The deal had been struck not only for them, but for the sake of everyone, the whole family. Lisa and Mart were sitting in Lisa’s living room on the sofa, drinking Campari and Soda, an old tradition, and having one of those bitterly truthful talks that are one part booze, two parts bravado, and eighteen parts terror. Continue reading
The smoke filled the hut. Thick, blue. Continue reading
A few feet away, a first-gen Lincoln Town Car had taken up residence at the curb. It wore vanity Idaho plates celebrating someone named JELLI. Continue reading
I’m driven by oh-so-close failure. To get near to your goal—whatever that is—to see it up close: it can make you want it even more, can spur you to take more risks. Art needs risk. Continue reading
Writing my first novel, I felt: the past was drawing nearer, often so close, that it hurt. Continue reading
by Maddie King
Both authors simultaneously relished and abhorred putridness, designating death as a delicious way to punctuate life and the morass of complacency that accompanied it. Continue reading
by Maddie King
I have a fascination with artists whose defining works were not made public within their lifetimes. More often than not, they tend to be brilliant, prolific, and somewhat just out of reach, even when they were alive.
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Bloom 