Mick Sanford stared at the screen, blinked, and shook his head, thinking his editor had lost her millennial mind. She’d just sent an email telling him to submit his new manuscript, “Murder By Desire,” for review—not by her, but by some artificial intelligence bot. Unbelievable. Muttering about the young punks wrecking the business, he started his video meeting app. “Good afternoon, Mick,” Lindsey Parrish said pleasantly a minute later. “I thought I might hear from you today.” She was going to hear plenty. “You’ve got to be kidding me. What the hell is this?” “The principle is really no different from spellcheck,” Lindsey said, unruffled. “It gives us metrics that affect the quality of the story. I’m not saying I’ll accept all of Max’s advice—” “Who?” “That’s what the bot is called. A lot of…
“Spare Parts,” Poetry PLAGIARIZED by John Kucera
Editor’s Note, January 26, 2024: We published this post in July of 2022. It has recently come to our attention that at least one of the poems was plagiarized. Thank you to Tara Campbell for alerting us to this literary swindler. We are leaving this post up, minus the poetry, so Google searches will still lead here and people can learn the truth. Our apologies to John Compton, who is the original author of the plagiarized work. Check out his poems here. John Kucera (a pen name for John Siepkes) has made a name for himself by stealing others’ poems and it is well documented. Below are just a few links for anyone who wants to hear more about his shameful acts of passing off stolen work as his own. We hope that you will…
“What You Said About Me,” Poetry by Eric Forsbergh
What You Said About Me The first two sips of beer are the best, you tease good-naturedly as we huddle on a second date -the dark eddy of a railway station bar. First, foam annoys the upper lip. Then bubbles bristle in the throat. On brew, the stomach bloats. But, oh, those first two draughts. A river of passengers flows past, head-on toward destinations, delays, side-tracks, cancellations. How we like to overlay our futures onto those of passersby, guessing at their plunges into rapids, cascades, often jutting rocks, hoping for a pool of calm. How are they a match? you laugh. A season on, and now you banter with me smilingly. Maybe this is more like wine, slow to unfold complexity in the us we’re tasting every day. ** Pursuit of Food The sea breathes…
“Beauty and the Gym” by Colton Vandermade
The gym is for the apartment complex. A majority of the gym’s population includes moms reaching back towards their fitter past and young childless men who will one day give up on fitness altogether once they begin their own child rearing. On a given Wednesday afternoon, the random assortment of moms and bros fills the small space. Moms on ellipticals and bros on the weights. Everyone has headphones in, everyone in the same room, but everyone’s individual music tastes transport them to immensely varying experiences. That is, until a mother of three and soon to be four cries out in alarm. A small puddle forms at her feet and she knows immediately that she is going to be a mother of four a whole lot sooner than she expected. The cry draws the attention of…
Student Poetry by Anai Gonzalez
my hoodie reeks of depression it has food stains and maybe tear stains too my scalp flakes from excessive stress regardless of how often i shower my hair isn’t even as beautiful as it used to be it doesn’t shine anymore and i’m losing handfuls of it and of course, my mother is right beside me to remind me of all this my smile is shadowed by my saddened eyes needless to say, it’s faker than ever these days my body isn’t anywhere as fit as it was just months ago i’m losing all my muscle fat, i don’t love my body anymore my skin consists of red dots spread across my cheeks exposing my imperfections, embarrassing me to tears my mind is way too troubled to develop concrete thoughts and translate them into decent…