In the dream you are not a lamb on fire.

The next morning the phone rings early, five-thirty, definitely not later than six. The birds outside don’t scream that loud after six. The voice on the phone is my niece, the fifteen-year-old,

There’s been a lot of talk about Executives in the news lately, a lot of mystery and confusion. For the last year, I’ve had a side-gig proofreading executive resumes. Now I know all about

Suddenly I want to be the one to leave a party.
Maybe life imitates art after all.

Today
I was at McDonald’s
and there was this chunky,
high school-aged kid...

LAKE ELSINORE WILL HOST THE ONE TRICK PONY

This place was one of those places. Had a minor league baseball team, an Angels affiliate, on some high ground, halfway between Riverside and

I know the scars of my grandfather do you. I know the guns in my pelvis do you...

I'll never forget the sight of those Rockies...

As I write this, nearly a month into the season, my beloved Phillies flounder in third place. Even that dubious standing owes much to their good fortune over the weekend, which saw Detroit sweep

later, an iguana slinked up the steps in a macho, prehistoric way...

HOBART: Maybe I'm seeing a connection where there isn't one and this doesn't apply more to writers than anyone else, but I feel like I've increasingly seen/met writers who run, bike, and are otherwise

You must imagine god as syrupy mist.

On April 9, my debut novel League of Somebodies was released by Seattle's Dark Coast Press. Two months earlier, my fellow Bay Area novelist Joshua Mohr released Fight Song, his fourth novel.

You imagine you’re a tipping point wrapped in a synthetic summer dress.

As a teenager, I had this superficial interest in handguns—I liked how the metal felt against my skin. I had never learned to shoot one, however, nor did I really intend to know at that young age.

None of us have those cats who go
viral meowing Springsteen songs...

The first and the simplest emotion which we discover in the human mind is curiosity, so it does not surprise me when you say you are leaving for the rest of the evening to climb Mount Grablehorn or

Last week, my birthday passed without time to celebrate. No cake, no party. I’ve been working a lot.  My daughter refuses to believe I’m a year older because I didn’t blow out any candles.

“If

Night comes in a slow bloom of abandon.

Walter White is looking in the mirror when he hears a key in the door of his condo. He is smoothing a deep maroon shirt, new, Hugo Boss, over his abdomen.  He is liking the shiny sheen of it and

Have you ever seen a rich person?
It's not like that movie about rich people–

Everyone watched him walk to the guy. Everyone saw. They were all watching with their big stupid eyes that wouldn't let anyone off the hook. And this guy, he was always on the hook. A guy who was

Then there’s the Schnabel:
Some colors and Adieu...

We know. We know. First we told you we didn’t publish poetry. And now look at us. Thanks to the fantastic Caleb Curtiss (and until recently, the amazing Andrea Kneeland) we are not only publishing

This poem is about death and, to some extent, life.

For the last couple of years, we've asked some of our favorite writers and contributors and known baseball fans to "predict the season," a kind of Hobart version to an expert's panel of predictions