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Please choose one question from each of the following sections. Your answers will allow for safe and secure identity verification and/or password retrieval, should your account information become compromised.
Continue readingJanet Frishberg This essay was inspired by Melissa Chandler’s fictional story “Considering They Lived,” which can be found here.
Continue readingFirst things first, take a sip and take a seat around the stump. Cheers. Now, this is your cup and this is your hammer. See the nails sticking out of the stump? Your nail is the one closest to where you’re sitting, and mine is the one closest to me.
Continue readingDanielle LaVaque-Manty The first thing Josie lost through the portal—and the only thing ever to slip through while Steven was
Continue readingEdward J. Rathke: Tell me about the process of getting Green Lights to publication. I know you wrote the initial draft several years ago and then basically rewrote it and cut out a lot of content a few months before publication. How has it changed, from first version to the version we see now?
Continue readingShe is not dusty when I find her under the bed. Her arms and legs fold in toward her middle, like she was stuffed quickly beneath the box springs. Pinkish scars rise where I took a lighter to her last time.
Continue readingIn junior high we were always calling each other cocksucker or queer, dickhead or dumbfuck, standing in the locker room waiting for the showers, our thin chests stuck out, chins raised in challenge,
Continue readingOne successful author once called Master of Fine Arts programs silly things, adding that finding one’s voice was a simple as looking inside one’s throat. This author had not pursued an MFA, possibly due to his preexisting knowledge of the human anatomy.
Continue readingProne to rashes, the woman uses unscented detergent. But there is misery in this small disavowal, and the act of folding towels makes her long for her mother in the long-ago basement, the trembling march of the spinning washer, the eggs in the webbed window, the redolence of the just-cleaned mixing with must. The woman breathes through her sorrow.
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