I first became a fan of Hannah Tinti's writing when I read her story, "Home Sweet Home," (appearing in her collection Animal Crackers). The story begins: "Pat and Clyde were murdered on pot roast

Shopping

I was sitting at the kitchen table, it was morning, the light was pale and fine, he was messing about, making something nice for me to eat. 'I want you to come with me to buy a

In less than an hour, the ferry was at half-speed, the wind had died and the magnificent flora of Cane Island was in full view. They were in the brochure again, the one the travel agent had given

Elias was a banker, so we left with more than most. $1,600 to spend at the outfitters—three yoke of oxen, 2000 pounds of food, boxes of bullets and spare parts: tongue, axle, wheel. Two sets of

Meine Liebe

It got to where I couldn't stop talking about him, though our relationship had to be secret — there was no other way — for he was fifty-eight, Daniel M. Kennedy Professor of

John Brandon's debut crime noir novel Arkansas is full of men who become bored or dissatisfied with the straight life and who, in the process of trying to find something else, end up working as

In God's Country

Camping in the northern part of the state, two guys and a girl woke to the sound of what they thought was a nearby bear. The sound did come from a bear, but the bear wasn't

The boy mastered the alphabet, but the other boys were playing soccer. The boy mastered subtraction, but the other boys were saying who could and couldn't sit in the back row of the cafeteria. The

It's Christmas Eve, our birthday's less than an hour away, and, per Tannen family tradition, it's Davie's and my first night home for the holidays. Unlike me, Davie's not much of a drinker—not

The winter I turned twenty-seven, I followed a woman who said she might love me to a small town in Northwest Pennsylvania, a go-between place that provided me with little comfort, except maybe to

He could not look at the dog's eyes, light brown, like the sky before it started to rain. "Come on," Vassil said. The dog slowly followed him and climbed up on the backseat of the bone-shaker.

There is much to admire in the life and work of the author Michael Kimball: his sentence craft, his innovation, his generosity and enthusiasm. He's also a quite a thoughtful interview

1.

The sign is taped to a post and weathered and tattered as it is, it would be easy to believe that it has been there for weeks. But this post is one that Gord walks past several times a day,

Conversation

She had nine faces already, and each time she began to talk a new one was added. "How does she manage to do that?" he wondered, listening to her voice. It enveloped him like a

My boyfriend and I have sex and when we're finished he holds me close and whispers into my ear, I just date-raped you. What do you do now?

In the grocery store he throws an avocado at my head

In a walk-in closet, my father's ties were exactly six centimeters apart on wooden dowels. I gently touched the gaps between his ties and ran my fingers through the ties. Before anyone else, he

Leni Zumas' wonderful book Farewell Navigator is full of the kinds of stories I love and the kind of writing I envy. Every word is chosen carefully. Every sentence fits with the previous and the

We'd just eaten a steak dinner. I'd handled the salad and the baked potatoes, my husband had grilled the steaks. Bottle of wine on the table, a few drinks for him before dinner. My husband, veteran

Sumatra, Indonesia, 1963

The hibiscus hedge is the boundary line the girl is not supposed to cross. Sometimes, for something to do, she walks to the end of the sidewalk and listens through the

Those days I believed in Body over Mind. I believed Mind followed Body because I knew matter could think. I was a cook in this little hotel/restaurant in Missoula, Montana. The manager put me up in

They think I don't hear their whispers, but I do. Even with a bathroom between our bedrooms, all I have to do is put my ear to the wall and I can pick up every word.

At twelve, I know a lot. I

Cathy Day grew up in Peru, Indiana, where the Great Porter Circus lodged from 1884 to 1939. Her first book, The Circus in Winter, illuminates the rise of the circus, its collapse, and the legends

I met her on the corner of a street and an avenue. "We didn't fix anything," she told me. She was no-nonsense, a fast-walker, a liberal. She agreed to show me around.

I tried to ask what it was

A man had many things hanging off of his body. There were two arms, two legs, a hose. Mostly though there were a number of barbed hooks, which hung from chains stemming from his torso. They picked

It reminds me of the swimming pool game when I was a child, eyes closed, calling, and the others answering as I struggled, not knowing how to swim blind. I reached for their voices, their bodies

My mother is in every room of her house. The kitchen keeps her fingerprints in the flour jar, her lipstick stains on the wine glasses. She left a note on the refrigerator that says: Gone grocery