He kept the award in the bathroom on a shelf with an old box of band-aids. It hadn’t always lived there. At some point, he was sure, it must’ve been out in the living room, maybe even the kitchen, he… Continue Reading
Dale wants to be a writer. He enters a writing competition, wins third place and is awarded a grant. He decides to use a week of holiday, to get out of the big city, and go on a residency to… Continue Reading
The Bursar’s logic was simple. If the Aleph Club didn’t actually exist, then it would be eligible for all manner of tax-exemptions. The trick of course was convincing the local council, which had always been notoriously narrow-minded when it came… Continue Reading
Appa grew up in a little boat town in Kerala called Alleppey (pronounced al-ah-pee). He stayed on a little rice paddy farm and bought the essentials 6 months in advance from the boatmen who passed by. “When I was young,”… Continue Reading
Writer’s block. I never thought I would have it again. But days passed, and I would type out a sentence and edit it down to two words. It’s the pulps, I told myself. A penny a word — by now,… Continue Reading
The tapping of the old man’s fingers against his worn keyboard filled the small room. A tabby cat sat in the corner, drinking from one of a half-dozen partially drunken mugs of tea scattered across the wooden floor and desk.… Continue Reading
“Hit me,” I say, sliding onto my favourite bar stool. “And make it strong.” Maudie eyes my dirt-encrusted skin and bloody fingernails as she grabs the kettle. “Oh honey, what’d she do this time? Bury you alive?” I nod. “Fire… Continue Reading
The main problem with the workshop was that we were all writing in different languages. Each of us. I came to understand it as part of a study led by a professor of linguistics, though I’m not sure that story… Continue Reading
The first time I drove the entire way up Emigration Canyon and realized the freeway connected to Park City and it was as though all the barriers I’d grown up with fell down. The first time I drove my car… Continue Reading
I opened the door to greet the sales representative from the Rod Serling School of Writing. Mr. Gregg stood awkwardly on the stoop. He attempted a smile but his expression indicated he’d rather be somewhere else. He was a tall,… Continue Reading