A Novel in Ten 140-Word Tweets by John Gantz We’ve intentionally chosen today, April First – AKA All Fool’s Day – to publish this wise, witty, sex-and-death novel. We leave it to you to discern exactly what this Mayan love story means. You may want to re-read it a few times. Oh, and figure out why we’re publishing it today. 1. The body lay at his feet, desiccated, looking up. He nudged it. Another one, he mumbled. Time is short. 2. What is it she asked, hookah smoke curling around her head? ’’’Nother roach. I thought they could survive an A-bomb.” 3. TS Elliot was wrong. It wouldn’t end with a whimper, OR a bang, but a cloud, a cloud of alien germs bathing the earth. 4. Come here, she said, opening her blouse. He…
“Secret Shepherd” – A Novel Excerpt, Part 2
By James Osborne Editor’s Note: Yesterday, we published Part I of this two-part excerpt. If you haven’t read it, you can scroll back on the home page slider to read it. When they arrived at the school, the three national elders were waiting. With them were Namusat’s current chief and the local council, and another local elder. When everyone was introduced and seated, Chief John Boisvert turned to Paul and said brusquely, “Why have you come?” Paul heard a sharp edge in Chief Boisvert’s voice, but he could see his eyes were not angry or aggressive. They bore a look of elegance and kindness… and much sadness. “I have not come with handouts nor have I come with any promises,” Paul replied. “I came to listen, perhaps to learn from you, and with your help…
“Secret Shepherd” – A Novel Excerpt
By James Osborne Editor’s Note: Due to the length of this excerpt from James Osborne’s new novel, we are presenting it in two parts, today and tomorrow. This is an excerpt from the book SECRET SHEPHERD, copyright © 2018 by JAMES OSBORNE. Published by Solstice Publishing Inc. Excerpted by permission of the author. All rights reserved. Namusat, Quebec, Canada November 1994 “Another two just last night!” Dan Stonechild said, his voice breaking. “That’s four suicides here in three weeks, Paul. Oh my… four! Four little kids!” Paul Winston embraced his friend awkwardly. Both wore knee-length parkas against the 30 below zero cold, their hands thrust deep in double-layered mittens, their feet clad in fur mukluks. Paul had just arrived on a chartered plane in the remote First Nations community of Namusat in northern Canada, after…
Casey Stanberry, Architectural Illustrator
We’re pleased to introduce some new and fascinating art from Boston’s Casey Stanberry. Casey was trained as an architect and furthered his education at an art school in Spain. There, he participated in his first art shows and allowed the dense, historic architectural fabric to inspire his work. Originally from South Carolina, he has always had a passion for historic architecture and its relationship with contemporary daily life. His work reflects the intersection of the built environment and fine art in sweeping perspectives captured in painted and penned architectural diagrams. Artist’s Statement “These pieces are drawn in elevation, plan, section and aerial to best expose certain structural and aesthetic qualities. Paint is sometimes layered over drawings followed by pen, which gives pieces a sense of being in architectural progress. There is an analytical approach to…
The Weekend Podcast: “Anna Schutz” by Dean Peterson
We have a terrific new audio arts program for you tonight. It’s the story of an enigmatic young German woman named Anna Schutz and an American GI named Oli, who has a really bad case of depression. Or, in the author’s words: “A white-clad phantom seen running through the woods in Germany . . . a warren of abandoned tunnels under an American base . . . a forgotten clinic once used by the Nazis . . . one soldier’s obsession to solve a fifty-year old murder before his suicidal plans go any further. Listen to the madness unfold in Anna Schutz. “It’s like Jarhead meets The Shining.” We are providing the first six chapters to whet your appetite for this strange, enchanting ghost story, narrated with great empathy by the author. And speaking of the author, please be…
Mark Greenside’s New Rabelaisian Novel
The Night at the End of the Tunnel, or Isaiah Can You See? Editor’s Note: This excerpt is reprinted with the permission of Weasel Press. Copyright © 2018 by Mark Greenside. All Rights Reserved. “It was the best of the worst of times, the worst of the best of times, the beginning of the end of the beginning.” That’s how this story begins. It’s late 70s, early 80s, New York City, and nothing works. No place is safe. Porn is everywhere. The streets are filthy, and the subways are worse. Trust is committing suicide–love is abused, and institutions and individuals are corrupt, corrupted, or corruptible. The City and country are disintegrating. Enter two of the unlikeliest characters you’ve ever met–think Charlie Brown meets Mr. Natural, or Alfred E. Neuman in The Heart of Darkness. All these guys want…
“Night Embers” A Short Story by Tanya W. Newman
The rains had set in two days ago and hadn’t stopped yet. Grace kept her eyes on the gleaming puddles before her on the sidewalk as she jogged while spiky raindrops hit her face and every car that passed sent rainwater splashing, soaking her leggings. She cut right so she could run down to the park, but running downhill became too much for the knees that once carried her with ease and now buckled and gave out underneath her. She crashed to the ground, her hands hitting the pavement first. She didn’t get up right away. She lay there, letting the rain fall over her in her defeat. Her hands were bleeding. The fiery singes in them told her that before she lifted them to see the scrapes and cuts for herself. They’d have to…
“Seth Seeks Sex for Sex’s Sake,” A Short Story
We welcome Paul Negri, a new member of the FC Coffee Club today, with a witty short story for you. Seth Seeks Sex for Sex’s Sake by Paul Negri “It’s so sibilant.” Jamie picked a french fry from Seth’s plate and put it on top of her frisée salad. “That’s the point,” said Seth. He took a sip of water. “Say it fast. Seth seeks sex for sex’s sake Seth seeks sex for sex’s sake. It’s like the sound some women make when they’re having sex.” Jamie filched another fry. “I never made that sound.” “You did. Sometimes.” “I never heard that.” “Of course, you didn’t hear it. It’s like snoring. No one hears themselves snore.” At 39, Jamie looked enticingly older. Trim, pale, blonde, with startling black eyes. She’d overheard one of her high…
Leaping Metaphysical Boundaries: John Michael Barone’s Art
Artist’s Statement Painter John Michael Barone believes while we gain success as artists and entrepreneurs, it is our duty to help the art scene grow. It is exceptionally important now for artists to be seen as key contributors to the future of our communities. If we do not forge a strong path and build platforms for artists, failure may be inevitable. Working together, we can set sound examples for the future of the arts. If we teach others, they will teach us. We guide them and they will show us the way. As artists young or old, professional or amateur, we can all learn from each other. This will help us all achieve our goals of reaching higher peaks of learning and expanding our knowledge of the artmaking process. Current Work “I have been…
“Want You Gone” A Short Story by William Torphy
It’s a pleasure to welcome William Torphy back to the Fictional Cafe. The last story of his we published was “The Invention of Numbers” in 2016. “Invention” was subsequently chosen by the FC Baristas for inclusion in our forthcoming Anthology — but more on that another time. Herewith William’s newest creation, “Want You Gone,” a fast-paced, witty-wise glimpse into a relationship between a daughter and her estranged father. Want You Gone by William Torphy Cherie was pouring steamed milk over a double espresso when her father appeared at the café dressed in a form-fitting orange anorak jacket, stonewashed designer jeans and millennial sneakers. The pegs in his scalp testified to a recent hair transplant and he had obviously undergone a mid-life crisis facelift, his face tighter than a bongo, like one of those aging Las…