move, breathe, speak or hear and it is so dark all the time. If I knew it would be this lonely, I would have been cremated instead. Chuckling softly at the irony of it all, I pick at the maggots wriggling on my forehead….
Poem: Dreams of Aberdeen
Anita Markoff is in her final months of an MA in English Literature -Film and Visual Culture at the University of Aberdeen. She has been published in ‘Spilt Milk’ magazine, with work forthcoming in ‘Meanwhile’ and ‘Reanalogue’. Femme but not fatale, she spends her time tending to her plants and daydreaming about women’s fiction.
Magician
A thief came out of the shadows, dressed in all black and wearing a balaclava and held a pistol at Darren Tanian. “Money!” He shouted. “Ain’t a thang.” Darren sang. He took a drag from his black quellazaire and exhaled a thin, grayish vapor. “Money!” The thief repeated. “Where?” Darren asked. The thief cocked the…