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#stories

kennychaffin@diasp.org
Kenny Chaffin

After thirty-five years, The Gettysburg Review, Gettysburg College’s quarterly literary magazine, is ceasing publication. We encourage everyone to continue to read and SUBSCRIBE to literary magazines and journals, where you can find great pieces like this essay on time in life and in fiction (The Gettysburg Review), an essay on passing in America (New England Review), Héctor Tobar on California smog (ZYZZYVA), a piece on personal and environmental grief (Conjunctions), a story by Morgan Tatly (TriQuarterly), a conversation between Margaret Atwood and Rebecca Solnit (Orion), fiction from Christine Schutt (NOON), and this essay on whale dildos (The Common). SUPPORT LIT MAGS, SUPPORT LITERARY CULTURE!

https://twitter.com/GburgReview/status/1709557701737316407

#poems #poetry #writing #authors #stories #essays #flash #literature

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z428@loma.ml
Kristian

10pm and on. Again. Street and parking lot belong to a crowd of teenagers, dressed in black clothes, quiet as if not to be in focus of any attention of anyone in the neighbourhood. A bunch of bicycles gleaming in the beam of a huge cars headlights. That time of week again, for the tired and exhausted ones to find their way home, into deep dubious dreams bordering a dubious reality. That time of week for those to move on and out, to disappear into everything they've been working to, all the hours of all the days since early Monday morning. The same darkness encompassing all of them.

#outerworld #later_that_evening #city_nights #edge_of_darkness #stories_of_sleepy_souls_and_restless_minds

#later that evening #city nights #edge of darkness #stories of sleepy souls and restless minds

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kennychaffin@diasp.org
Kenny Chaffin

The Fall Smokelong Quarterly is out

We Go Hiking A Lot
Story by Alida Dean (Read author interview) September 18, 2023

My boyfriend’s ex-wife abused him. The first time he told me about it, I was giving him a ride to Salamanca, New York, so he could buy a forty-year-old dump truck. He stared out the window at the half-frozen Allegheny River and described how she’d tried to tear off his testicles. How she poured hot soup on him while he was sleeping. How she chased him down the road with her black Volkswagen Golf. He tried to assure me that because she had recently been hired as an Assistant Professor and didn’t want to lose her new job, she was unlikely to violate the restraining order he’d filed against her the previous summer. Still, I should be careful. Her license plate starts with H-S-X, he said.

When she was trying to run him over, he sprinted into the forest, and ended up staying there a long time. He ate huckleberries, acorns, drank water from a stream. He balled his shirt up into a pillow and slept on a bed of moss. Mornings, he chewed the stems of sassafras leaves to freshen his breath.

I have a history of punishing the wrong people. When I dropped him off at the gas station where he’d arranged to meet the owner of the dump truck, I was thinking I might not see him again. I liked him, but he was damaged goods. He set his metal tool box down so he could hug me goodbye with both arms. I felt his heart through his wool sweater. Da-dum, da-dum, da-dum.

The dump truck’s forty-one now. We go hiking in the Adirondacks, the Catskills, the nature preserve behind our house. Wherever we go, he leaves the trail to forage. I’ve watched him eat fistfuls of ramps, fiddleheads, bitter crabapples, even chokecherries, which are supposed to be poisonous. I always offer to share my trail mix, but he only stares at the combination of peanuts, dried fruit, and chocolate like he doesn’t understand.

Full issue Here
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#stories #flash #flashfiction #literature

Issue Eighty-One - SmokeLong Quarterly

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noam@libranet.de
Noam writes

"Can you hear me?" said the voice in my head.

"What?! Who said that?" I replied out loud, ignoring the stares.

"Oh good. I'm a symbiote."

"Shit, are you in my brain?"

"No, don't be silly--"

"Attached to my spinal cord? Are you going to control me and subsume my personality?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm talking to you through your earpiece, not your thoughts."

"Oh... What sort of symbiote are you?"

"I'm living on your phone. You might have to charge the battery more frequently."

#microfiction #symbiote #stories

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z428@loma.ml
Kristian

Wochenende: Wege durch den vertrauten Wald. Trübe Stimmung, in der die Sonne, die die Wipfel der Bäume streift, fremd und unerwartet wirkt. Es sind jene dichten Sommertage, die man schon ewig kennt, bestehend aus Wolken, trockenen Wiesen, reifenden Früchten, dem Geschmack von Bratwurst, Limonade, billigem Bier, dem Duft von Rauch und Erde, und dem Fernweh, wenn die Ferien fliehen und das Jahr wieder ernst wird. In den Beeten strahlen gelbe Blüten. Dorfkatze liegt im Heu. Es wird Abend.

#outerworld #on_the_road #elsewhere #stories_of_old

#on the road #stories of old

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kennychaffin@diasp.org
Kenny Chaffin

Indeed, Oates seems to spare very few fucks for those who might wish to see her pilloried in the court of public (or at least parasocial) opinion. She tweets about anything and everything—Sharia Law, her dislike of the latest Spielberg movie, cute cat videos—with an abandon that borders on libertine.

https://www.esquire.com/entertainment/books/a44463566/joyce-carol-oates-profile/

#authors #literature #stories

At Home With Joyce Carol Oates

The Dark Lady of Letters invited Esquire to her New Jersey home, where she sounded off on feminism, artificial intelligence, Twitter, the future of reading, the 'Succession' finale, her writing routine, and much more.

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