by Juliette van der Molen
When I was a little girl I thought fireflies were the most beautiful magic. As the sun went down on our quiet Midwestern town on a summer’s night, I would anticipate them.
Lost in Space:
A frontier too big and too far away
by Julia Kantic
“How was Space City?” (Cité de l’éspace — but now we are only summering here and live so far away French is fast becoming an alien tongue).
Do You Have Louisa May Alcott?
by Edd Jennings
“Do you have Louisa May Alcott?” kept running through my mind when the seventh grade girl asked me if I was an author. I fought my immediate impulse to dismiss her with, “Of course not.”
by emma poe
It was an appointment to urgent care. That was all it was suppose to be. In and out in a couple hours.
The Only Way to Write
by Jeff Suwak
You woke up that morning, the same as every morning, at seven o’clock. You got off the floor and opened your laptop and you wrote.
An Old Blue Jar
by Edd Jennings
In the pre-dawn hour my grandmother once so loved, I checked the seal on the blue Mason jar. How old this jar might be, I had no idea.
Teen vs Snow
by Daphne K Moore
The mug of tea steams gently in my hand as I survey the first real snow of the season. A drift of diamonds in the air, tiny determined masses of it, unaware that they’ll all be gone in a few days.
by Howard Altman
Each of my serious relationships ended in June. Each and every one. Like clockwork. Or, with my history, like A Clockwork Orange.
Anyone Who Doesn’t Enjoy Marmalade on Toast isn’t for Real
by Harry Hogg
I’m always on the lookout for a story. The problem, as you might imagine, is that no story ever reveals itself to me as a complete manuscript.