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American Short Fiction

Publishing exquisite fiction since 1991.

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On Sale Now: Get your tickets to our 2023 Stars at Night celebration!

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Each year, the editors and staff of American Short Fiction host a grand party that recognizes literary excellence, extraordinary literary service, a brilliant new story collection, and a debut writer from Texas. We’re so excited to celebrate The Stars a Night with everyone at on April 1, 2023, at the Tudor Cottage in Austin’s Pease Park. The Stars at Night is our favorite event of the year because it’s intimate, festive, community-fueled, and inspiring. We always serve up good eats, fine drinks, special treats, spectacular company, and of course great country music to dance to. It’s the most down-home, sophisticated literary spectacular on the map.

 

Announcing: The 2023 American Short(er) Fiction Prize

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We are thrilled to announce that the brilliant Karen Russell—author of the novels Sleep Donation and Swamplandia! and the story collections Vampires in the Lemon Grove, Orange World, and St. Lucy’s Home for Girls Raised by Wolves—will judge our 2023 American Short(er) Fiction Prize. The prize recognizes extraordinary short fiction under 1,000 words. The first-place winner will receive a $1,000 prize and publication.

A Century Ends

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It is decided at a summer staff meeting that The End of the Century will be the schoolwide theme for the year. Since it would be a mathematical fallacy to celebrate the year 2000 as the start of the new millennium, they all have to agree that it is not the turn or dawn of anything yet, just the end. Ellora and Jane, both first-grade teachers, have been passing notes back and forth with their own suggested titles for the schoolwide theme: The Beginning of the End; A New Beginning Begins; The End of Something Followed by the Beginning of Something Else; Same Shit, Different Century.

The Chiropractor

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A giant mirror sat in front of the massage table. On the floor were bath towels that smelled of mold and alcohol. I watched the chiropractor place his thick, hairy hands on Ma’s ribs—watched him, watched him—pushing against her breasts as he hugged and pulled and lifted her from behind. The chiropractor urged Ma to relax and imagine herself floating on the sea. “You’re on holiday now,” he said, and Ma closed her eyes and leaned into him. “Yes,” he said.

The Only Time I See My Sister

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Is during the next family tragedy. She picks me up from the airport. Brings me a bottle of cold water, cucumber-infused facial wipes, an orange, and a jumbo box of Cheez-Its, which she knows I won’t eat.

Damien, 32.

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When I first started dating Damien, he told me that everything I knew about cancer was wrong. I had just survived a bout and it had been wrong. I was young, not very young, but healthy. I did yoga regularly and tended to my core with fitness videos I found on the internet. I drank fresh juice. Not knowing what came next was the wrongest part of all.