Category: Short Fiction

All Stories, Editor Picks, General Fiction, Latest News, Short Fiction

Week 528: What’s in a Title; The Votes Are In and Genre Overkill

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Naming Stuff

I like interesting titles. Now, these are not items to be confused with lying “clickbait” nonsense, but titles of books, movies and songs that stray from the norm. Often, as is the case of the cheap 60’s Spaghetti Western God Forgives, I Don’t, the item fails to live up to the title (but, to be fair, it is an interesting little film regardless). And sometimes certain interesting titles almost guarantee a good picture. The two Sergio Leone “Once Upon a Time…” films are classics, as is Quinton Tarantino’s exceptional Once Upon a Time in Hollywood. There is also one called Once Upon a Time in Mexico that I’ve heard good things about (starring Johnny Depp and Penelope Cruz, both excellent performers), yet I’ve somehow yet to see it (I hope to fix that someday soon).

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General Fiction, Short Fiction

The Margin of the River by Mitchell Toews

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I finished shaving. A $10 coffee shop gift card was in the car, and although I knew I should hit the weights and take my usual morning walk, I also felt like a lazy day was not a bad idea.

Janice nudged me aside on her way to the ensuite.

‘What’s up?’ she asked.

‘Dunno,’ I said while pawing through the underwear drawer for just the right pair—supportive but not too bossy.

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Short Fiction

The Cave by James W. Miller

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The hollowed out and exhausted mother followed by a descending parabola of thirteen brown-haired heads crossed the already dark movie theater, the family that does that, that walks in late through everyone’s view. The animation had already leapt to life, and the children groped behind themselves to find their seats, eyes locked on the towering screen. In a short moment, the mother was asleep, having provided the only rare, small gift she could afford to give to this desperate and fatherless brood.

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General Fiction, Short Fiction

Eighteen Ninety-Seven by Pauline Shen

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I run my finger along the marker at the edge of our farm. Its wood is parched from time and weather. A locomotive’s soprano voice carries across the prairie. I picture that engine puffing into a station where the platform swirls with a symphony of tongues. I think of families boarding with slumped shoulders and weary eyes. I recall how we, my parents, my brothers and I, stepped onto the colonist car with its sunlit windows and faintly sweet fragrance. Around us, men snored while mothers cooed at young ones latched to their breast. I witnessed my older brother, Wasyl, rub his teary eyes as the train pulled us westward.

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Short Fiction

Week 527 – Buddy Love, All Carry On Included And Millions Are So Difficult To Budget With.

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Here we are at Week 527!

Before we begin, I’d like to mention an actor who passed away this week and was in three of my favourite films that I have watched numerous times; ‘The Towering Inferno’, ‘The Count Of Monte Cristo’ and ‘The Man In The Iron Mask’.

R.I.P. Richard Chamberlain.

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All Stories, Editor Picks, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Week 526- Humourisk

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Of all things considered entertainment, comedy is the hardest to explain. Whether you spell it humor or humour (being based in the UK we will go with the latter), to my satisfaction no one has ever defined what makes something funny in one sentence.

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Literally Reruns, Short Fiction

Literally Reruns – A Sign of the Times by Hugh

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Our beloved Hugh Cron often takes abuse over his honesty. Seems strange since writing is about seeking the great and small truths in our experiences as people. But to paraphrase Jack Nicholson, some people can’t handle the truth.

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Latest News, Short Fiction

Week 525 – Two For A Change, Recommendations And How Much Shrimp Makes You Pink?

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Here we are at Posting number 525. It must be a week or a good seven days since the last one!

Another eclectic mix of whatever. Now that I think on it, ‘eclectic’ and ‘mix of whatever’ are surely twin meanings??

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General Fiction, Short Fiction

Something from Montreal by Elizabeth Rosen

literallystories2014

Each morning my mother opens the door in her housecoat and slippers and draws the newspaper inside like a prisoner drawing his supper dish through the metal slot of his prison door. She lays the paper across my father’s plate so that it will be there when he comes down for breakfast, but she never slips the rubber band off the tightly rolled bundle.

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