• Memoir,  Short Story

    Oh Holy Night or The True Story of Christmas Eve Dinner 2014 by J.R. Henry

    My grandmother’s house is quiet, spacious, and ostentatiously expensive. It’s dressed up like Hollywood money from the 1930’s, back before she married into wealth. White columns frame every floor length window, the light from beyond filtering through the slits in the heavy draped curtains. There’s a sleek grand piano in one corner of the room, a glass encased cabinet of silver odd and ends in the other. The plush white carpet is spotted with iridescent sequins of colored light bouncing off the tinkling chandeliers. Dean Martin pipes in softly from the house-wide speaker system. I’m in the sitting room, perched upon one of several silk upholstered chairs around the massive…

  • Memoir,  Poetry

    Infertility Goddess by Heather Pilder Olson

    I am an infertility goddess. You can’t wear me around your neck like a totem. You can’t rub my belly for good luck. I spent 10 years of my life trying to have a baby. It didn’t work. I didn’t get the happy ending you expect. I never read What to Expect When You’re Expecting. I was never expecting. But I want to tell you my story: I want you to hear me. We often stay silent. It’s time to get loud. To continue reading Infertility Goddess, click here.

  • Memoir,  Short Story

    All People Poop, Some People More Than Others by William Turbyfill

    Do I poop here in my home or do I wait until I get to the sandwich shop? Like all great adventures, this one started with a choice. After just moving to a new area I needed to find work. I filled out applications all over town and the one place that felt like taking our relationship to the next level was a sandwich shop a quarter mile from my home. They invited me in for an interview. It was a great job possibility considering the circumstances. Not too many hours a week, an easy walk from my home and free sandwiches. Up until this point in my job history…

  • Memoir,  Novel Excerpt,  Short Story

    Clogs and Gold Lame Tube Tops by Christina Wheeler

    Before I attended Catholic school I grew up with MTV. I headbanged and threw up the devil horns like a heathen child in my crib when Cum on Feel the Noize came on. I loved Ozzy. I couldn’t help it. My parents were barely twenty when they had me. My mother would wear tube tops with no bra, the cotton barely hiding the shape of her nipples. A sight I would grow to become uncomfortable with by the time I was ten. Her shiny blue eye shadow matched the glint of the metal of her power wheelchair and, if she was moving at her top speed of eight miles an…

  • Christmas,  Memoir,  Short Story

    Ribbon Candy by Ellen Miffitt

    The satin luster of ribbon candy resembles the reflections from the Christmas tree lights on colorful glass ornaments; it’s not clear enough to actually reflect anything but the surface gives the illusion. My grandmother always had a pressed-glass bowl of ribbon candy set out for the Christmas holiday. I don’t remember her having a tree those last few Christmases but the overflowing bowl of ribbons was a tradition during the holiday. As a teenager no one else I knew set out a bowl of ribbon candy for their guests; candy canes, mints, mixed nuts or a box of chocolates replaced the fragile old fashioned treat that had a propensity to…

  • Christmas,  Memoir

    Season’s Greetings by Michelle Nikisch

    “Season’s greetings!” A commonly heard phrase this time of year. The holiday season seemingly starting in summertime. Store shelves stocked with Santa-themed silliness earlier than the 4th of July is underway. “Season’s greetings!” Season of life, season of year, seasoning for a good savory stew. Joni Mitchell pops into my head, “And the seasons they go round and round…we’re captive on the carousel of time.” For me, greeting the seasons is starting to take on wider meaning, not just a holiday greeting, but an invitation to look at the seasons of life, the beginnings and endings, the natural cycles. As a mother, my own children’s beginnings and endings are often…

  • Memoir

    Mobious Streets of Tacoma by M. Morford

    “What’s your ‘beat’?” I should have expected that question. I was, after all, applying for a job as a writer. But once she asked me that most obvious question, I realized that I didn’t know. But it made me think. And now I know. I write about the hidden, forgotten and neglected corners –and characters – of Tacoma. To continue reading Mobious Streets of Tacoma, click here.

  • Fantasy, Sci-fi,  Memoir,  Novel Excerpt

    The Case of the Tree Spirit by Teresa Carol

    I sat entranced across the table from the golden-haired lady who was explaining to me in detail the unusual occurrences she had witnessed at her home. I was surprised at how extremely beautiful she was. It was not the normal beauty that many women have, rather it seemed almost supernatural. Her hair was like spun silk which shimmered in the bright light of the coffee shop. Her skin seemed to glow with soft dew-like moisture. She was small in frame and light in body. I guessed that she was around fifty years of age. “Your skin is so lovely,” I interrupted, “Do you mind if I ask what you use.”…

  • Memoir,  Short Story

    An Only Child’s Contemplation by V. S. OPalenick

    This Author came into this life carrying a burden of obligation. Not to me or anyone in particular, but rather to Life itself. I don’t think it really matters how privileged, or non-, an individual is. The Only Child, literally and figuratively, carries a certain self-driven loneliness – forever in search of achieving “the dream” – which is ultimately and entirely up to the individual. “One man’s dream is another man’s fancy.” More importantly, is how that dream unfolds and its magnitude on the dreamer and the space the dream is intended to impact. Before proceeding, let me say, the Only Child is not necessarily a status imposed by birth…

  • Memoir,  Short Story

    A Misunderstanding Pertaining to Tomatoes by William Turbyfill

    I do not know how to make fried green tomatoes and I have mixed emotions about this. Part of me is glad I didn’t know. If I knew then the following experience never would have happened and I would be missing an important defining story in my life. The other, larger, more honest part of me wishes I had known so that I could have skipped this moment because stories are over rated. My one goal was to bring back a contribution to our community’s weekly potluck meal. The theme this week: southern food. The menu included chicken, cornbread and beans. So basically someone with no idea what actual southern…