1444 14 4
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He had the cannonball head of Hemingway, the stump neck, sloping shoulders and barrel chest.
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97421
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Like puddles when it rains,
like relationships in chains.
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2592516
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"What, you only like my funny stories?"
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98110
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I’m not sure if it was the fishnet stockings. Or the pouty red lipstick. Or the tight black leather skirt. Or the mountainous breasts
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104107
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At first, it was tedious, those long Russian names, the convoluted story, but recess after recess he stayed in and became enchanted
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600
|
His synapses crackled. This was it, his masterpiece, finally.
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8463
|
What if I never have another idea? thought the inventor. I would have to get a regular job, commute in traffic like a line of ants and produce labor on a strict schedule. I would never again feel the joy of making something new,…
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32693
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Our goal as a press is two fold: to publish the best and brightest that we come across; and to discourage bad, sloppy, writing by murdering the author of the worst submission that we receive each submission cycle.
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99432
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He was drinking heavily again and complaining that there was nothing fresh worth writing about.
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9594
|
"The rhubarb grew like seaweed blotting out the underwater house, the tangle of giant leaves making it impossible to get out the front door, like in The Day of the Triffids." Ziggy Zimmerman was lying on his analyst's…
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90620
|
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9062
|
Apparently my blog title about no one being interested in a particular post triggered a Google quality assurance inspection of my blog. Who knew? It's a prominent new feature of the Blogger redesign, which is generally quite wonderful,…
|
3800
|
That morning the birds sang a different tune. Marta awoke, ruffled in her sheets and stopped to listen. What was normally an upbeat and sunny musical number, a perfect accompaniment to the rising day, was instead awash with an…
|
150106
|
The only way to get better at this writing thing, thought Melvin...
|
96100
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There were echoes all around them, their shadows delirious and only existed in short spurts under the breath of the streetlights. They danced as their cigarettes leaked calligraphy across the night sky and she tried to trace it with her finger. He asked her what it said…
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