By Natalie Baliker Shopping for books is an experience almost as satisfying as sitting down to read them. I tend to visit at least one bookstore every place I visit, but I’ve come to notice that no two are alike. No, we’re not discussing Barnes & Noble, where every store…
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What’s a Literary Instagram Anyways?
And the 10 That You Should be Following Based on Your Aesthetic! By Jennie Fetzer In an internet-obsessed world of Kardashians and #Sponsored content, it might seem hard to imagine another kind of social media influencer- one who inspires you to do the exact opposite of scrolling through your feed…
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Writing With Sound: Making playlists for your stories
Sometimes to see, you need to listen first. For almost all of the projects I would create before 2016, I ran into a wall over and over again: For some reason, I couldn’t visualize anything about my stories the way I needed to. It wasn’t because I didn’t have a…
Constance By Jeremiah Dennehy (2017)
The Jennie Hackman Memorial Prize for Fiction, Third Place (2017) I don’t take the school bus, I don’t drive, and because mom doesn’t get home from work until four most of the time, I don’t ask her for a ride. But if I take the 509 toward Whitney Avenue at…
Erythrophobia By Jameson Croteau (2017)
From out in the outfield dirt, the crack of the bat was the only indicator a ball was rising up before dive bombing, back through the crepuscular sky. Jimmy turned and chased the echo of the sound. Go foul… Go foul… The ball, draped in a cloak of clouds, seemed…
Crumbling Walls By Kristina Reardon (2017)
Long River Graduate Writing Award, Winner (2017) “Petra, she say there be bones,” my grandmother told me, pointing beyond me to the old castle on top of the hill. The frame of the old, Slavic structure was about as beautiful as a decaying tooth with jagged corners. A revolting brownness…
Angus By Sten Spinella (2017)
The Jennie Hackman Memorial Prize for Fiction, Second Place (2017) The girl I was seeing had this dog, a real fluffy fucker, whose name was Angus. It was her boyfriend’s dog. She was taking care of Angus because his owner was studying abroad in New Zealand for the semester. I…
The Road to Hell By August Jones (2017)
When I was seven, we made poetry books in school. I wrote two poems about my childhood dog, one about my grandpa, and one about 9/11. The rest were gibberish. On the cover, I drew broken hearts, storm clouds, a syringe, and my mom crying in the den. My dog…
Splitting By Alyssa Palazzo (2017)
Left I. She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. A slender Italian with olive skin and a swollen stomach sits across from me. We are on a train rushing to Manhattan, and her feet are propped on the red duffel that sits at my knees. Her long…
i think i dreamed you by Aryanah Haydu (2017)
day 1 We met and though I was elsewhere involved, I knew that he would be the sweetest thing my eyes would ever reach. He had a long term girlfriend but still I couldn’t take my eyes from his toiled blonde hair those anesthetic blue eyes. He looked full to…