Leila has chosen a thoughtful piece for this week’s Rerun, emotional and deep – it’s time Nik got his pen out again and sent us some more of his wonderful writing – This is what she said:
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – February by Nik Eveleigh”
Here we are at Week 286
The year is fair flying in.
We sometimes say to submitters to try relevant sites if their work is specialised, or if it is a genre that we don’t publish. But the one thing we don’t do is give out suggestions to where someone could place their work.
To be truthful I don’t think either myself or Diane have much knowledge of any other fiction websites.
“Boy, you better have your black ass down here tonight, or your ass is grass, nigger. You hear me, Ellis?”
That’s my main man, Mac Brown, the Big Sound from Downtown. He got a right to be pissed. A month ago, I missed our best bud, Willa Wright’s art show. My demons kicked in the day of the show. I don’t know why. I woke up 600 miles from home, in a hooker’s trailer, with no wallet, no money, no phone.
Ten-year-old Josh walked to school on an already hot May morning. The bulldozers roared and pushed along the river, clearing the bush and the cottonwood trees for new condo development. Josh’s skinny white pony-tailed neighbour, landlord Glaser Neil called out from his yard “hey, take a look at this,” and Josh stopped. Neil often acquired odd things. Odd but interesting. Neil pointed behind his lilac bush. Josh looked over and smelled the lilacs. Glaser motioned for Josh to come in, and the boy opened the gate and peered at the back of a cage. “What’s in there?” he asked. He heard a growl.
Continue reading “Child at the Edge of the Wilderness by Harrison Kim”
She was the last one to move in. Most people moved in the day the builders handed the keys over, but her house stayed empty for a couple of weeks. She was renting which probably explains it. We still don’t actually know who owns the place, even after everything that’s happened.
A jutting, brick-walled affair, we’d moved into our one-bed flat three weeks ago. It wasn’t much – first time buys never are.
But it was something. It was our space; it was home.
Chris leaned his head against the bus window. He was tired but he couldn’t let himself even doze as that would turn into deep, much-needed sleep.
Leila has braved the darkness, the dankness, the drippiness for us – down in the nether regions where the scary stories go to plot and plan. She pushed this one into a bag and brought it into the light. This is what she said:
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – The Last Lost Eye by Marco Etheridge”
And here we are at Week 285.
It’s interesting reading some of the introductions that we receive in the initial emails.
Before I moan too much, at least these folks do acknowledge that we are out there.
I’m not saying that anyone exaggerates but some of the plaudits some of our unsuccessful submitters have are extraordinary.
1.
It was put through the front door. Put through that brass trimmed rectangle small enough to keep out the worlds. The letterbox is far outside. I do not go to it. In the space under the door and online necessary links are maintained. But this package is different. It is not an invoice to pay or a manuscript to edit. George has pushed it into a corner with her nose.
literally stories 