Walking Crow, one of my finest, closest friends, no longer walks among us. He now walks the paths of Summerland, far away in space and time from the cold, bleak New Hampshire winter lands. At 2PM on December 9, 2016, Walking Crow, nee Stephen Croft, took his last breaths. Stevie, as I often called him, had been my friend – indeed, more like a brother than those bound to me by blood – for the past decade. He was dying of cancer, and I was on my way from Massachusetts to see him. His other best friend, Stormi, was at his bedside and held his hand as he took the Last Great Walk. I didn’t make it in time. Stevie and I lived on the same dirt road in Holderness, New Hampshire, overlooking Big Squam…

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As we close out another year here at the Fictional Café, We’d like to take a few moments to say thank you to those who make our site possible. To our writers and artists, we thank you for sharing your amazing work with us and our community. It is not easy putting one’s self out there, but we hope that the payoff of our appreciation is worth the tireless hours of working and the often thankless process of submitting to magazines and websites. Here’s to your wonderful work and to your continued success! I’d also like to thank our loyal readers. What started out as a small, fun project has grown into a wonderful literary magazine and community – beyond what any of us had expected. Thank you for subscribing to the Fictional Café and…

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A few weeks from now, I’ll board a plane from JFK to Bologna, where I’ll study abroad for five months. I’ll bring my parents with me as far as the boarding gate. Then, I’ll bring my two suitcases, filled with scarves, boots and jackets, all easy to layer and, most importantly, cheap (after all, my parents’ luggage was stolen on the first day of their honeymoon). Toiletries will be stuffed into my shoes; a housewarming gift for my Italian roommate nestled between socks; money, preemptively in euros, already stashed in my cross-body purse. I haven’t decided what books to bring yet—perhaps one I’ve been waiting to read (Jonathan Safran Foer’s Here I Am), one to model the short story (Alice Munro), and one, of course, that reminds me of home (any of the Harry Potters)….

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