[{"id":17211,"date":"2026-09-09T06:00:59","date_gmt":"2026-09-09T12:00:59","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/?p=17211"},"modified":"2026-09-09T15:03:25","modified_gmt":"2026-09-09T21:03:25","slug":"the-insider-prize-winners-2026","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/the-insider-prize-winners-2026\/","title":{"rendered":"The Insider Prize Winners 2026"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"Writing is a challenge, at every level. There are constant pressures acting upon a writer: juggling between responsibilities and work; prioritizing health; making and somehow slowing down time; even, perhaps, the arresting, infinite possibilities of the page. Not to mention, all the subconscious terrain, where one wrestles with memory, vulnerability, and presence.<\/em><\/p>\n

And yet\u2014<\/em><\/p>\n

These five pieces, selected as the winners by novelist and short story writer Elizabeth McCracken for the 2026 Insider Prize, are awe-inspiring depictions of fortitude, honesty, and the power of narrative\u2014all written under the difficult circumstances found within the carceral system.<\/em><\/p>\n

Take, for example, Charles Hill\u2019s winning story, \u201cPrisoner\u2019s Home\u201d: where a protagonist returns after serving a lengthy sentence and struggles to adjust to societal conditions. Hill expresses, in earnest, the fears of being seen in public spaces, such as a grocery store, hounded by personal questions\u2014an all-too relatable scenario, regardless of one\u2019s background. (In an interesting turn of events, Charles Hill was discharged sometime after submitting for the prize; his whereabouts are currently unknown. Here\u2019s hoping his personal odyssey leads him to safe harbors.) And Brian Steven\u2019s runner-up story, \u201cA Hairy Tale,\u201d follows a character desperately seeking to rid his cell from his celly\u2019s hair with vivid use of detail and a suspenseful ending.<\/em><\/p>\n

Deanna Carney\u2019s winning essay, \u201cSit. Stay.,\u201d recounts heartbreaking events from childhood to parenthood, marked by the various pets that provided comfort in those moments. With prose akin to poetry, she delves into the layers of trauma and finds a way out through healing and support. (A notable event, too: Deanna will be released on parole in late September 2026.) And in a first for the Insider Prize, there are two runners-up in nonfiction, with thought-provoking insights of the system and a portrayal of yearning to reunite with family; Matthew Mendoza\u2019s \u201cZen and the Art of Civil Commitment\u201d reaches emotional depths through powerful reflections in search of redemption, while Steven Perez\u2019s \u201cAunt Terry and Josiah King\u201d transports the reader inside his bunker where he makes a call to his dying aunt.<\/em><\/p>\n

Each submission received for the prize\u2014handwritten or typed out, then mailed in thick, delicate envelopes\u2014examined the human condition through a diverse lens: the lack of justice, oppressive Texas heat in harsh living conditions, violence suffered by transgender women, and the struggle with addiction. Most moving, above all, are the correspondences with the writers themselves who reach out at their own expense\u2014quite literally. A message to touch base and say hello, an eager inquiry on the next open window for the contest, a half-torn, crumbled page from someone asking for writing resources in penciled scribbles. I can only imagine, through slivers of their reality depicted in their pieces, the limited spaces and time allotted; it serves us well to keep in mind the effort and length incarcerated writers undertake for the chance of expression and connection.<\/em><\/p>\n

With much gratitude from our Insider Prize Assistant Editors, our partners at LitHub and Huston-Tillotson University, and everyone at American Short Fiction, I hope these remarkable stories serve as beacons for hope, forgiveness, and redemption. A pause to reflect and a reminder of our privileges, the responsibility to uplift marginalized voices, and the opportunity to meet ourselves on the page\u2014and each other\u2014with the same strength, humility, and grace.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u2014Sergio Muro, Insider Prize Director<\/em><\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

First Place, Fiction: Charles Hill, \u201cPrisoner\u2019s Home\u201d<\/strong><\/h3>\n

\u201cPrisoner\u2019s Home,\u201d by Charles Hill, follows a young man in the months after his release from prison, as he discovers that the features of his incarceration\u2014the fights he\u2019s been in, the lies he\u2019s told, the way he\u2019s tried to make himself invulnerable\u2014all follow him home. His given name is Chris, but in prison he calls himself \u201cCrazy.\u201d This complicated and heartfelt story is about how the lies you tell yourself about who you are will change you, but never in the way you hope: what you hope will save you might doom you instead.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u2014Elizabeth McCracken<\/em><\/p>\n

Chris went to prison at the young age of ninteen\u2014he was in his second year of college. Photos of Chris on social media show him hunting, drinking, and dancing: all the things his parents never had the opportunity to do.<\/p>\n

Prison turned Chris into a liar. After prison, even he couldn\u2019t accept the truth: he had learned to hate freedom and lied about loving home.<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

His American Dream was going well, until one night at a party.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey girl, what\u2019s your name?\u201d<\/p>\n

Chris stood up and placed a hand between his girl and the kid who approached her. \u201cBuzz off, buddy. She\u2019s not interested,\u201d Chris said.<\/p>\n

The kid stepped back, raising both hands in defense. \u201cWoooow bro, I\u2019m just here to party.\u201d He gave a shitty grin, then glanced at his buddies behind him.<\/p>\n

Chris lowered his hand.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo, girl: are you going to stay with the lame Captain Save-a-Ho or come with big daddy?\u201d<\/p>\n

Chris dashed the kid with his drink and swung furiously; he caught him in the jaw with a second swing, the kid dropping like a wet noodle. Two bodyguards turned and walked off. But Chris wasn\u2019t done: he dropped to one knee and pounded the kid\u2019s face. Blow after blow, Chris saw red. He didn\u2019t feel the soft hand or long blond hair rest on the back of his neck or hear the sweet voice crying, \u201cStop, Chris. Please. Stop.\u201d<\/p>\n

Smash, smash, smash.<\/em><\/p>\n

Someone hit Chris over the head, and the next thing he could remember was a bright white LED shining into his eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cYep, he\u2019s up now. Drag him to the car,\u201d a cop said.<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

The county jail was a new experience for Chris to say the least, a new one that would last for years. He was charged with aggravated assault; that didn\u2019t stop him from<\/p>\n

telling everyone he was in for murder. The first thing Chris did was invent a tough sobriquet. Crazy was what he went by now.<\/p>\n

Three months later, the DA offered him fifteen years. Everyone on the pod said fifteen was good for murder, so he signed for it.<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

The photos of Crazy that his mom collected were only from visitation. In the first few, Crazy was heavy with weight (which he said gave him more power in his punch) and discolored eyes (which he said was from all the fights he won). This one was a broken nose. This one he had his arm in a cast. The rest are full of deep, deep depression (which he said was from homesick fever).<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy are all the backgrounds so different?\u201d Susan, Chris\u2019s sister, asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, he has been in so many units: Garza West, Garza East, Beto, Connley, Alred, Coffield, Michaels,\u201d Mom said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat for?\u201d Susan asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cHeaven knows, Chris\u2019s always said he got into fights but couldn\u2019t talk about them.\u201d<\/p>\n

Crazy never told the same story twice. He was all you could be at any given day and had the tattoos to prove it: Crazy\u2019s arms and back were covered with hook tattoos that had thick black lines, pepper shading, and tons of skulls\u2014he even had the state of Texas on his neck.<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

The last two weeks before Crazy was released on parole, he gathered all the personal information of fellow inmates he could. With a smile and a hug, he told them he would keep in touch. Crazy even told all his close friends he was going to send them money to buy snacks. But the last two days, his pretentious promises ate at his insides; he hovered over the toilet all night puking the pork noodle casserole. He puked so much, it seemed like he had puked all the casserole trays he had ever eaten in the past decade\u2014which is a lot of pork noodle. The truth was he wasn\u2019t ready to leave. He had never prepared to leave. But Crazy was never going to tell that.<\/p>\n

Crazy wore \u201870s throwback Salvation Army clothes and stood at the last gate between him and freedom, the closest he had been in ten years. The air was fresher, the sky was baby blue and deep with no clouds. The trees played music with the wind as it sifted through their branches.<\/p>\n

He exhaled. \u201cOkay, okay, okay,\u201d he whispered, squeezing his hand and looking down at the scars over his knuckle.<\/p>\n

\u201cGate!\u201d an officer behind him yelled.<\/p>\n

Crazy\u2019s body shrunk hearing the voice. Did I do something wrong? Are they going to let me go?<\/em><\/p>\n

Click<\/em>. The door popped open, and the gate swung out with a creak.<\/p>\n

\u201cGo on boy. Ain\u2019t gonna shoot you. You\u2019re free,\u201d the office said, giving him a shove.<\/p>\n

Crazy\u2019s right leg stepped on the uneven concrete; for a moment, he felt like Armstrong. One small step for man<\/em>. His mind reeled like a movie: steps, hugs and kisses from Mom and sis. Breathe. Sit in the car. Breathe. Soft seat, gone. Breathe, gone. Out of sight. Breathe.<\/em><\/p>\n

The piny woods swallowed the red bricks surrounded by spirals of razor wire and fence. He felt like his heart was plucked from his chest.<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, Chris, wait until we get you something to eat,\u201d Mom squawked. His dad said nothing. Susan said nothing. Crazy said nothing.<\/p>\n

\u201cChris, quit looking back,\u201d Mom said with a sap smile.<\/p>\n

\u201cHuh? Oh, okay.\u201d Breathe<\/em>, Crazy thought.<\/p>\n

The first five years in prison, all Crazy wanted was a homecoming party, but the last five years, he didn\u2019t want anything.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, here we are. We\u2019re home! Come on, Chris. No one\u2019s here. Just you, Susan, me, and Dad,\u201d Mom said.<\/p>\n

Crazy sat on the swing under the oak tree: no party, no friends, just family. The only people who reached out to him the entire ten years. Nothing was the same. The house was painted brown. All the bikes were rusted, and everyone\u2019s vehicles were new. But it was just like he liked it, he told himself. He sat on the swing until the sun went down, alone, just like he wanted.<\/p>\n

Dinner decked the table: golden buttery mashed potatoes, roast beef with draining juices seeping out the sides, greens with chunks of soggy bacon gasping for air.<\/p>\n

\u201cJust like you always liked it, after a big Friday night game,\u201d Mom said.<\/p>\n

\u201cJust like I liked it. Thanks, Mom.\u201d Crazy slapped a heap of potatoes on his plate.<\/p>\n

Dad forked a bite of roast beef, eyed it, then shoved it in his mouth.<\/p>\n

His sister stared at Crazy with amazement. \u201cChris, now that there\u2019s no one listening to the phone calls, tell us some real stories.\u201d Susan\u2019s eyes beamed.<\/p>\n

The potatoes on Crazy\u2019s spoon, once golden butter, turned to prison-styled potatoes: rotten with black spots and brown potato skins. He dropped the spoon, stopped chewing.<\/p>\n

The clock on the wall clicked its small, plastic hands. A small, black radio in the living room, just over a whisper, played a George Strait song.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe real story . . . you see, well I . . .\u201d Crazy stopped to wipe the water in his eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh Chris, it\u2019s okay. Tell us another time, honey,\u201d Mom said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah. Susan, you can\u2019t ask big questions like that. That answer\u2019s going to take weeks to tell,\u201d Crazy said.<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay, do you have a good fight story?\u201d Susan probed.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhich one?\u201d Crazy wiped his forehead, then trailed his finger over the scar above his eyebrow.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou got more than one?\u201d She leaned over her plate.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat, do you think it\u2019s a walk down a church pew? Everyone\u2019s a criminal.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dinner floated by with vapid comments around the meal and eventually died out.<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

After dinner, Crazy laid down in his own bed and was transported to another time: one he no longer recognized\u2014the time every minute was precious. The bed felt soft, softer than it had ever felt. Time ticked up to twelve, then started down. In the dark, Crazy couldn\u2019t tell if his eyes were open or closed. His mind ran the perimeter of the room, visualizing the window, door, walls, and photos. Silence rang in his ears, listening to himself breathe. Blood streamed through his veins, pulsing inside him, like a ticking time bomb. The bed turned stiff and hard; he felt uncomfortable, alienated.<\/p>\n

A dream haunted him: Somebody, somewhere, chasing him. Room after room, he slammed the doors behind him for safety, but the doors were never the right size to fit the frame; they were smaller, half the size. Run, run, run<\/em>. Twisting in blank abandoned rooms like a maze with no end, but no time to stop. No time to rest.<\/p>\n

\u201cChris!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHuh? Yeah?\u201d Crazy said.<\/p>\n

\u201cGet up. Coffee\u2019s ready,\u201d Dad said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah.\u201d Crazy ran his hands over his face, trying to relax. \u201cI\u2019ll be out in a minute.\u201d He rolled out of bed and shuffled to the porch.<\/p>\n

\u201cBlack?\u201d Dad asked, rocking back on a wooden chair.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, that\u2019s all I drink anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s good,\u201d he said, handing Crazy the other cup on the coffee table. \u201cIt\u2019ll put hair on your chest.\u201d Dad smiled and slurped the top of his cup.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen I worked in the fields, I used to watch the sun come up like this,\u201d Crazy said.<\/p>\n

\u201cFields?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHoe squad. Fields. It\u2019s the worst job. The same job as slaves in America: picking vegetables and cutting grass with a hoe,\u201d Crazy said.<\/p>\n

\u201cSounds like a good job for youngsters trying to knock the edge off.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou would think, but that\u2019s where I got into my first fight.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAhh? You win?\u201d Dad leaned in, staring at Crazy.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, well almost. But winning\u2019s not always a win because both of you lose\u2014and a loss is a win. So, a fight is a win-win or a loss. Out of the hundred and five fights I\u2019ve had, I\u2019ve never lost one.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSon, I don\u2019t think you woke up yet.\u201d Dad glanced down at Crazy\u2019s cup.<\/p>\n

Crazy looked out at the sheen of the dew covering the grass. \u201cThe grass is what started it,\u201d Crazy said in a daze. \u201cThe lead row said I wasn\u2019t cleaning my row.\u201d Crazy trailed off, searching the vast blue sky. \u201cThen, he called me a white boy. That was when Krooked Kracker elbowed me and threw a shoulder up.\u201d Crazy swallowed. \u201cThat\u2019s when I knew I had to. So, I yelled back, \u2018You\u2019re a boy, boy.\u2019 They all stopped rocking after that. Well, the black ones. They threw down their aggies.\u201d Crazy sat the cup on the table. \u201cI got two swings in. He got me in the eye. I hit the dirt and got pepper sprayed. Then, the lieutenant fired his pistol.\u201d Crazy tapped his fingers on his leg. \u201cI never missed a blade of grass after that or wasn\u2019t called out on it.\u201d Crazy picked up the cold coffee and swallowed a big gulp. \u201cI never missed a blade of grass. Never.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dad sat his cup down, stood up to leave, then said, \u201cIt was better the last time you told me that story.\u201d<\/p>\n

Crazy watched Dad\u2019s car head to work until it faded into the horizon. His phone buzzed. His thumbs fumbled with the touchscreen. \u201cDamn screen, where\u2019s the buttons at?\u201d<\/p>\n

Twenty minutes later, he texted Nathan back: Yeah, come over, bro. I\u2019m at the house chillin.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

When Nathan arrived, he walked up the porch and gave Crazy a big homecoming hug. Crazy couldn\u2019t keep his eyes from watering; he wasn\u2019t sure if it was the hug or compassion. They sat on the porch with a round of fresh coffee.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, prison is like a fight club: the more time you do, the better you get,\u201d Crazy said.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo, you ever get your ass whooped?\u201d Nathan asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cHell no. I never lost a fight.\u201d Crazy\u2019s hand shook, sipping the lies down with black gold.<\/p>\n

\u201cI remember this one time, I sold a watch and the guy said, ‘Oh, you\u2019re jacked.\u2019 That\u2019s when I stole off on him,\u201d Crazy said.<\/p>\n

\u201cStole off?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI hit him in the mouth, took his tooth out with that punch. Took my watch and the black bag he had.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBlack bag?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cInstant coffee. It\u2019s trash, really. After that, they shipped me. The law said I was a danger.\u201d Crazy pulled air through his teeth. \u201cHow many fights have you been in out here?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cUhh,\u201d Nathan blushed. \u201cNone. No one fights out here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh,\u201d Crazy relaxed. \u201cNo one fights?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you fight at work, you\u2019re fired.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo fights? What happens if someone disrespects you? You know, calls you out of your name?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cUhh, you, well, they don\u2019t.\u201d Nathan cast his eyes down to his phone. \u201cWell, I\u2019ve got to go, Chris. Got to pick the kids up.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh yeah. Don\u2019t you have a son?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI got three. They all popped out a year apart. The oldest is in third grade.\u201d<\/p>\n

Crazy looked at Nathan\u2019s young face, wondering if he looked like a father.<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

The next three months, Crazy stayed in his room. He was stuck on TikTok and YouTube, looking up prison stories: gangs, fights, horrors, and testimonies. Prison, prison, prison. He learned more about prison than a prisoner knew. He learned so much, he felt it built up on him, pushing him to a new standard: super penitentiary.<\/p>\n

\u201cSuper penitentiary, yeah,\u201d Crazy said out loud.<\/p>\n

Crazy was confined to his room. He didn\u2019t like the feeling of opening doors; when he did, he closed them quickly. The only time he left the house was on foot to visit the
\nlocal HEB. He pushed an empty cart. He loved to admire the flashy, plastic logos, different varieties of chips, and junk food. As soon as he passed another shopper, he stiffened and furled his eyebrows. Crazy looked into shoppers’ eyes like he was going to say: What? Say something.<\/em><\/p>\n

But he was scared\u2014scared of the questions they would ask about his tattoos. He knew they knew. He felt everyone knew he was fresh out.<\/p>\n

Crazy hated seeing fellow convicts. He could spot them easily: the way they walked and the black ink on their body. He always quickened his pace and gave a strong nod. His body turned into a robotic character on a mission to some important place\u2014which was never the case for Crazy\u2014but he felt the need to lie with his body. The most terrifying conversation Crazy could think of was the one where he was working, how he was adjusting, because truthfully, he was tired of lying.<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

One day, Crazy sat at the dinner table eating a bowl of Top Ramen noodle soup.<\/p>\n

\u201cChris, you know it\u2019s May?\u201d Mom said.<\/p>\n

\u201cMay?\u201d Chris slurped noodles.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe summer is coming. You know how much work goes on in the summer?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, and it\u2019s hot.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cChris, it\u2019s been six months. It\u2019s been long enough. Your father told me to tell you to take his truck out.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDrive his truck?! The Silverado? That thing is big.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t start with me! It\u2019s the same size as your old truck,\u201d Mom said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI never had a truck. I\u2019ve never had a job.\u201d Crazy picked the bowl up and chugged down the salty, yellow sludge. \u201cThey want to see past work history. I ain\u2019t got any.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cChris, honey. You can\u2019t get history if you don\u2019t get a job.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe jobs are history. Didn\u2019t you see what the news said about AI?! It\u2019s going to take all our jobs!\u201d<\/p>\n

Mom grabbed the rag on the table and wiped the clean corner, dumped the rag in the sink, then turned to Crazy. \u201cThe keys are on the hook.\u201d<\/p>\n

Crazy grabbed the keys, got in the truck, and headed down the road. The pressure of doing something for the first time compounded. Every lie Crazy told about the job he had in the past rattled in his head, like bouncing marbles. Crazy was so used to doing nothing; the thought of doing anything triggered his fight or flight. Job, car, housing, insurance, bills, wife, kids: all equaled responsibility. Life was too complicated for Crazy. He couldn\u2019t lie himself out of this one, so he did the only thing he knew would bring him home.<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

Main Street was as dead as it had always been, but the courthouse was busy as a beehive swarming with squad cars. Crazy locked eyes on a trooper as he rolled through the four way. The light turned green. Crazy froze. His heart leaped inside his chest.<\/p>\n

The cop stared at him and the front license plate. Crazy stomped on the gas, burning the back tires.<\/p>\n

Lights flickered, red and blue. The chase only took ten minutes.<\/p>\n

Crazy jumped out before parking the truck and laid down on the soft asphalt. He grinned when the cold handcuffs clicked around his wrists. He laughed when the cop screamed at him to answer the questions. Crazy relaxed when he sat on the hard plastic backseat; he felt free looking through the metal bars lining the windows. The plexiglass in front of him had scratches that appeared random until he looked closer. He could make out the words: super penitentiary.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, Superman, you\u2019re headed back to the pen,\u201d the cop said.<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

Crazy sat on a rusted, circular stool in a cold hard cell. He flipped open a copy of The Odyssey. The question dawned on him: Could a warrior ever return home?<\/em><\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

Runner-up, Fiction: Brian Stevens, \u201cA Hairy Tale\u201d<\/strong><\/h3>\n

\u201cThe hair was another animal entirely.\u201d Funny, dark, surreal, and completely surprising: \u201cA Hairy Tale\u201d by Brian Stevens follows the weird life of the narrator\u2019s cellmate\u2019s hair. It is also deeply strange, in the best possible way.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u2014Elizabeth McCracken<\/em><\/p>\n

My celly\u2019s hair is a nightmare. The stuff just goes everywhere. Every morning, my first chore is to wipe all his hair off the floor. I clean the cell to no avail.<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

Ants occupied the cell when I first arrived. They crawled in through the cracks and marched along the walls. Any food or flesh that crossed their paths was quickly devoured. Their bites would leave itchy red welts on my hands and feet. I fought them tooth and nail with everything I had: baby powder, soap, shampoo, laundry detergent, bleach. I was able to slow them down; as summer ended, the weather cooled and they eventually went away. Then, only the hair remained.<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

The hair was another animal together, but unlike the ants, it could not be contained. The fans in the cell created tornadoes of tangles that clung to anything they touched. There was hair on my bed; my clothes; in my mouth and nose; my coffee when I took a drink; and the drain when I used the sink. Hair came back around, got stuck in the fans, and when I rinsed my washcloth, hair stuck to my hands. The hair began to take on a life of its own: no matter how much I cleaned, I was never alone.<\/p>\n

The hairs were long, black, and curly like the pubes of a buffalo. Bundles of them would roll across the ground like tumbleweeds blowing in the wind of the Wild West. Sometimes, I would mistake a stray strand for a cockroach as it scurried from one side of the cell to the other. Hairs strung along the shelves like broken spiderwebs in abandoned basements. The black hairs were bad, but the white ones were worse: they were invisible to the naked eye and could hide in plain sight. They were ghosts of dead hairs past that would continue to haunt me for eternity. Something drastic had to be done.<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

No ordinary razor would ever be able to chop down that forest of frizz. I searched for some scissors but had to settle for a shank\u2014a dirty guy named Sanchez sold it to me for six soups and seven shots of coffee. He told me it was so sharp, it could slit a pig\u2019s throat with a single slice. I took his word and kept it carefully wrapped in a johnny sack. I certainly did not want to get caught with such a serious piece of contraband, so I had to act soon.<\/p>\n

That night, I asked my celly to cut his hair; he refused. He knew it made a mess everyday but didn\u2019t seem very concerned about cleaning it up. He was also deeply religious and claimed his hair gave him strength like Samson.<\/p>\n

As he drank himself to sleep, I thought about cutting some of his hair but then decided it all needed to be shaved. Upon further inspection, I realized: even with a shaved head, his hair would still grow back, and that would never do. No, his whole head would have to come off.<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

First Place, Nonfiction: Deanna Carney, \u201cSit. Stay.\u201d<\/strong><\/h3>\n

In a few short pages, Deanna Carney\u2019s wonderfully written \u201cSit. Stay.\u201d manages to look at a whole life and contemplates death and love and no less than the nature of time, all through the animals that the narrator has known since childhood. It is full of beauty and sadness and the paradox of loving animals when the human world is too much.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u2014Elizabeth McCracken<\/em><\/p>\n

Seven cats shared our cramped apartment in Virginia.<\/p>\n

Family lore fills in false memories: a pungent cloud of clumped kitty litter, discarded beer bottles, marijuana, my soiled diapers.<\/p>\n

Did my biological father\u2019s heroin addiction have a smell?<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

A tomcat, Rocky, was the most beloved; his memory enshrined in poetry I inherited two decades later, after my father\u2019s heroin overdose. In hindsight, the name seems to be a foreshadowing.<\/p>\n

I had to be younger than two. Momma hadn\u2019t yet escaped quickly to Texas, her skin a carry-on bag full of storm-hued bruises. She hadn\u2019t been ejected from the seat and flown through the windshield of a car. She hadn\u2019t died, leaving my father with nothing more than memories and cats.<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

In Texas, my Nannie and her new husband fed, clothed, and put me to bed after Momma died. Well, they must have, because I survived. And there was no one else to do it; at least, no one wanted to, as Nannie would later frequently remind me.<\/p>\n

Someone gave me a puppy: a pile of ebony fluff we named Blackie. He stayed in the add-on room that housed the water softener. While he bathed me in the perfume of puppy breath, I licked fallen rock salt pellets meant to condition the hard Hill Country water running through pipes beneath our single-wide trailer.<\/p>\n

One day, while I dipped my fingers in a bucket of sudsy water Nannie was using to wash our little brown truck, my puppy ran away. I cried all the salt from my body as Nannie and I called out for him, our two-person search party scouting the neighborhood in vain.<\/p>\n

I had to be younger than four\u2014I still slept in the room that I used to share with Momma; my toys were still in the closet where her clothes used to be.<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

I wore a dress and socks with lace the day Nannie and her husband became my new mom and dad. The man behind the desk, making it legal, seemed much like the Wizard of Oz. We went to a lot, picked out a double-wide that had a bowl of fake fruit displayed in the kitchen.<\/p>\n

Dad brought me a dachshund the color of a dried bloodstain\u2014his name was Mister. Barrel-bodied and surefooted, Mister was not adorably mini-sized: at the end of a leash, he may as well have been a trained sled dog. Any attempt to walk him ended with me dragged across the asphalt behind his drumstick legs.<\/p>\n

Unable to bear my tears, Dad rehomed Mister. I begged for a sibling. Instead, Mom and I went to pick out a puppy from an apricot-colored patch of poodles. I named him Danny Boy, undoubtedly under Mom\u2019s influence. Many nights, I carried Danny Boy to bed with me, only to wake up and find him in Mom\u2019s room. From day one, that dog was decidedly hers.<\/p>\n

I must have been younger than five. I hadn\u2019t graduated from kindergarten yet. Dad hadn\u2019t been crushed behind the steering wheel of an eighteen-wheeler. Mom hadn\u2019t gone to a hospital in Missouri and returned without him. Loving her hadn\u2019t become painful. Years passed between us alone in that house. Silence, anger, tears.<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

Walking home from the bus stop one fall afternoon, I heard a kitten\u2019s pleading cry beneath a garbage can. I took him home; bathed his long tabby fur; begged to keep him; and named him Tigea. Eventually, I taught him to walk on a leash.<\/p>\n

I was younger than fifteen. I hadn\u2019t found out I was pregnant. I hadn\u2019t run away with my much older boyfriend. I hadn\u2019t felt fear and bravery swirl inside me. I wasn\u2019t yet married. I wasn\u2019t yet an adult.<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

We found a German shepherd mix with floppy ears and named him Bogie: where our first daughter was born. In the next five years, we had a second daughter; then, a son. I had never known love as deep as what my heart held for them. Life was giggles and tiny toes.<\/p>\n

I was younger than twenty-one. I was still able to kiss my children before bed, every night. My heart still knew happiness. I wasn\u2019t yet divorced. My children weren\u2019t kept from me. I hadn\u2019t begun drinking.<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

At a gas station, I was offered a tiny red pup: the last of a litter, the runt no one wanted. I named her Lexi.<\/p>\n

I taught her to sit, shake, and lay down. We went to parks and swam in rivers. I curled on the floor next to her, crying tears onto her copper coat when she died in the living room.<\/p>\n

I was younger than thirty-nine. I hadn\u2019t learned the full consequence of surrendering my heart to someone who would help me destroy it. Or how my attempt to drown the world hurt anyone, other than myself. I hadn\u2019t noticed how far I had traveled from God or begun my eight-year sentence for DUI.<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

I am years away from the broken heart and mind that brought me here; months away from the freedom of open skies and second chances. I have had time to be still with my past and make peace with its voice. I\u2019ve found support. I know love.<\/p>\n

One day, when my foundation is fully formed on the other side of this fence, I will get another dog, confident that no matter what comes, I have: the strength to sit, and the peace to stay through it, even when it rains\u2014<\/p>\n

like cats and dogs<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

Runner-up, Nonfiction: Matthew Mendoza, \u201cZen and the Art of Civil Commitment\u201d<\/strong><\/h3>\n

\u201cZen and the Art of Civil Commitment\u201d is a clear-eyed essay describing, with precision, elegance, and even dark humor, taking a questionnaire that begins the process of civil commitment, the Kafka-esque practice of keeping sex offenders incarcerated after their sentences are served. It is also, without sentiment, falsity, or self-importance, about looking for redemption inside of prison through both words and deeds, art, and other people.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u2014Elizabeth McCracken<\/em><\/p>\n

Yesterday, I was called to the Unit Education Building for a psychological exam. There, the proxy informed me the State of Texas selected me for the Civil Commitment Process. I floated outside my body. The proxy gave me a blue pencil, a test booklet, and a scantron for my answers.<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

Generally speaking, The Civil Commitment Process is designed to catch \u201cPredators with Behavioral Abnormalities\u201d\u2014the psychological exam is the beginning of that process. Failing the exam or refusing to take it is proof of the need for civil commitment.
\nOf course, I took it. I answered questions like: Do you ever feel like a soulless husk? Does your eyesight come and go? Is high jumping your favorite sport?<\/em><\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

Texas inmates are excluded from many things involving the legal system: child support, civil proceedings, divorces, and property seizures can all be commenced without the inmate present. But that\u2019s not all: an inmate may not even be notified until after the judgement. (An interesting side note: a Texas inmate can\u2019t interact with the parole board, unless they hire an attorney.)<\/p>\n

Civil commitment is a little different but not much: it circumvents the Constitution, claiming to be a public safety or civil proceeding instead of a criminal one\u2014even though the result is the same. The difference is: the state must provide evidence an inmate is an immediate, continual threat upon release. The psychological exam is part of the state\u2019s case.<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

A lot of the questions, including those three, repeated in some form or another. About a dozen times. As I answered and re-answered the questions, I wondered if consistency was the metric. I wondered if there was an overlay, a graph that could show change. I wondered if there is something metaphysical about certain sports; if so, I would add breakdancing and fishing to the list.<\/p>\n

I just don\u2019t know how you calculate points for contemplation or joy, if winning is the only metric.<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

I committed a horrible crime. It was inexcusable. I hurt my victim. I destroyed the respect and trust of the people I love forever.
\nAs bad as that is, it isn\u2019t all. During my first years of prison, I was on both sides of every single, fucked up thing one person can do to another. Part of it was survival; part of it was anger. Regardless, all of it was wrong\u2014and none of it I can ever make right.<\/p>\n

I have no desire to do crime nor break even the most mundane laws. I don\u2019t care if I ever leave prison. A free-world sex offender has little value. (You don\u2019t want a sex offender as a co-worker or a neighbor, so save the pep talk. Besides, that\u2019s not what this is.) Life after prison is punitive; in prison, no one pretends otherwise.<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t care about dope prison politics or \u201cThe Price is Right.\u201d In the eyes of the administration and most inmates, that makes me a mystery\u2014and a mystery means: I\u2019m not a very good inmate.<\/p>\n

There is nothing mysterious about the things I care about: reading and writing, collecting all the playwrights in the Library of America book series, the awards and honors I\u2019ve received despite being in prison. I care about finding a way to redeem myself.<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

I am the Assistant Program Coordinator for the assisted living dorm in my unit. Part of what I do is help inmates with disabilities and mobility issues. Sometimes, I help these men get and stay sober. I celebrate their recoveries\u2014from medical events or their addictions\u2014with cakes, coffee, and movies. Sometimes, if someone proves they can stay sober, I help pay off their drug debts. I do all of this out of my own locker. Most of the money comes from awards and stipends I\u2019ve earned as a writer.<\/p>\n

I think redemption, like faith, is personal.<\/p>\n

In prison, I have value: as a writer and a teacher, even if it is an incredibly flawed system. My eyesight and my ideas about sports aside, I am content with the world I\u2019ve created for myself in this community.<\/p>\n

I feel fulfilled: a step on a journey towards peace.<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

Runner-up, Nonfiction: Steven Perez, \u201cAunt Terry and Josiah King\u201d<\/strong><\/h3>\n

In \u201cAunt Terry and Josiah King,\u201d Steven Perez writes beautifully and wrenchingly about the deep pain and separation from those he loves\u2014his dying aunt, his pregnant daughter\u2014and about looking for impossible consolation in what he\u2019s left with. The people in this essay are so well drawn they will break your heart.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u2014Elizabeth McCracken<\/em><\/p>\n

My mother\u2019s sister was on her deathbed. A surgeon had cut her open, gutted her. He was supposed to cut out scar tissue from two surgeries she had thirty years earlier; parts of her intestines were not properly digesting food. But he didn\u2019t cut out enough of the bad intestines, and she didn\u2019t wanna go through another surgery.<\/p>\n

I called my mother at five-thirty in the morning. \u201cShe\u2019s already passing,\u201d she said. \u201cIt might be her last day.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

My daughter was six months pregnant. She was living with her baby\u2019s father in a garage apartment with one bedroom, a kitchenette, and a restroom with a stand-up shower. The baby\u2019s paternal grandfather had given them an old three-bedroom house. But the house was too rundown to live in.<\/p>\n

My daughter applied for Section 8 housing aid. While she waited for assistance, her baby\u2019s father worked on the house, but he didn\u2019t have any money for the materials\u2014he had been recently diagnosed with schizophrenia. The doctor said he couldn\u2019t work until he got better.<\/p>\n

My daughter worked nights at Wienerschnitzel. She had spent the last four years hooked on meth, in and outta jail, and then had been completely off the meth for five months\u2014since the day she found out she was pregnant. She was twenty-five. My only child.<\/p>\n

The child in her womb was a boy. My first grandchild.<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

My daughter, my mother, and her sister lived on the Gulf Coast in Corpus Christi, Texas: eighty-five miles southeast from where I lived in prison. I was locked up at the Connally Unit, a maximum-security prison in South Texas. It was January 9th, 2026. I had been locked up for the last nineteen years, eleven more to go before I was eligible for parole.<\/p>\n

I lived in a warehouse dorm, where ten-by-five-foot, one-man cubicles were racked together by the dozens. Inmates in white\u2014most of us Black or brown\u2014were scattered throughout the dorm in and out of our cubicles. Some of us sat on benches in the center of the dorm, watching ESPN highlights of Houston Texan games; others watched ABC News on another TV, where an ICE agent gunned down a white woman in her SUV.<\/p>\n

I stood up from my cubicle: two charcoal-colored, synthetic wool blankets folded together, making four. A linen sheet. Plastic mattress on an iron bunk. A stack of books on the floor: Scoot McCloud\u2019s Understanding Comics<\/em>, Volume IV of Peter Kreeft\u2019s Socrates\u2019 Children<\/em>, The Georgia Review<\/em>, Susan Wise Bauer\u2019s The Well Educated Mind<\/em>, and Alec Karakatsanis\u2019s Copaganda<\/em>. On the desk: a breviary, a black plastic rosary, a tablet, and ear buds.<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

On my way to the schoolhouse, guys from 4 Building\u2014a three-story-high square concrete building\u2014hollered at me from behind the metal grating of their cell windows. Razor wire fences separated me from them.<\/p>\n

\u201cTell \u2019em to get us outta here!\u201d They said. \u201cTheres no officers in the building. No rover to open our doors. No laws in the control picket. We\u2019re trying to go to school.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAll right,\u201d I said. \u201cI gotchu.\u201d<\/p>\n

Daylight had barely broken. The air was foggy and thick. I saw a wooden windmill covered in blue and yellow morning glories. I said to myself: They give glory to God through their beauty.<\/em><\/p>\n

I sat alone in the middle of a classroom, surrounded by wooden tables and white, plastic chairs. In front of me, a chalkboard on a turquoise wall with four questions:<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

What are some ways to analyze a story?<\/em><\/p>\n

What makes a good story?<\/em><\/p>\n

Why should books be banned?<\/em><\/p>\n

What stories should be allowed in the classroom?<\/em><\/p>\n

The wall to my right wasn\u2019t a wall at all; it was shatterproof glass. The sun revealed himself. I saw, outside the glass, two more concrete buildings; one was 8 Building, with cell numbers on the side underneath the windows: 72, 64, 56, 69, 61, 53. The other building a gym\u2014no windows.<\/p>\n

My worktable was full of papers, envelopes, and folders; drafts of handwritten prison memoirs; carbon copies of typewritten drafts already submitted for publication; packets of lit mag info; submission guidelines; a Poets & Writers<\/em> magazine; an update from Malcom, a writer at PEN America; my tablet; and my earbuds.<\/p>\n

I needed to write. I needed a shot of coffee. I needed to call my mother and check on my aunt.<\/p>\n

I called my mother.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m at the nursing home,\u201d she said. \u201cI stepped outside of the room, so I can talk to you. Her feet are red. The blood\u2019s not circulating to her feet. I googled it. Means she has only about forty-eight hours left. The nurse bathed her. When she turned her on her side, she reached for the handrail on the side of the bed, but it wasn\u2019t there. She was moved to another room with a different bed. She can still hear, though. The hearing is the last thing to go. I put music on for her. You wanna talk to her?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes. I do.\u201d<\/p>\n

She put the phone next to her ear.<\/p>\n

\u201cHi, T\u00eda,\u201d I said. \u201cI just called to say I love you with all my heart. I\u2019m praying for you. We\u2019ll be together one day.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

A few days earlier, she asked me: \u201cSon, are they ever gonna let you outta there?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, T\u00eda. They\u2019re gonna send me to school. And when I finish, they\u2019re gonna let me outta here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSteven, I had a dream. You were standing in front of me with your hands handcuffed behind your back. Then, they took the handcuffs off.\u201d She sang me a song from Stevie Wonder: I just called . . . to say . . . I love you . . . And I mean it, from the bottom of my heart.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

After we hung up, I opened up my tablet gallery app to a recent picture of her and my mother. My aunt was sitting at a round, wooden table with her left hand wrapped around a styrofoam Wienerschitzel cup on the table; her right hand rested above her stomach. She was wearing a pink short-sleeved blouse with white and black polka dots, a closed-lipped smile. The short distance between her nose and her chin revealed she wasn\u2019t wearing her dentures. Her nose was pointy, her cheeks chubby, and she had black and gray hair with a receding hairline. On the table sat a paper boat with what looked like a piece of deep-fried apple pie with smashed up gum bites. My mother was standing beside my aunt, her left arm resting around the back of my aunt\u2019s neck and shoulders. Leaning on her and wrapping her body around her, almost smothering. My mother was wearing a lavender blouse with a black skirt. Her hair was brown, her eyebrows thins. Her broken nose that never healed right. She was looking down at the dessert tray. Her left cheek resting on the right side of my aunt\u2019s head.<\/p>\n

A painting of the Last Supper hung on the wall behind them.<\/p>\n

I hadn\u2019t been able to hold my aunt for almost two decades. Would she even recognize me with a taper fade, a face full of black and white reaching for my chest? She was too sick to visit. My life was tied up in electric razor-wire fences and smothered in concrete.<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

During our creative writing workshop, a discussion ensued: the difference between creating literary art for its own sake and creating literary art for publication and a paycheck.<\/p>\n

Our facilitator, Mr. Hayes\u2014a white guy with a red mustache and a six-day beard, who stooped his head to walk through the doorway, wearing a blue plaid cowboy shirt with pearl buttons\u2014said publication was something he never really cared about. \u201cI\u2019m more interested in producing good art,\u201d he said. \u201cIt\u2019s not about the money or publication.\u201d I thought about Kafka.<\/p>\n

In Mr. Haye\u2019s mind, we could spend the next ten years on a five-thousand-word essay and still not finish. In my mind, I was like, yes, we need to stay focused, determined in producing literary art for its own sake.<\/em><\/p>\n

At the same time, most of our families are living in poverty. Our children and grandchildren need a home they call their own. They need a college education. We need to pay lawyers to get us outta here. And we need to build our own portfolios: so the free world can see we\u2019re not the monsters the state\u2019s lawyers said we were.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s easy to say it\u2019s not about the money or publication when you and your families’ lives don\u2019t depend on your writing.<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

By eight o\u2019clock, that night, I was lying in my bunk, praying a rosary for my aunt. My mother was at home, getting ready to go back to the nursing home.<\/p>\n

I woke up at six in the morning and lay in my bunk, fingering rosary beads while reciting Our Fathers, Hail Marys, and Glory Be\u2019s. For breakfast I had a pouch of Vienna sausages and a generic chocolate protein shake poured over a bowl of generic Cinnamon Toast Crunch. An awful smell of mildew lingered in the air.<\/p>\n

I remembered my Aunt Terry in the kitchen cooking scrambled eggs mixed with potatoes, pork chops in salsa, and refried beans. The smell of homemade flour tortillas on the comal.<\/p>\n

I sat at my desk in the bunk, staring at a pencil draft of thoughts on sheets of college-ruled paper. At ten o\u2019clock in the morning, I called my mother.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s gone, son. She passed away last night, at nine-fifteen. She was glowing, in bed. The Lord took her.\u201d<\/p>\n

My mother\u2019s only sister. Her last remaining sibling.<\/p>\n

I sat and listened to my mother weep. \u201cShe\u2019s not suffering anymore, Mom. She\u2019s with the Lord. And God is now giving you a grandson.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re right, son. They say that for every person who dies, another is born. She wants to name him Josiah King.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

Elizabeth McCracken<\/strong> is the author of nine books of fiction and nonfiction, including her most recent book, A Long Game<\/em>. She was the winner of the 2014 Story Prize for Thunderstruck and Other Stories<\/em> and has been a finalist for the National Book Award. Her stories have won three Pushcart Prizes, two National Magazine Awards, and have appeared in five editions of The Best American Short Stories<\/em>. She taught fiction at The University of Texas at Austin where she held the title of the James A. Michener Chair in Fiction. She retired in May 2026 after 35 years of teaching and moved to England with her family.<\/p>\n

Charles Hill<\/strong> is a writer in Texas.<\/p>\n

Brian Stevens<\/strong> is a writer in his third year of the Pen City Writers class and is located in the Connally Unit Texas State Prison.<\/p>\n

Deanna Carney<\/strong> is a writer and a recipient of the 2025 American Short Fiction Insider Prize in fiction for \u201cBreach.\u201d Hailing from San Antonio, Texas, Deanna is a proud mother of three and an excitable introvert. For her, writing is a shared connection to parents she lost too soon: a way to share, speak out, and love.<\/p>\n

Matthew Mendoza<\/strong> is a playwright and poet who dabbles in fiction and nonfiction. His first book of poems, DIY Prison Project<\/em>, was published in 2025 by Evening Street Press. Since 2018, his plays have been produced as podcasts and performed at festivals throughout the country. What\u2019s Prison Like?<\/em> was a 27th Annual Webby Award honoree in the Crime & Justice category.<\/p>\n

Steven Perez<\/strong> is a fellow of the University of Texas at Austin English Department. He\u2019s been studying creative writing under the author and professor Deb Olin Unferth for nine years. He\u2019s a member of the Pen City Writers. He\u2019s assigned to the Connally Unit maximum security prison in Kenedy, Texas. He\u2019s currently awaiting transfer to earn a BA degree and an MA degree in humanities at the University of Houston Clear Lake. He was the 2025 American Short Fiction Insider Prize runner-up in Nonfiction for \u201cThe Life and Mind of the Prisoner.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sergio Muro<\/strong> is a writer from Laredo, Texas. He is a Senior Editor and the Insider Prize Director at American Short Fiction<\/em> and an editor for El Alboroto at The Rumpus<\/em>. Sergio is at work on a short story collection centered around the Mexican diaspora.<\/p>\n

Our sincerest gratitude to the Insider Prize volunteers for their time and dedication to this project<\/strong>: Robin Chotzinoff, Eric Dexheimer, Chanda Grubbs, Alice Kim Hawari, Seth MacLowery, Abhijith Ravinutala, Sol Wooten, Tommy Mouton of Huston-Tillotson University, and American Short Fiction<\/em> Senior Editor Adam Soto.<\/p>\n

About HT\u2019s Institute for Justice and Equity<\/strong>
\nHuston-Tillotson University\u2019s Institute for Justice and Equity (IJE) is dedicated to advancing and applying justice and equity knowledge. IJE aims to infuse equity principles and practices into what we do at HT\u2014teaching, learning, research, administration, service, and community engagement.<\/p>\n

About Huston-Tillotson University<\/strong>
\nHuston-Tillotson University is a private historically black university in Austin, Texas. Established in 1875, Huston-Tillotson University was the first institution of higher learning in Austin.<\/p>\n

This project is supported in part by a grant from Texas Commission of the Arts.<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Writing is a challenge, at every level. There are constant pressures acting upon a writer: juggling between responsibilities and work; prioritizing health; making and somehow slowing down time; even, perhaps, the arresting, infinite possibilities of the page. Not to mention, all the subconscious terrain, where one wrestles with memory, vulnerability, and presence.<\/p>\n

And yet\u2014<\/p>\n

These five pieces, selected as the winners by novelist and short story writer Elizabeth McCracken for the 2026 Insider Prize, are awe-inspiring depictions of fortitude, honesty, and the power of narrative\u2014all written under the difficult circumstances found within the carceral system.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":17237,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[8],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-17211","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","category-news","entry"],"yoast_head":"\nThe Insider Prize Winners 2026 -<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Writing is a challenge, at every level. There are constant pressures acting upon a writer: juggling between responsibilities and work; prioritizing health; making and somehow slowing down time; even, perhaps, the arresting, infinite possibilities of the page. Not to mention, all the subconscious terrain, where one wrestles with memory, vulnerability, and presence. And yet\u2014 These five pieces, selected as the winners by novelist and short story writer Elizabeth McCracken for the 2026 Insider Prize, are awe-inspiring depictions of fortitude, honesty, and the power of narrative\u2014all written under the difficult circumstances found within the carceral system.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/the-insider-prize-winners-2026\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"The Insider Prize Winners 2026 -\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Writing is a challenge, at every level. There are constant pressures acting upon a writer: juggling between responsibilities and work; prioritizing health; making and somehow slowing down time; even, perhaps, the arresting, infinite possibilities of the page. Not to mention, all the subconscious terrain, where one wrestles with memory, vulnerability, and presence. And yet\u2014 These five pieces, selected as the winners by novelist and short story writer Elizabeth McCracken for the 2026 Insider Prize, are awe-inspiring depictions of fortitude, honesty, and the power of narrative\u2014all written under the difficult circumstances found within the carceral system.\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/the-insider-prize-winners-2026\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"American Short Fiction\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:publisher\" content=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/americanshortfiction\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2026-09-09T12:00:59+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2026-09-09T21:03:25+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/Insider-Prize-FEATURE-SQUARE.jpg\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"400\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"400\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/jpeg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Rebecca Markovits\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:creator\" content=\"@asfmag\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:site\" content=\"@asfmag\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"Rebecca Markovits\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"36 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\\\/\\\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/the-insider-prize-winners-2026\\\/#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/the-insider-prize-winners-2026\\\/\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"Rebecca Markovits\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/8080dbe9df406c0b0a7113e001beb082\"},\"headline\":\"The Insider Prize Winners 2026\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-09-09T12:00:59+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2026-09-09T21:03:25+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/the-insider-prize-winners-2026\\\/\"},\"wordCount\":8254,\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/#organization\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/the-insider-prize-winners-2026\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/09\\\/Insider-Prize-FEATURE-SQUARE.jpg\",\"articleSection\":[\"NEWS\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/the-insider-prize-winners-2026\\\/\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/the-insider-prize-winners-2026\\\/\",\"name\":\"The Insider Prize Winners 2026 -\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/the-insider-prize-winners-2026\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/the-insider-prize-winners-2026\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/09\\\/Insider-Prize-FEATURE-SQUARE.jpg\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-09-09T12:00:59+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2026-09-09T21:03:25+00:00\",\"description\":\"Writing is a challenge, at every level. There are constant pressures acting upon a writer: juggling between responsibilities and work; prioritizing health; making and somehow slowing down time; even, perhaps, the arresting, infinite possibilities of the page. Not to mention, all the subconscious terrain, where one wrestles with memory, vulnerability, and presence. And yet\u2014 These five pieces, selected as the winners by novelist and short story writer Elizabeth McCracken for the 2026 Insider Prize, are awe-inspiring depictions of fortitude, honesty, and the power of narrative\u2014all written under the difficult circumstances found within the carceral system.\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/the-insider-prize-winners-2026\\\/\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/the-insider-prize-winners-2026\\\/#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/09\\\/Insider-Prize-FEATURE-SQUARE.jpg\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/09\\\/Insider-Prize-FEATURE-SQUARE.jpg\",\"width\":400,\"height\":400},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/\",\"name\":\"American Short Fiction\",\"description\":\"Publishing exquisite fiction since 1991.\",\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/#organization\"},\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"Organization\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/#organization\",\"name\":\"American Short Fiction\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/\",\"logo\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/logo\\\/image\\\/\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2013\\\/06\\\/Screen-Shot-2013-02-27-at-10.36.35-PM.png\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2013\\\/06\\\/Screen-Shot-2013-02-27-at-10.36.35-PM.png\",\"width\":134,\"height\":134,\"caption\":\"American Short Fiction\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/logo\\\/image\\\/\"},\"sameAs\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/www.facebook.com\\\/americanshortfiction\",\"https:\\\/\\\/x.com\\\/asfmag\"]},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/8080dbe9df406c0b0a7113e001beb082\",\"name\":\"Rebecca Markovits\",\"image\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/secure.gravatar.com\\\/avatar\\\/b8ef09298d0951a076b43aa231058b5c53919967c0bd3822995ee932a420abd3?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/secure.gravatar.com\\\/avatar\\\/b8ef09298d0951a076b43aa231058b5c53919967c0bd3822995ee932a420abd3?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/secure.gravatar.com\\\/avatar\\\/b8ef09298d0951a076b43aa231058b5c53919967c0bd3822995ee932a420abd3?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"caption\":\"Rebecca Markovits\"},\"sameAs\":[\"http:\\\/\\\/www.americanshortfiction.org\"],\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/author\\\/rebecca-markovitsamericanshortfiction-org\\\/\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"The Insider Prize Winners 2026 -","description":"Writing is a challenge, at every level. There are constant pressures acting upon a writer: juggling between responsibilities and work; prioritizing health; making and somehow slowing down time; even, perhaps, the arresting, infinite possibilities of the page. Not to mention, all the subconscious terrain, where one wrestles with memory, vulnerability, and presence. And yet\u2014 These five pieces, selected as the winners by novelist and short story writer Elizabeth McCracken for the 2026 Insider Prize, are awe-inspiring depictions of fortitude, honesty, and the power of narrative\u2014all written under the difficult circumstances found within the carceral system.","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/the-insider-prize-winners-2026\/","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"The Insider Prize Winners 2026 -","og_description":"Writing is a challenge, at every level. There are constant pressures acting upon a writer: juggling between responsibilities and work; prioritizing health; making and somehow slowing down time; even, perhaps, the arresting, infinite possibilities of the page. Not to mention, all the subconscious terrain, where one wrestles with memory, vulnerability, and presence. And yet\u2014 These five pieces, selected as the winners by novelist and short story writer Elizabeth McCracken for the 2026 Insider Prize, are awe-inspiring depictions of fortitude, honesty, and the power of narrative\u2014all written under the difficult circumstances found within the carceral system.","og_url":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/the-insider-prize-winners-2026\/","og_site_name":"American Short Fiction","article_publisher":"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/americanshortfiction","article_published_time":"2026-09-09T12:00:59+00:00","article_modified_time":"2026-09-09T21:03:25+00:00","og_image":[{"width":400,"height":400,"url":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/Insider-Prize-FEATURE-SQUARE.jpg","type":"image\/jpeg"}],"author":"Rebecca Markovits","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_creator":"@asfmag","twitter_site":"@asfmag","twitter_misc":{"Written by":"Rebecca Markovits","Est. reading time":"36 minutes"},"schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"Article","@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/the-insider-prize-winners-2026\/#article","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/the-insider-prize-winners-2026\/"},"author":{"name":"Rebecca Markovits","@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/#\/schema\/person\/8080dbe9df406c0b0a7113e001beb082"},"headline":"The Insider Prize Winners 2026","datePublished":"2026-09-09T12:00:59+00:00","dateModified":"2026-09-09T21:03:25+00:00","mainEntityOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/the-insider-prize-winners-2026\/"},"wordCount":8254,"publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/#organization"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/the-insider-prize-winners-2026\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/Insider-Prize-FEATURE-SQUARE.jpg","articleSection":["NEWS"],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/the-insider-prize-winners-2026\/","url":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/the-insider-prize-winners-2026\/","name":"The Insider Prize Winners 2026 -","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/the-insider-prize-winners-2026\/#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/the-insider-prize-winners-2026\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/Insider-Prize-FEATURE-SQUARE.jpg","datePublished":"2026-09-09T12:00:59+00:00","dateModified":"2026-09-09T21:03:25+00:00","description":"Writing is a challenge, at every level. There are constant pressures acting upon a writer: juggling between responsibilities and work; prioritizing health; making and somehow slowing down time; even, perhaps, the arresting, infinite possibilities of the page. Not to mention, all the subconscious terrain, where one wrestles with memory, vulnerability, and presence. And yet\u2014 These five pieces, selected as the winners by novelist and short story writer Elizabeth McCracken for the 2026 Insider Prize, are awe-inspiring depictions of fortitude, honesty, and the power of narrative\u2014all written under the difficult circumstances found within the carceral system.","inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/the-insider-prize-winners-2026\/"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/the-insider-prize-winners-2026\/#primaryimage","url":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/Insider-Prize-FEATURE-SQUARE.jpg","contentUrl":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/Insider-Prize-FEATURE-SQUARE.jpg","width":400,"height":400},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/#website","url":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/","name":"American Short Fiction","description":"Publishing exquisite fiction since 1991.","publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/#organization"},"potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"Organization","@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/#organization","name":"American Short Fiction","url":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/","logo":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/06\/Screen-Shot-2013-02-27-at-10.36.35-PM.png","contentUrl":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/06\/Screen-Shot-2013-02-27-at-10.36.35-PM.png","width":134,"height":134,"caption":"American Short Fiction"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/"},"sameAs":["https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/americanshortfiction","https:\/\/x.com\/asfmag"]},{"@type":"Person","@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/#\/schema\/person\/8080dbe9df406c0b0a7113e001beb082","name":"Rebecca Markovits","image":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/b8ef09298d0951a076b43aa231058b5c53919967c0bd3822995ee932a420abd3?s=96&d=mm&r=g","url":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/b8ef09298d0951a076b43aa231058b5c53919967c0bd3822995ee932a420abd3?s=96&d=mm&r=g","contentUrl":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/b8ef09298d0951a076b43aa231058b5c53919967c0bd3822995ee932a420abd3?s=96&d=mm&r=g","caption":"Rebecca Markovits"},"sameAs":["http:\/\/www.americanshortfiction.org"],"url":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/author\/rebecca-markovitsamericanshortfiction-org\/"}]}},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17211","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=17211"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17211\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":17256,"href":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17211\/revisions\/17256"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/17237"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=17211"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=17211"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=17211"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}},{"id":17137,"date":"2026-08-10T22:24:50","date_gmt":"2026-08-11T04:24:50","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/?p=17137"},"modified":"2026-09-08T14:21:22","modified_gmt":"2026-09-08T20:21:22","slug":"mfa-for-all-fall-2026-registration-open-now","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/mfa-for-all-fall-2026-registration-open-now\/","title":{"rendered":"MFA for All Fall 2026: Registration Open"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignleft wp-image-14943\" src=\"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/01\/Lectures-MFA-Portrait-195x300.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"250\" height=\"384\" srcset=\"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/01\/Lectures-MFA-Portrait-195x300.jpg 195w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/01\/Lectures-MFA-Portrait-666x1024.jpg 666w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/01\/Lectures-MFA-Portrait-98x150.jpg 98w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/01\/Lectures-MFA-Portrait-768x1181.jpg 768w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/01\/Lectures-MFA-Portrait-999x1536.jpg 999w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/01\/Lectures-MFA-Portrait.jpg 1147w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 250px) 100vw, 250px\" \/>MFA for All was born from our desire to create a space where MFA-quality instruction is widely accessible to writers no matter their age, background, location, or financial situation. <strong>MFA for All is not a degree-granting program\u2014it is a community-rich online educational experience led by top-notch faculty, free of the significant hurdles of time, expense, and geography that MFAs demand.<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>These master classes will offer structured insight into your craft and writing practice, giving access to a rarified level of instruction that is usually reserved for students at privileged institutions. Taught by some of the most elite authors of our day, the lectures are designed to be as rewarding for seasoned authors as they are for writers earlier in their careers.<\/p>\n<p>Each semester is comprised of three classes taught by three different authors; each class\u2014two linked lectures, a couple weeks apart\u2014will include the opportunity to engage in Q&As with the instructor and fellow students, writing prompts, suggestions for further reading, and more. Students may sign up for one class or a full semester. <strong>Those who enroll for the semester will receive a 20% discount on tuition and access to virtual seminars and expert-led writing sessions in the company of their fellow students.<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>Classes will be held via Zoom Webinar. Students will not be visible or audible during class but can participate actively through the chat. Depending on the instructor, participants may occasionally be invited to speak or appear on screen. All sessions will be recorded and available for one month following each class, and live attendance is not required to enroll. Zoom access and recording links will be sent to the email address used at registration, so please be sure to register with an email you check regularly, and <strong>please add mfaforall@americanshortfiction.org to your email account’s safe list<\/strong>. This is the only way to make sure you get our emails. If you are purchasing classes for someone else, enter the participant\u2019s email address at checkout.<\/p>\n<p>Class details subject to change. Answers to our FAQs can be found <a title=\"MFA for All FAQs\" href=\"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/mfa-for-all-faqs\/\">here<\/a>.<\/p>\n<div id=\"product-component-1785447399330\"><\/div>\n<p><script type=\"text\/javascript\">\n\/*<![CDATA[*\/ (function () { var scriptURL = 'https:\/\/sdks.shopifycdn.com\/buy-button\/latest\/buy-button-storefront.min.js'; if (window.ShopifyBuy) { if (window.ShopifyBuy.UI) { ShopifyBuyInit(); } else { loadScript(); } } else { loadScript(); } function loadScript() { var script = document.createElement('script'); script.async = true; script.src = scriptURL; (document.getElementsByTagName('head')[0] || document.getElementsByTagName('body')[0]).appendChild(script); script.onload = ShopifyBuyInit; } function ShopifyBuyInit() { var client = ShopifyBuy.buildClient({ domain: 'american-short-fiction.myshopify.com', storefrontAccessToken: 'ebf1246947e5d54ca29ad479a0f05e7d', }); ShopifyBuy.UI.onReady(client).then(function (ui) { ui.createComponent('product', { id: '9585978179828', node: document.getElementById('product-component-1785447399330'), moneyFormat: '%24%7B%7Bamount%7D%7D', options: { \"product\": { \"styles\": { \"product\": { \"@media (min-width: 601px)\": { \"max-width\": \"calc(25% - 20px)\", \"margin-left\": \"20px\", \"margin-bottom\": \"50px\" } }, \"button\": { \":hover\": { \"background-color\": \"#C69AD8\" }, \"background-color\": \"#2C493C\", \":focus\": { \"background-color\": \"#C69AD8\" }, \"border-radius\": \"4px\", \"padding-left\": \"20px\", \"padding-right\": \"20px\" } }, \"contents\": { \"img\": false, \"title\": false, \"price\": false }, \"text\": { \"button\": \"Register for full semester\" } }, \"productSet\": { \"styles\": { \"products\": { \"@media (min-width: 601px)\": { \"margin-left\": \"-20px\" } } } }, \"modalProduct\": { \"contents\": { \"img\": false, \"imgWithCarousel\": true, \"button\": false, \"buttonWithQuantity\": true }, \"styles\": { \"product\": { \"@media (min-width: 601px)\": { \"max-width\": \"100%\", \"margin-left\": \"0px\", \"margin-bottom\": \"0px\" } }, \"button\": { \":hover\": { \"background-color\": \"#C69AD8\" }, \"background-color\": \"#2C493C\", \":focus\": { \"background-color\": \"#C69AD8\" }, \"border-radius\": \"4px\", \"padding-left\": \"20px\", \"padding-right\": \"20px\" } }, \"text\": { \"button\": \"Add to cart\" } }, \"option\": {}, \"cart\": { \"styles\": { \"button\": { \":hover\": { \"background-color\": \"#C69AD8\" }, \"background-color\": \"#2C493C\", \":focus\": { \"background-color\": \"#C69AD8\" }, \"border-radius\": \"4px\" } }, \"text\": { \"total\": \"Subtotal\", \"button\": \"Checkout\" }, \"contents\": { \"note\": true } }, \"toggle\": { \"styles\": { \"toggle\": { \"background-color\": \"#2C493C\", \":hover\": { \"background-color\": \"#C69AD8\" }, \":focus\": { \"background-color\": \"#C69AD8\" } } } } }, }); }); } })(); \/*]]>*\/\n<\/script><\/p>\n<hr \/>\n<h3 style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong><span class=\"widget-headline kolorize\">TUITION<\/span><\/strong><\/h3>\n<p><strong>Full Semester: $360<\/strong> (20% discount)<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 40px;\">\u2022 Three two-lecture classes (one full semester)<br \/>\n\u2022 A curated reading list and writing exercises from faculty<br \/>\n\u2022 A recording of each lecture for one month after the class’s completion<br \/>\n\u2022 Two virtual writing sessions, hosted by <em>ASF<\/em> senior editor and writer <a href=\"https:\/\/www.adamsotowriter.com\/\">Adam Soto<\/a>, including time for writing and feedback in small break-out groups<br \/>\n\u2022 One virtual seminar on the submission process with <em>ASF<\/em> editors<br \/>\n\u2022 One virtual seminar on the publishing process, featuring agent Duvall Osteen (United Talent Agency) and editor Kendall Storey (Catapult Books)<br \/>\n\u2022 Discount on a year’s U.S.-based subscription to the magazine<\/p>\n<p><strong>Registration for the full semester will close on September 28, 2026.<\/strong><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: left;\"><strong>Single Class: $150<\/strong><\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 40px;\">\u2022 One two-lecture class<br \/>\n\u2022 A curated reading list and writing exercises from faculty<br \/>\n\u2022 A recording of each lecture for one month after the class’s completion<br \/>\n\u2022 Discount on a year’s U.S.-based subscription to the magazine<\/p>\n<p><strong>Purchase single-class registrations below.<\/strong><\/p>\n<hr \/>\n<h3 style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong><span class=\"widget-headline kolorize\">2026 FALL SEMESTER CLASSES<\/span><\/strong><\/h3>\n<p> <\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignleft wp-image-15287 size-medium\" src=\"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/07\/LauravandenBerg-PhotoSquare.jpg\" alt=\"Laura van den Berg, MFA for All\" width=\"300\" height=\"300\" \/><\/p>\n<h3>Stick the Landing<\/h3>\n<p><strong>Laura van den Berg<br \/>\nWednesdays, September 30 & October 14<br \/>\n7 p.m. to 9 p.m. EST \/ 6 p.m. to 8 p.m CST<br \/>\n<\/strong><br \/>\nIn this class, we\u2019ll break down what makes an ending soar. We\u2019ll explore how writers chart the path to their ending well before the final line; how an ending can deepen\u2014and, in some cases, transform\u2014meaning; and strategies for creating an ending that truly completes your short story or novel. We’ll also develop a toolkit for what to do when you feel stuck on how to stick the landing.<\/p>\n<p><strong>Laura van den Berg<\/strong> was born and raised in Florida. She is the author of six works of fiction, most recently the novel <em>State of Paradise<\/em>. Her work has been supported by a Guggenheim Fellowship, a Strauss Living Award from the American Academy of Arts and Letters, the Bard Fiction Prize, and a National Endowment for the Arts Fellowship. Her books have been twice shortlisted for the Frank O\u2019Connor International Short Story Award, and for the New York Public Library Young Lions Fiction Award. Laura teaches fiction and directs the creative writing program at Harvard University. Her next novel, <em>Ring of Night<\/em>, is forthcoming from FSG in 2027.<\/p>\n<p><strong>Registration for Laura’s class will close on September 28, 2026.<\/strong><\/p>\n<div id=\"product-component-1785447272441\"><\/div>\n<p><script type=\"text\/javascript\">\n\/*<![CDATA[*\/ (function () { var scriptURL = 'https:\/\/sdks.shopifycdn.com\/buy-button\/latest\/buy-button-storefront.min.js'; if (window.ShopifyBuy) { if (window.ShopifyBuy.UI) { ShopifyBuyInit(); } else { loadScript(); } } else { loadScript(); } function loadScript() { var script = document.createElement('script'); script.async = true; script.src = scriptURL; (document.getElementsByTagName('head')[0] || document.getElementsByTagName('body')[0]).appendChild(script); script.onload = ShopifyBuyInit; } function ShopifyBuyInit() { var client = ShopifyBuy.buildClient({ domain: 'american-short-fiction.myshopify.com', storefrontAccessToken: 'ebf1246947e5d54ca29ad479a0f05e7d', }); ShopifyBuy.UI.onReady(client).then(function (ui) { ui.createComponent('product', { id: '9585981227252', node: document.getElementById('product-component-1785447272441'), moneyFormat: '%24%7B%7Bamount%7D%7D', options: { \"product\": { \"styles\": { \"product\": { \"@media (min-width: 601px)\": { \"max-width\": \"calc(25% - 20px)\", \"margin-left\": \"20px\", \"margin-bottom\": \"50px\" } }, \"button\": { \":hover\": { \"background-color\": \"#C69AD8\" }, \"background-color\": \"#2C493C\", \":focus\": { \"background-color\": \"#C69AD8\" }, \"border-radius\": \"4px\", \"padding-left\": \"20px\", \"padding-right\": \"20px\" } }, \"contents\": { \"img\": false, \"title\": false, \"price\": false }, \"text\": { \"button\": \"Register for Laura's class\" } }, \"productSet\": { \"styles\": { \"products\": { \"@media (min-width: 601px)\": { \"margin-left\": \"-20px\" } } } }, \"modalProduct\": { \"contents\": { \"img\": false, \"imgWithCarousel\": true, \"button\": false, \"buttonWithQuantity\": true }, \"styles\": { \"product\": { \"@media (min-width: 601px)\": { \"max-width\": \"100%\", \"margin-left\": \"0px\", \"margin-bottom\": \"0px\" } }, \"button\": { \":hover\": { \"background-color\": \"#C69AD8\" }, \"background-color\": \"#2C493C\", \":focus\": { \"background-color\": \"#C69AD8\" }, \"border-radius\": \"4px\", \"padding-left\": \"20px\", \"padding-right\": \"20px\" } }, \"text\": { \"button\": \"Add to cart\" } }, \"option\": {}, \"cart\": { \"styles\": { \"button\": { \":hover\": { \"background-color\": \"#C69AD8\" }, \"background-color\": \"#2C493C\", \":focus\": { \"background-color\": \"#C69AD8\" }, \"border-radius\": \"4px\" } }, \"text\": { \"total\": \"Subtotal\", \"button\": \"Checkout\" }, \"contents\": { \"note\": true } }, \"toggle\": { \"styles\": { \"toggle\": { \"background-color\": \"#2C493C\", \":hover\": { \"background-color\": \"#C69AD8\" }, \":focus\": { \"background-color\": \"#C69AD8\" } } } } }, }); }); } })(); \/*]]>*\/\n<\/script><\/p>\n<hr \/>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignleft wp-image-15294 size-medium\" src=\"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/LidiaYuknavitch-PhotoSquare.jpg\" alt=\"Lidia Yuknavitch, MFA for All\" width=\"300\" height=\"300\" \/><\/p>\n<h3>Put the Pieces Where You May: Working with the Narrative Fragment to Create Story Fields<\/h3>\n<p><strong>Lidia Yuknavitch<br \/>\nWednesday, November 4 & Monday, November 16<br \/>\n7 p.m. to 9 p.m. EST \/ 6 p.m. to 8 p.m CST<br \/>\n<\/strong><br \/>\n“Arrange whatever pieces come your way” is a quote from Virginia Woolf. She was describing how one might find and arrange meaning from disparate, small, or seemingly unimportant “pieces” of experience. As anyone has ever witnessed in her work, rather than linearity, she created patterns where stories emerged from kaleidoscopic turns. In this creative lab we will generate narrative fragments (fiction, nonfiction, poetic, doesn’t matter) and explore different modes of arrangement to yield stories. In particular, we will look at examples of as well as create diptychs, triptychs, and a narrative braids. You create narrative braids the same way you braid hair and bread. Let’s do this.<\/p>\n<p>Participants will leave the creative lab with draft material for further development, possibly (it happens!) juicy completed works, and even material that could inject vibrancy back into dormant or stuck work.<\/p>\n<p><strong>Lidia Yuknavitch<\/strong> is the author of the award-winning <em>The Chronology of Water<\/em>, <em>Reading the Waves<\/em>, <em>Thrust<\/em>, <em>The Book of Joan<\/em>, <em>The Small Backs of Children<\/em>, <em>Dora: A Headcase<\/em>, and <em>The Misfit’s Manifesto<\/em>. You can find her fiction, nonfiction, hybrid works all over the place. She is the founder of Corporeal Writing in Portland, Oregon. Her TED Talk, On the Beauty of Being a Misfit, has over four million views, which seems strange and confounding. Kristen Stewart adapted and directed her memoir <em>The Chronology of Water<\/em> into film, which is now streaming, also strange. She’s won two Oregon Book Awards, and she is a very good swimmer.<\/p>\n<p><strong>Registration for Lidia’s class will close on November 2, 2026.<\/strong><\/p>\n<div id=\"product-component-1785447474641\"><\/div>\n<p><script type=\"text\/javascript\">\n\/*<![CDATA[*\/ (function () { var scriptURL = 'https:\/\/sdks.shopifycdn.com\/buy-button\/latest\/buy-button-storefront.min.js'; if (window.ShopifyBuy) { if (window.ShopifyBuy.UI) { ShopifyBuyInit(); } else { loadScript(); } } else { loadScript(); } function loadScript() { var script = document.createElement('script'); script.async = true; script.src = scriptURL; (document.getElementsByTagName('head')[0] || document.getElementsByTagName('body')[0]).appendChild(script); script.onload = ShopifyBuyInit; } function ShopifyBuyInit() { var client = ShopifyBuy.buildClient({ domain: 'american-short-fiction.myshopify.com', storefrontAccessToken: 'ebf1246947e5d54ca29ad479a0f05e7d', }); ShopifyBuy.UI.onReady(client).then(function (ui) { ui.createComponent('product', { id: '9585982374132', node: document.getElementById('product-component-1785447474641'), moneyFormat: '%24%7B%7Bamount%7D%7D', options: { \"product\": { \"styles\": { \"product\": { \"@media (min-width: 601px)\": { \"max-width\": \"calc(25% - 20px)\", \"margin-left\": \"20px\", \"margin-bottom\": \"50px\" } }, \"button\": { \":hover\": { \"background-color\": \"#C69AD8\" }, \"background-color\": \"#2C493C\", \":focus\": { \"background-color\": \"#C69AD8\" }, \"border-radius\": \"4px\", \"padding-left\": \"20px\", \"padding-right\": \"20px\" } }, \"contents\": { \"img\": false, \"title\": false, \"price\": false }, \"text\": { \"button\": \"Register for Lidia's class\" } }, \"productSet\": { \"styles\": { \"products\": { \"@media (min-width: 601px)\": { \"margin-left\": \"-20px\" } } } }, \"modalProduct\": { \"contents\": { \"img\": false, \"imgWithCarousel\": true, \"button\": false, \"buttonWithQuantity\": true }, \"styles\": { \"product\": { \"@media (min-width: 601px)\": { \"max-width\": \"100%\", \"margin-left\": \"0px\", \"margin-bottom\": \"0px\" } }, \"button\": { \":hover\": { \"background-color\": \"#C69AD8\" }, \"background-color\": \"#2C493C\", \":focus\": { \"background-color\": \"#C69AD8\" }, \"border-radius\": \"4px\", \"padding-left\": \"20px\", \"padding-right\": \"20px\" } }, \"text\": { \"button\": \"Add to cart\" } }, \"option\": {}, \"cart\": { \"styles\": { \"button\": { \":hover\": { \"background-color\": \"#C69AD8\" }, \"background-color\": \"#2C493C\", \":focus\": { \"background-color\": \"#C69AD8\" }, \"border-radius\": \"4px\" } }, \"text\": { \"total\": \"Subtotal\", \"button\": \"Checkout\" }, \"contents\": { \"note\": true } }, \"toggle\": { \"styles\": { \"toggle\": { \"background-color\": \"#2C493C\", \":hover\": { \"background-color\": \"#C69AD8\" }, \":focus\": { \"background-color\": \"#C69AD8\" } } } } }, }); }); } })(); \/*]]>*\/\n<\/script><\/p>\n<hr \/>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignleft wp-image-15285 size-medium\" src=\"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/MatJohnson-PhotoSquare.jpg\" alt=\"Mat Johnson, MFA for All\" width=\"300\" height=\"300\" \/><\/p>\n<h3>Novel Whispering: Roadblocks and Road Maps<\/h3>\n<p><strong>Mat Johnson<br \/>\nWednesdays, December 2 & December 16<br \/>\n7 p.m. to 9 p.m. EST \/ 6 p.m. to 8 p.m CST<br \/>\n<\/strong><br \/>\nDo you have a novel-in-progress that\u2019s lost its way? Or are you starting a novel but lack a road map toward your literary destination? Does typing more pages just seem to take your manuscript further from reaching its full potential? In this course, we will identify the biggest hurdles in successful novel creation and offer tools to overcome them. This class will provide participants with practical techniques to kickstart their manuscripts, or kick them into shape. We will explore using the fundamentals of story structure to decide what to write, what to cut, and what to further develop on the page; how to tune your characters, place, and plot so they ring in harmony; how to identify what your book is actually about thematically, and the method of leaning into that knowledge to create something greater than you could have ever imagined. Whether beginning a new novel or rescuing an older one, this analysis of technique will provide the craft skills you need to allow your art to flourish.<\/p>\n<p><strong>Mat Johnson<\/strong> is a Philip H Knight Chair of Humanities at the University of Oregon. His publications included the novels <em>Invisible Things<\/em> and <em>Pym<\/em>, the nonfiction novella <em>The Great Negro Plot<\/em>, and the graphic novel <em>Incognegro<\/em>. Johnson is the recipient of the American Book Award, the United States Artist James Baldwin Fellowship, The Hurston\/Wright Legacy Award, and the John Dos Passos Prize for Literature.<\/p>\n<p><strong>Registration for Mat’s class will close on November 30, 2026.<\/strong><\/p>\n<div id=\"product-component-1785447018068\"><\/div>\n<p><script type=\"text\/javascript\">\n\/*<![CDATA[*\/ (function () { var scriptURL = 'https:\/\/sdks.shopifycdn.com\/buy-button\/latest\/buy-button-storefront.min.js'; if (window.ShopifyBuy) { if (window.ShopifyBuy.UI) { ShopifyBuyInit(); } else { loadScript(); } } else { loadScript(); } function loadScript() { var script = document.createElement('script'); script.async = true; script.src = scriptURL; (document.getElementsByTagName('head')[0] || document.getElementsByTagName('body')[0]).appendChild(script); script.onload = ShopifyBuyInit; } function ShopifyBuyInit() { var client = ShopifyBuy.buildClient({ domain: 'american-short-fiction.myshopify.com', storefrontAccessToken: 'ebf1246947e5d54ca29ad479a0f05e7d', }); ShopifyBuy.UI.onReady(client).then(function (ui) { ui.createComponent('product', { id: '9585985323252', node: document.getElementById('product-component-1785447018068'), moneyFormat: '%24%7B%7Bamount%7D%7D', options: { \"product\": { \"styles\": { \"product\": { \"@media (min-width: 601px)\": { \"max-width\": \"calc(25% - 20px)\", \"margin-left\": \"20px\", \"margin-bottom\": \"50px\" } }, \"button\": { \":hover\": { \"background-color\": \"#C69AD8\" }, \"background-color\": \"#2C493C\", \":focus\": { \"background-color\": \"#C69AD8\" }, \"border-radius\": \"4px\", \"padding-left\": \"20px\", \"padding-right\": \"20px\" } }, \"contents\": { \"img\": false, \"title\": false, \"price\": false }, \"text\": { \"button\": \"Register for Mat's class\" } }, \"productSet\": { \"styles\": { \"products\": { \"@media (min-width: 601px)\": { \"margin-left\": \"-20px\" } } } }, \"modalProduct\": { \"contents\": { \"img\": false, \"imgWithCarousel\": true, \"button\": false, \"buttonWithQuantity\": true }, \"styles\": { \"product\": { \"@media (min-width: 601px)\": { \"max-width\": \"100%\", \"margin-left\": \"0px\", \"margin-bottom\": \"0px\" } }, \"button\": { \":hover\": { \"background-color\": \"#C69AD8\" }, \"background-color\": \"#2C493C\", \":focus\": { \"background-color\": \"#C69AD8\" }, \"border-radius\": \"4px\", \"padding-left\": \"20px\", \"padding-right\": \"20px\" } }, \"text\": { \"button\": \"Add to cart\" } }, \"option\": {}, \"cart\": { \"styles\": { \"button\": { \":hover\": { \"background-color\": \"#C69AD8\" }, \"background-color\": \"#2C493C\", \":focus\": { \"background-color\": \"#C69AD8\" }, \"border-radius\": \"4px\" } }, \"text\": { \"total\": \"Subtotal\", \"button\": \"Checkout\" }, \"contents\": { \"note\": true } }, \"toggle\": { \"styles\": { \"toggle\": { \"background-color\": \"#2C493C\", \":hover\": { \"background-color\": \"#C69AD8\" }, \":focus\": { \"background-color\": \"#C69AD8\" } } } } }, }); }); } })(); \/*]]>*\/\n<\/script><\/p>\n<hr \/>\n<h3 style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong><span class=\"widget-headline kolorize\">PANELS AND SESSIONS FOR FULL-SEMESTER STUDENTS<\/span><\/strong><\/h3>\n<p><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-large wp-image-16070\" src=\"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/Fall-2026-Panel-and-Writing-Sesh-Image-for-Web.jpg\" alt=\"Sessions and Panels with Duvall Osteen (United Talent Agency), Kendall Storey (Catapult Books), and Adam Soto.\" width=\"1024\" height=\"510\" \/><\/p>\n<p><strong>The Agents and Editors<\/strong> panel will take place on Wednesday, October 21.<br \/>\n<strong>The Submissions Process<\/strong> panel with <em>ASF<\/em> editors will take place on Wednesday, November 11.<\/p>\n<p><strong>Duvall Osteen<\/strong>\u00a0represents a diverse list of debut, award-winning, bestselling, and notable authors. Before joining UTA, she spent 11 years as an agent at Aragi Inc., focusing on literary fiction, narrative nonfiction, and graphic novels. Her literary interests include writing rooted in place, especially the global South, multigenerational storytelling, and literary suspense. In both fiction and non-fiction, she gravitates towards books across genres with original, astute, immersive voices. Duvall was raised in the South and is based in Manhattan, where she lives with her family. She holds a Master of Arts in Southern Cultural Studies from the University of Mississippi.<\/p>\n<p><strong>Kendall Storey<\/strong> is Editor-in-chief at Catapult. She acquires and edits writing that is style-forward, voice-driven, formally inventive, and emotionally visceral. Her recent publications include <em>A Real Animal<\/em> by Emeline Atwood, currently longlisted for The Center for Fiction First Novel Prize; <em>The Coin<\/em> by Yasmin Zaher, winner of the Dylan Thomas Prize and a New York Times Notable Book of the Year; <em>Theory & Practice<\/em> by Michelle de Kretser, winner of the Stella Prize and a <em>New York Times Book Review<\/em> Editors\u2019 Choice; and <em>Flat Earth<\/em> by Anika Jade Levy, a 2026 National Book Foundation 5 Under 35 honoree. She has thirteen years of independent publishing experience. Previously, she worked at Archipelago Books and was Co- Director of Elsewhere Editions, a nonprofit children’s press devoted to picture books in translation.<\/p>\n<p><strong>Adam Soto<\/strong> is the author of <em>This Weightless World<\/em> and <em>Concerning Those Who Have Fallen Asleep: Ghost Stories<\/em>. A former Michener-Copernicus Foundation Fellow, he holds an MFA from the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. He lives with his wife in Austin, TX, where he is a teacher, a musician, and a senior editor at <em>American Short Fiction<\/em>.<\/p>\n<hr \/>\n<h3 style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong><span class=\"widget-headline kolorize\">TESTIMONIALS<\/span><\/strong><\/h3>\n<div id=\"metaslider-id-15394\" style=\"max-width: 400px; margin: 0 auto;\" class=\"ml-slider-3-113-0 metaslider metaslider-flex metaslider-15394 ml-slider has-dots-nav ms-theme-default\" role=\"region\" aria-label=\"Testimonials Single\" data-height=\"400\" data-width=\"400\">\n <div id=\"metaslider_container_15394\">\n <div id=\"metaslider_15394\">\n <ul class='slides'>\n <li style=\"display: block; width: 100%;\" class=\"slide-15395 ms-image \" aria-roledescription=\"slide\" data-date=\"2024-09-18 15:35:26\" data-filename=\"Quote5.png\" data-slide-type=\"image\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"1512\" height=\"1512\" src=\"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote5.png\" class=\"slider-15394 slide-15395 msDefaultImage\" alt=\"\" rel=\"\" title=\"Quote5\" srcset=\"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote5.png 1512w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote5-300x300.png 300w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote5-1024x1024.png 1024w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote5-150x150.png 150w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote5-768x768.png 768w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote5-500x500.png 500w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote5-425x425.png 425w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote5-400x400.png 400w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote5-350x350.png 350w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote5-325x325.png 325w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1512px) 100vw, 1512px\" \/><\/li>\n <li style=\"display: none; width: 100%;\" class=\"slide-15396 ms-image \" aria-roledescription=\"slide\" data-date=\"2024-09-18 15:35:26\" data-filename=\"Quote4.png\" data-slide-type=\"image\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"1511\" height=\"1512\" src=\"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote4.png\" class=\"slider-15394 slide-15396 msDefaultImage\" alt=\"\" rel=\"\" title=\"Quote4\" srcset=\"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote4.png 1511w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote4-300x300.png 300w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote4-1024x1024.png 1024w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote4-150x150.png 150w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote4-768x769.png 768w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote4-500x500.png 500w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote4-425x425.png 425w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote4-400x400.png 400w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote4-350x350.png 350w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote4-325x325.png 325w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1511px) 100vw, 1511px\" \/><\/li>\n <li style=\"display: none; width: 100%;\" class=\"slide-15397 ms-image \" aria-roledescription=\"slide\" data-date=\"2024-09-18 15:35:26\" data-filename=\"Quote3.png\" data-slide-type=\"image\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"1511\" height=\"1511\" src=\"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote3.png\" class=\"slider-15394 slide-15397 msDefaultImage\" alt=\"\" rel=\"\" title=\"Quote3\" srcset=\"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote3.png 1511w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote3-300x300.png 300w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote3-1024x1024.png 1024w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote3-150x150.png 150w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote3-768x768.png 768w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote3-500x500.png 500w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote3-425x425.png 425w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote3-400x400.png 400w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote3-350x350.png 350w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote3-325x325.png 325w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1511px) 100vw, 1511px\" \/><\/li>\n <li style=\"display: none; width: 100%;\" class=\"slide-15398 ms-image \" aria-roledescription=\"slide\" data-date=\"2024-09-18 15:35:26\" data-filename=\"Quote2.png\" data-slide-type=\"image\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"1511\" height=\"1511\" src=\"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote2.png\" class=\"slider-15394 slide-15398 msDefaultImage\" alt=\"\" rel=\"\" title=\"Quote2\" srcset=\"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote2.png 1511w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote2-300x300.png 300w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote2-1024x1024.png 1024w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote2-150x150.png 150w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote2-768x768.png 768w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote2-500x500.png 500w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote2-425x425.png 425w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote2-400x400.png 400w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote2-350x350.png 350w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote2-325x325.png 325w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1511px) 100vw, 1511px\" \/><\/li>\n <li style=\"display: none; width: 100%;\" class=\"slide-15399 ms-image \" aria-roledescription=\"slide\" data-date=\"2024-09-18 15:35:26\" data-filename=\"Quote1.png\" data-slide-type=\"image\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"1511\" height=\"1511\" src=\"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote1.png\" class=\"slider-15394 slide-15399 msDefaultImage\" alt=\"MFA for All Testimonials\" rel=\"\" title=\"\" srcset=\"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote1.png 1511w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote1-300x300.png 300w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote1-1024x1024.png 1024w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote1-150x150.png 150w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote1-768x768.png 768w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote1-500x500.png 500w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote1-425x425.png 425w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote1-400x400.png 400w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote1-350x350.png 350w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/Quote1-325x325.png 325w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1511px) 100vw, 1511px\" \/><\/li>\n <li style=\"display: none; width: 100%;\" class=\"slide-15531 ms-image \" aria-roledescription=\"slide\" data-date=\"2025-01-08 14:40:37\" data-filename=\"Testimonial5.jpg\" data-slide-type=\"image\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"1511\" height=\"1511\" src=\"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/Testimonial5.jpg\" class=\"slider-15394 slide-15531 msDefaultImage\" alt=\"\" rel=\"\" title=\"Testimonial5\" srcset=\"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/Testimonial5.jpg 1511w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/Testimonial5-300x300.jpg 300w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/Testimonial5-1024x1024.jpg 1024w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/Testimonial5-150x150.jpg 150w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/Testimonial5-768x768.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1511px) 100vw, 1511px\" \/><\/li>\n <li style=\"display: none; width: 100%;\" class=\"slide-15532 ms-image \" aria-roledescription=\"slide\" data-date=\"2025-01-08 14:40:37\" data-filename=\"Testimonial4.jpg\" data-slide-type=\"image\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"1511\" height=\"1511\" src=\"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/Testimonial4.jpg\" class=\"slider-15394 slide-15532 msDefaultImage\" alt=\"\" rel=\"\" title=\"Testimonial4\" srcset=\"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/Testimonial4.jpg 1511w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/Testimonial4-300x300.jpg 300w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/Testimonial4-1024x1024.jpg 1024w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/Testimonial4-150x150.jpg 150w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/Testimonial4-768x768.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1511px) 100vw, 1511px\" \/><\/li>\n <li style=\"display: none; width: 100%;\" class=\"slide-15533 ms-image \" aria-roledescription=\"slide\" data-date=\"2025-01-08 14:40:37\" data-filename=\"Testimonial3.jpg\" data-slide-type=\"image\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"1511\" height=\"1511\" src=\"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/Testimonial3.jpg\" class=\"slider-15394 slide-15533 msDefaultImage\" alt=\"\" rel=\"\" title=\"Testimonial3\" srcset=\"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/Testimonial3.jpg 1511w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/Testimonial3-300x300.jpg 300w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/Testimonial3-1024x1024.jpg 1024w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/Testimonial3-150x150.jpg 150w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/Testimonial3-768x768.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1511px) 100vw, 1511px\" \/><\/li>\n <li style=\"display: none; width: 100%;\" class=\"slide-15534 ms-image \" aria-roledescription=\"slide\" data-date=\"2025-01-08 14:40:37\" data-filename=\"Testimonial2.jpg\" data-slide-type=\"image\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"1511\" height=\"1511\" src=\"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/Testimonial2.jpg\" class=\"slider-15394 slide-15534 msDefaultImage\" alt=\"\" rel=\"\" title=\"Testimonial2\" srcset=\"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/Testimonial2.jpg 1511w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/Testimonial2-300x300.jpg 300w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/Testimonial2-1024x1024.jpg 1024w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/Testimonial2-150x150.jpg 150w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/Testimonial2-768x768.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1511px) 100vw, 1511px\" \/><\/li>\n <li style=\"display: none; width: 100%;\" class=\"slide-15535 ms-image \" aria-roledescription=\"slide\" data-date=\"2025-01-08 14:40:37\" data-filename=\"Testimonial1.jpg\" data-slide-type=\"image\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"1511\" height=\"1511\" src=\"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/Testimonial1.jpg\" class=\"slider-15394 slide-15535 msDefaultImage\" alt=\"\" rel=\"\" title=\"Testimonial1\" srcset=\"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/Testimonial1.jpg 1511w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/Testimonial1-300x300.jpg 300w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/Testimonial1-1024x1024.jpg 1024w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/Testimonial1-150x150.jpg 150w, https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/01\/Testimonial1-768x768.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1511px) 100vw, 1511px\" \/><\/li>\n <\/ul>\n <\/div>\n \n <\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>MFA for All was born from our desire to create a space where MFA-quality instruction is widely accessible to writers no matter their age, background, location, or financial situation. MFA for All is not a degree-granting program\u2014it is a community-rich online educational experience led by top-notch faculty, free of the significant hurdles of time, expense, and geography that MFAs demand.<br \/>\nThese master classes will offer structured insight into your craft and writing practice, giving access to a rarified level of instruction that is usually reserved for students at privileged institutions. This year we are excited to welcome Laura van den Berg, Lidia Yuknavitch, and Mat Johnson as our fall-semester faculty. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":17146,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[5,42,1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-17137","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","category-notebook","category-front-feature","category-uncategorized","entry"],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v28.5 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>MFA for All Fall 2026: Registration Open -<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"MFA for All was born from our desire to create a space where MFA-quality instruction is widely accessible to writers no matter their age, background, location, or financial situation. MFA for All is not a degree-granting program\u2014it is a community-rich online educational experience led by top-notch faculty, free of the significant hurdles of time, expense, and geography that MFAs demand. These master classes will offer structured insight into your craft and writing practice, giving access to a rarified level of instruction that is usually reserved for students at privileged institutions. This year we are excited to welcome Laura van den Berg, Lidia Yuknavitch, and Mat Johnson as our fall-semester faculty.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/mfa-for-all-fall-2026-registration-open-now\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"MFA for All Fall 2026: Registration Open -\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"MFA for All was born from our desire to create a space where MFA-quality instruction is widely accessible to writers no matter their age, background, location, or financial situation. MFA for All is not a degree-granting program\u2014it is a community-rich online educational experience led by top-notch faculty, free of the significant hurdles of time, expense, and geography that MFAs demand. These master classes will offer structured insight into your craft and writing practice, giving access to a rarified level of instruction that is usually reserved for students at privileged institutions. This year we are excited to welcome Laura van den Berg, Lidia Yuknavitch, and Mat Johnson as our fall-semester faculty.\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/mfa-for-all-fall-2026-registration-open-now\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"American Short Fiction\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:publisher\" content=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/americanshortfiction\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2026-08-11T04:24:50+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2026-09-08T20:21:22+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/InstructorsSquare-Fall26_FEATURE-1.jpg\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"400\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"399\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/jpeg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Rebecca Markovits\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:creator\" content=\"@asfmag\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:site\" content=\"@asfmag\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"Rebecca Markovits\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"9 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\\\/\\\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/mfa-for-all-fall-2026-registration-open-now\\\/#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/mfa-for-all-fall-2026-registration-open-now\\\/\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"Rebecca Markovits\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/8080dbe9df406c0b0a7113e001beb082\"},\"headline\":\"MFA for All Fall 2026: Registration Open\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-08-11T04:24:50+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2026-09-08T20:21:22+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/mfa-for-all-fall-2026-registration-open-now\\\/\"},\"wordCount\":1591,\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/#organization\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/mfa-for-all-fall-2026-registration-open-now\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/08\\\/InstructorsSquare-Fall26_FEATURE-1.jpg\",\"articleSection\":[\"NOTEBOOK\",\"NOTEBOOK FEATURE\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/mfa-for-all-fall-2026-registration-open-now\\\/\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/mfa-for-all-fall-2026-registration-open-now\\\/\",\"name\":\"MFA for All Fall 2026: Registration Open -\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/mfa-for-all-fall-2026-registration-open-now\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/mfa-for-all-fall-2026-registration-open-now\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/08\\\/InstructorsSquare-Fall26_FEATURE-1.jpg\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-08-11T04:24:50+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2026-09-08T20:21:22+00:00\",\"description\":\"MFA for All was born from our desire to create a space where MFA-quality instruction is widely accessible to writers no matter their age, background, location, or financial situation. MFA for All is not a degree-granting program\u2014it is a community-rich online educational experience led by top-notch faculty, free of the significant hurdles of time, expense, and geography that MFAs demand. These master classes will offer structured insight into your craft and writing practice, giving access to a rarified level of instruction that is usually reserved for students at privileged institutions. This year we are excited to welcome Laura van den Berg, Lidia Yuknavitch, and Mat Johnson as our fall-semester faculty.\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/mfa-for-all-fall-2026-registration-open-now\\\/\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/mfa-for-all-fall-2026-registration-open-now\\\/#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/08\\\/InstructorsSquare-Fall26_FEATURE-1.jpg\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/08\\\/InstructorsSquare-Fall26_FEATURE-1.jpg\",\"width\":400,\"height\":399},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/\",\"name\":\"American Short Fiction\",\"description\":\"Publishing exquisite fiction since 1991.\",\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/#organization\"},\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"Organization\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/#organization\",\"name\":\"American Short Fiction\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/\",\"logo\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/logo\\\/image\\\/\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2013\\\/06\\\/Screen-Shot-2013-02-27-at-10.36.35-PM.png\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2013\\\/06\\\/Screen-Shot-2013-02-27-at-10.36.35-PM.png\",\"width\":134,\"height\":134,\"caption\":\"American Short Fiction\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/logo\\\/image\\\/\"},\"sameAs\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/www.facebook.com\\\/americanshortfiction\",\"https:\\\/\\\/x.com\\\/asfmag\"]},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/8080dbe9df406c0b0a7113e001beb082\",\"name\":\"Rebecca Markovits\",\"image\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/secure.gravatar.com\\\/avatar\\\/b8ef09298d0951a076b43aa231058b5c53919967c0bd3822995ee932a420abd3?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/secure.gravatar.com\\\/avatar\\\/b8ef09298d0951a076b43aa231058b5c53919967c0bd3822995ee932a420abd3?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/secure.gravatar.com\\\/avatar\\\/b8ef09298d0951a076b43aa231058b5c53919967c0bd3822995ee932a420abd3?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"caption\":\"Rebecca Markovits\"},\"sameAs\":[\"http:\\\/\\\/www.americanshortfiction.org\"],\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/americanshortfiction.org\\\/author\\\/rebecca-markovitsamericanshortfiction-org\\\/\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"MFA for All Fall 2026: Registration Open -","description":"MFA for All was born from our desire to create a space where MFA-quality instruction is widely accessible to writers no matter their age, background, location, or financial situation. MFA for All is not a degree-granting program\u2014it is a community-rich online educational experience led by top-notch faculty, free of the significant hurdles of time, expense, and geography that MFAs demand. These master classes will offer structured insight into your craft and writing practice, giving access to a rarified level of instruction that is usually reserved for students at privileged institutions. This year we are excited to welcome Laura van den Berg, Lidia Yuknavitch, and Mat Johnson as our fall-semester faculty.","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/mfa-for-all-fall-2026-registration-open-now\/","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"MFA for All Fall 2026: Registration Open -","og_description":"MFA for All was born from our desire to create a space where MFA-quality instruction is widely accessible to writers no matter their age, background, location, or financial situation. MFA for All is not a degree-granting program\u2014it is a community-rich online educational experience led by top-notch faculty, free of the significant hurdles of time, expense, and geography that MFAs demand. These master classes will offer structured insight into your craft and writing practice, giving access to a rarified level of instruction that is usually reserved for students at privileged institutions. This year we are excited to welcome Laura van den Berg, Lidia Yuknavitch, and Mat Johnson as our fall-semester faculty.","og_url":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/mfa-for-all-fall-2026-registration-open-now\/","og_site_name":"American Short Fiction","article_publisher":"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/americanshortfiction","article_published_time":"2026-08-11T04:24:50+00:00","article_modified_time":"2026-09-08T20:21:22+00:00","og_image":[{"width":400,"height":399,"url":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/InstructorsSquare-Fall26_FEATURE-1.jpg","type":"image\/jpeg"}],"author":"Rebecca Markovits","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_creator":"@asfmag","twitter_site":"@asfmag","twitter_misc":{"Written by":"Rebecca Markovits","Est. reading time":"9 minutes"},"schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"Article","@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/mfa-for-all-fall-2026-registration-open-now\/#article","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/mfa-for-all-fall-2026-registration-open-now\/"},"author":{"name":"Rebecca Markovits","@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/#\/schema\/person\/8080dbe9df406c0b0a7113e001beb082"},"headline":"MFA for All Fall 2026: Registration Open","datePublished":"2026-08-11T04:24:50+00:00","dateModified":"2026-09-08T20:21:22+00:00","mainEntityOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/mfa-for-all-fall-2026-registration-open-now\/"},"wordCount":1591,"publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/#organization"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/mfa-for-all-fall-2026-registration-open-now\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/InstructorsSquare-Fall26_FEATURE-1.jpg","articleSection":["NOTEBOOK","NOTEBOOK FEATURE"],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/mfa-for-all-fall-2026-registration-open-now\/","url":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/mfa-for-all-fall-2026-registration-open-now\/","name":"MFA for All Fall 2026: Registration Open -","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/mfa-for-all-fall-2026-registration-open-now\/#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/mfa-for-all-fall-2026-registration-open-now\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/InstructorsSquare-Fall26_FEATURE-1.jpg","datePublished":"2026-08-11T04:24:50+00:00","dateModified":"2026-09-08T20:21:22+00:00","description":"MFA for All was born from our desire to create a space where MFA-quality instruction is widely accessible to writers no matter their age, background, location, or financial situation. MFA for All is not a degree-granting program\u2014it is a community-rich online educational experience led by top-notch faculty, free of the significant hurdles of time, expense, and geography that MFAs demand. These master classes will offer structured insight into your craft and writing practice, giving access to a rarified level of instruction that is usually reserved for students at privileged institutions. This year we are excited to welcome Laura van den Berg, Lidia Yuknavitch, and Mat Johnson as our fall-semester faculty.","inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/mfa-for-all-fall-2026-registration-open-now\/"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/mfa-for-all-fall-2026-registration-open-now\/#primaryimage","url":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/InstructorsSquare-Fall26_FEATURE-1.jpg","contentUrl":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/InstructorsSquare-Fall26_FEATURE-1.jpg","width":400,"height":399},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/#website","url":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/","name":"American Short Fiction","description":"Publishing exquisite fiction since 1991.","publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/#organization"},"potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"Organization","@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/#organization","name":"American Short Fiction","url":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/","logo":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/06\/Screen-Shot-2013-02-27-at-10.36.35-PM.png","contentUrl":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/06\/Screen-Shot-2013-02-27-at-10.36.35-PM.png","width":134,"height":134,"caption":"American Short Fiction"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/"},"sameAs":["https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/americanshortfiction","https:\/\/x.com\/asfmag"]},{"@type":"Person","@id":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/#\/schema\/person\/8080dbe9df406c0b0a7113e001beb082","name":"Rebecca Markovits","image":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/b8ef09298d0951a076b43aa231058b5c53919967c0bd3822995ee932a420abd3?s=96&d=mm&r=g","url":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/b8ef09298d0951a076b43aa231058b5c53919967c0bd3822995ee932a420abd3?s=96&d=mm&r=g","contentUrl":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/b8ef09298d0951a076b43aa231058b5c53919967c0bd3822995ee932a420abd3?s=96&d=mm&r=g","caption":"Rebecca Markovits"},"sameAs":["http:\/\/www.americanshortfiction.org"],"url":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/author\/rebecca-markovitsamericanshortfiction-org\/"}]}},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17137","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=17137"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17137\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":17249,"href":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17137\/revisions\/17249"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/17146"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=17137"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=17137"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/americanshortfiction.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=17137"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}]