1. Your father calls you train wreck, as in, HEY, wake up, train wreck, bud, you’re falling asleep—beady, bootblack eyes narrowed on you from the Hemingway chair in the basement. Your mother is memorizing two-letter words, your baby boy squeezing the dog’s fur, and gentle, gentle, your wife is saying, practice gentle on the giraffe. I don’t very well like the taste of rubber, says Paul Hollywood––suaven, yeasty fellow in a collar on TV. Your son likes rubber. Rubber rings––Rings of … [Read more...] about Bread Week
Fatherhood
Web Exclusive Interview: Michael Czyzniejewski
In August, we published a Web Exclusive story, "Monster," that seemed fitting (given that it was playground season and all) and creepy. But not creepy in the way you'd think—the unexpected twist of this story lodges itself in the place where our inadequacies lie, and it's comforting to be so recognized, isn't it? We talked to author Michael Czyzniejewski about this last month. Erin McReynolds: Your narrator in "Monster" is super relatable—in this era of social media, we're making constant … [Read more...] about Web Exclusive Interview: Michael Czyzniejewski
Bourbon and Milk: Notebook to Nightcap
Bourbon and Milk is an ongoing series that dives into the perplexing spaces parenting sometimes pushes us and explores the unexpected ways writers may grow in them. If you’re interested in joining the conversation or contributing a Bourbon and Milk post, query Giuseppe Taurino at giuseppe@americanshortfiction.org. — It’s five a.m., and I’m thinking of how my writing life has changed as a dad. A lot. That’s the simple answer. But I can’t help also thinking about the broader ramifications of our … [Read more...] about Bourbon and Milk: Notebook to Nightcap
The Tobacconist
George searched his pockets for change, cluttering the counter with lint and pen caps, a crumpled tissue, pausing to clean his glasses while the tobacconist waited at the open register. It was the tobacconist he cared about, not the neatly lined cigars he had thumbed through moments earlier. George could see the smoke shop from his kitchen window, and last week had watched the tobacconist as he emerged and stood on the street corner in a pouring rain, until his coat was drenched through and rain … [Read more...] about The Tobacconist