by Angela Santistevan
It was close to an hour walk to Sissy’s house. Katie would often do cartwheels, front walkovers, skip and run across the front lawn of her yard to entertain herself. But not today.
Today she would ride her brand-new bike. It was beautiful, a purple ten-speed. It was her maintain-straight-A’s-all-year reward. She had no clue how long the trip would take on the bike, but on the way to her friend’s house there was a really big hill. Katie couldn’t wait to glide down that one.
Continue reading Katie and Siciley V2: The Sherriff’s Daughter
Sarah Addison Allen
St. Martin’s Press, January 21st 2014
Hardcover, 304 Pages
by Allie Burke
I was really disappointed with this book. Not because it is bad or even that I didn’t like the characters; but it was so normal. Too normal. Lost Lake is a book that Kate Morton or Jane Green would write, which again, is not bad; I read Kate Morton or Jane Green. When I’m in the mood for Kate Morton or Jane Green. But I was in the mood for Sarah Addison Allen, and this was not a Sarah Addison Allen book.
Continue reading Lost Lake by Sarah Addison Allen
We have a new short fiction series for you by Angela Santistevan. We hope you enjoy it.
It was real. Awful. Unfathomable. And, the most real moment, Katie, at the tender age of twelve, had ever lived through. Katie couldn’t help but feel that what she had just done, as awful as it was, couldn’t compare to the awfulness that her life-time best friend in the world, Siciley, had lived through every time that this woman, lying on the river bank, half in the water, had done to her over and over again.
Continue reading Katie and Siciley V1: The Preacher’s Daughter
by Grace Carpenter
He sits in front of her like some kind of Buddha, legs folded on the carpet, slightly protruding belly just visible through the folds of his loose shirt. She’s fond of that belly, the way it jiggles happily when he laughs and bounces around when he runs shirtless, jumping off cliffs or chasing her with a feather duster. His belly is playful and free. She needs that.
Continue reading Takeout
by Derek Flynn
Ursula used to be an actress. Now, she’s an alcoholic. She spends most of her days and nights in the same couple of bars on Oakwood Street, sitting in the corner by herself, drinking wine and writing poetry. She reads me one. It’s good.
Continue reading On Oakwood Street