Most read stories

Roy G. Biv

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Perhaps a blue person is more alive underneath than a red. Red is eye-catching and flashy, but blue is substantial, secretive. Of course, blood is red, and there’s nothing more substantial than blood, but we’re on blue at the moment, and the thought

Silent Season

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we are tired, you and I.

NAN : A Novel-In-Stories

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My novel-in-stories, NAN, is now available as an ebook for $6.99. Thanks to everyone who read the first 7 published stories here on Fictionaut.

Heat

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It was so hot we walked out on our husbands. There were reasons, we supposed. They left the refrigerator doors open all day, grabbing beers when they passed by, tossing the sticky caps upon counters. They drove their Metropolitans to buy food, leaving th

Local Man Makes Good

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A junkyard Bison seems an odd choice over the usual dog, but it did the job--trampling trespassers, vagrants and unautorized salvagers with a violent and admirable efficiency

Please Blow Me.

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[TURN-ONS: willingness. TURN-OFFS: rejection.]

Our Neighbors

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It was with the departure of their last child that the Beazleys became grotesquely petty with each other.

How to Shampoo in French

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Commencons (let us begin) our deconstruction of la bouteille typique de shampooing (the typical shampoo bottle).

Maggie's Mayhem

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Tonight was no remarkable night. The sun rose and set without question, children’s hearts broke with truth, around the world millions of people lost someone they cared about, millions people fell in love. It was an average day—it was unremarkable. It w

Lost in Suomi

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Wind pummeled me awake, smelling of pine and some quality of newness I could not identify...

Faith, Hope, and Charity

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She wears three or four tattered sweaters on cool days. She pushes a basket borrowed from a grocery store. There is a plastic lawn bag in the basket with God knows what inside.

Momma’s Don’t let Your Daughters Grow up to be Cowdykes

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She could see very clearly in her mind many size five girls with radically short hair and Cowdyke outfits from places like L. L. Bean.

Not Yeatsian

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Didn't he have like a frog No lips so speak of, and the weathered lizard Look of the frequently face-lifted?

Pour Yourself A Glass of Wine, Hop on the Treadmill and Read This Book

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I don't know if I'm going to get Alzheimer's, but know I don‘t want to. That's why I just read “100 Simple Things You Can Do To Prevent Alzheimer's“ by medical journalist Jean Carper. Doing simple things is something I'm good at. And while I'm…

Erased

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You took up residence on the dark side of things, a bolthole in a wind-flayed right angle of a tower block where pigeons and suicides tumbled blackly on the air currents. You set about drifting off from who you were on a tide of cheap whisky and bad poetry, graduating…

Revelations

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No snippets for you.

The Untold Story

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I kept a journal for so many years I've forgotten everything I wrote.

The Bird

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We lived on the edge of a tiny Iowa town, and picked corn fields were steps away.

Last Night, I Had a Beer with God

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"So" he started, which troubled me enough to turn back around and make such focused eye contact that I did not even notice his glass was again full, "you wanted to talk?"

Having Read the Poems of Matt Dennison

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Having read the poetry of Dennison I hereby give up writing.

At the Jennifer Aniston Intensive Haircare Clinic

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Hunger only makes people hungry, but bad hair can ruin your whole day.

Getting It Wrong

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As Gino exited the supermarket, plastics bags in tow, he began doing curls with his right arm. He’d been doing this for years, reasoning that he might as well get some exercise during the walk home.

The Goldsmith's Anniversary

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He searched for something deserving of the word “bestowed,” something so rare as to horrify the clerics of ordinariness.

Graduation (For My Mother)

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I know I’m slipping into my mother’s skin. I answer the phone with her voice; her hands grind the coffee beans. And who is this listening to NPR in the morning while the fresh-faced girls in the neighborhood trudge toward school,, peonies han

Deerhead Puppets in the Forest

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A spark is a gouged word: stewed to annihilate, scrambled, botched in a pot to dry. Lead us to the quiver, let us tremble. Noon, we paw nails under rugs, run fingertips over books, rip cupboards from hinges and spiral open the machine, for the creature is near the roof or…

RT @dadaism #amwriting

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How much do book editors earn? Peacock Love. (aww…)

Pretty

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Is it victory or madness

Liquor and Older Women

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"What is a vageena?" I wanted to know.

Cat People #22

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When Kat returned home from The East Street Wars, she learned that her epileptic lover, White Dog, died from madness

MR. WOODCHUCK

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fat furry marmots who play hide and seek