Recently I went through the Writer’s Market, the famous directory of magazines and newspapers accepting freelance submissions. It was…educational. In case Splarks.com ever becomes an independent small press, I’ve drafted listing in the Writer’s Market.
Email: [email protected].
We …
The microbial children squealed as the otter submarine torpedoed through the river. Older members of the bacterial colony were perhaps more sedate, but no less enthused with the practiced tumbles and breakneck twirls of their new host. Most of them
Listen to us and cease weeping. We granted you one small indulgence because you wanted to know love. Initially, we refused your request, but your persistence moved us. We froze everything that you were and put your magnificence and brilliance
At the corner of 17th Avenue and Broadway, a young man built an oasis into his condominium. The tall corner window stretches floor to ceiling and a red snapping turtle swims lazily, turning to watch puzzled passersby. I peek through
[This is a sad story, and I wish it wasn’t true.]
In Iowa, the fairies came out in spring, building temporary homes in melted snow pooled between half-buried tree roots, bordered by mud and moss. Walking home from school, I’d
Mountain leaves and palindromes; the girl could not create one from the other. “I give up,” she said, bowing her head to the old man. “All my answers are wrong. I don’t know how they are alike.”
He grunted and
I stumbled out of the sleeping porch, rubbing my eyes. Granny spoke before I could even say good morning. “It’s them damned coyotes,” she said crankily. “Drinking the moonshine–the thieves!–and from the sounds of it, they got themselves some of
Thirty miles outside of Crescent City, we ran out of gas. The van had been sputtering for the past 400 miles, and I recognized imminent engine failure. We stepped out, stretched, and wandered the edge of the forest for a
