Fictional Cafe will have a booth at tomorrow’s Rhode Island Author Expo! This is our second year at ARIA, and we had a blast meeting all kinds of interesting authors and publishers last time. For more info (FREE Admission) and directions, visit http://riauthorexpo.com/ We’ll have a drawing for choice Fictional Cafe swag. We hope you can make it, and look forward to meeting you! Your Fictional Cafe Baristas
An Important Announcement Regarding Submissions Beginning today, November 25, 2018, Fictional Cafe won’t be accepting any new submissions until February 1, 2019. Your Baristas simply need time to catch up on reading the submissions that are currently on our desks, or are still in our queue. New work will continue to be published. If you have submitted work between June 11, 2018 and November 23, 2018, your work is being read, and you will be notified of a decision soon. Thank you for your patience and your continued support of the Fictional Cafe. ***
He said he was going into the den to pay some bills. He took his beer with him and kissed his girlfriend on the head and said he would back in time to go to bed. She did not say anything but she probably smiled. He went into his den and shut the door and went to his desk. It included pencils, paper clips, an old transistor radio he never used, tissues, a phone book. He sat for a while, sorting out all the paperwork, when his cellphone rang. It was her again. He had to answer. “Hello?” “Hey, Kevin.” “Hey.” “I’m…surprised you picked up. I’ve been trying to get you.” “I’ve just been busy.” “Doing what?” “Just…things. Nothing, really.” They were treading worlds of the past and they were doing it too lightly to…
Jana backed off from Barry’s fart. No odor but a blast, a massive rip that blossomed the seat of his Royal Robbins convoy shorts before undulating out a leg hole. Okay, maybe she imagined the blossoming and undulating, but not the acoustics. Barry, a meter ahead, uphill, his left boot perched on a stone set in the trail for that purpose, twisted his body and said, “Sorry.” A wide tan hat protected his balding pate and shadowed the mien of sincerity on his salt and pepper face. “Quite all right,” said Jana. “Some things can’t be helped. I suppose.” Barry turned, applied hiking poles to path, and lifted his right foot. Jana let him gain several steps, and several steps later he ripped another, his head making a half turn and his shoulders shrugging. Oh,…
The stinkbugs came in when Sandra’s sister was dying. Every night after cooking dinner, Robert sat down on his couch to watch “Breaking Bad.” A hum announced itself and his eyes alighted on the perpetrator, a flat brown bug that jetted across the ceiling and then lazed on a new perch. He caught them and released them and wondered how he could eradicate the stinkbugs from his apartment. One time the stinkbug was green. Robert worked at a small furniture startup called Simple Build in New Haven. They sold couches and coffee tables that were easier to put together than products from Ikea. Robert was in marketing; their chief audience was millennials, except all of their furniture was too expensive for millennials. As a result, most of the people who bought their products and liked…
As promised, following Chapters 1 and 2 yesterday, here are Chapters 3 and 4 of Witches Gone Wicked. If you like what you’ve read, the author has a special, limited time offer for you. You can have a free copy of the ebook in exchange for writing a brief review. If you’re interested, please go to InstaFreebie to claim your copy. Once you’ve finished, please thank Sarina by posting a review on Amazon or Goodreads. Witches Gone Wicked: Womby’s School for Wayward Witches by Sarina Dorie Chapter Three Encounters of the Witchkin Kind I had hoped that once I came to Womby’s, everything would be clear to me: I would understand where I came from and how my powers worked. Now that I knew my best friend, Derrick, was in this realm, I…
Here is a lovely, reflective poem for you today. I. Cross, out-of-sorts at odds, always in want of a better word I’m a poet of sorts. Crucified on the cross- roads of time and purpose I stand and ponder: if the road I’m on is less traveled or more? Cars spin 360 degrees below, as I watch from my Ivory Tower 40 feet above is enough too much reality is not good for me. I’m fussy. I don’t like to get my feet dirty. Head planted firmly in the clouds I take great strides across the seven seas. Cross deserts; climb peaks. Sometimes, I’m seen millions of light years away. I straddle both worlds. Clearly, I’ve businesses of my own to attend. Philosopher at large sage, devil, demigod…
Even on a Friday, Nina felt guilty calling off. She wouldn’t have to improvise a cough on Monday; her fellow technicians recapping their weekends in expenses and well-planned excursions, an occasional raw moment surfacing from the dust. Usually this meant somebody out of place wandered in, caused a ruckus, and migrated back to their designated end. Flagstaff had many corners to facilitate bad habits. “Don’t pick your nose, honey,” Nina instructed her son, both mildly catatonic on the sofa. She’d wanted to have an adventure with Levi that day, take him somewhere new and gauge his expression. Instead, her four-year-old spent a good portion of the morning sleeping before they discussed Shirley over breakfast. The young boy had grown quite fond of his babysitter, championing their endless summer in between bites. Beyond disappointment, Nina felt…
Addie Voss’s Michael was the one with asthma, but she learned to share it with him. He wheezed and hacked and she complained about his clogged-up tubes like they were her own. Looking for relief, the two fled Illinois and headed for sunny Albuquerque, but the desert air gave Michael nosebleeds. In Redding and Denver, it was the heat or the altitude. That had been the go-around since they got married in the early ‘90s, nomading it here and there, looking, hoping. Now today, an ordinary Tuesday, Addie was waiting in confusion at San Francisco International for a plane back to Minneapolis, their latest city, where she had left Michael and their four kids a couple days earlier. For Michael, jobs were plentiful in Minnesota, even if breathing remained a chore. She guessed other things…
Editor’s Note: Please see Simran’s review of Chimezie’s – “Mr. Ben’s” – collected works in the Reviews section. Be Inspired When you’re down, you tend to be close to your feet and consequently, close to defeat. But for the sake of success, please rise to your feet. That’s the feat! Succeeding The Race Success is the race, So, you should to move at your pace After all, it’s your lane So don’t let your strength wane It’s about completing your journey Don’t let anyone take you funny There are no competitions Because you know your onions Reaching the finish line is its own accomplishment Then you will appreciate the beauty of your commitment Talking Thoughts Talking can be cheap But its consequence might be difficult to keep Its seeds can be weak…