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Fiction

Fox and Moon by Mercedes Lawry

The fox regarded the moon.

You appear misshapen, she said.

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Fiction

Painted Urns by Morgan Beatty

She doesn’t want painted urns, so when her class nears the Hall of Antiquities, she tells her friend she’s going to ditch, and then she does.

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Fiction

Emergency Plan by Emily Sun

Find what is better at being water than water, dig up what is better at being land than land. Pretend the ground is horizontal and build vertically to the sky.

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Fiction

Cherry Coke & Mint Pulao by Anurag Andra

You’re almost grown when you realize it’s an odd hour for Dad to head back to the store. That it’s almost dinnertime. That what he says about being almost out of the twenty-four ounce Cherry Coke bottles and him needing to be there when the truck comes in to deliver them doesn’t add up.

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Fiction

Attachment by Myfanwy Collins

Arise fever-sweated, epiphanic. I think of Harlow’s monkey.

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Interviews

An interview with Chloe N. Clark

Chloe N. Clark tells Rachel Mans McKenny about her new story collection Collective Gravities, her craft, her editing habits, and the apocalypse.

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Fiction

Hydrangeas by Gabrielle Griffis

It’s a summer party, Fourth of July. Sweat rolls down your neck. You sip lemonade. Hot dogs char on a grill.

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Research Notes

Anna Cox on I Keep My Worries in My Teeth

My novel, I Keep My Worries in My Teeth begins and ends inside a camera obscura. A camera obscura is a simple thing that produces big wows.

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Fiction

What the Jesus Man’s Eyes Won’t See by Joshua Jones

The girl sees it first, a smudge of fur along the gravel shoulder. She stops, and Small almost walks into her, then he sees it too. Yes, it’s real.

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Research Notes

Teresa Milbrodt on Instances of Head-Switching

The best way to research physical disability is to be alive for awhile. At minimum you’ll wear out your eyes or ears or joints, need glasses or hearing aids or a cane, and be warmly welcomed to the world of prosthetic devices.

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Fiction

Before a Little Bit More by Michelle Morouse

I talk to Haruki Murakami at the culvert by the bridge over Stickler’s Creek. Usually.