There is a reason Bush’s book was released on Earth Day. How we connect with the world around us teaches us how we can connect with people.

I don’t know that I was able to fully realize what this novel wanted to be until in 2019, I came up with the idea of combining the story of this isolated family with the story of someone falling into the gravity of an extremist militia group. The Proud Boys and other groups like that had been around for a while before then but were just beginning to break through into the public consciousness, and it seemed like a natural progression for the characters. When those two ideas combined, the novel came together very quickly.

These moments reflect Champagne’s larger preoccupation with the gaps between perception and reality, between what is said and what is meant.

River Selby’s Hotshot: A Life on Fire is a tremendously smart book about the interrelations of contemporary American societies and land relations, woven through their personal history of working as a woman in the highly gendered space of a wildland hotshot crew.

At the heart of True Failure are silhouettes of young adults today searching for meaning and purpose when milestones seem to elude them.

I've always been interested in nontraditional paths towards queerness and especially trans identity, as my own path was not linear in the way I thought it should be as a young person, and dramatizing an even weirder path than I've ever looked at before with Joan was one of my aims with the book.

Our new online issue is tailored for the sophisticated consumer of online smut and similar, interested in elevating their online browsing habits to the highest level.

One need not have seen the film to appreciate the absurdity of a Nobel prize winner trying “to reason with a potato intent on drinking men’s blood and taking over the world.”

Law of the Letter asserts that the liminal space our language occupies is ruled less by uncertainty than by potential, and by sheer possibility.

One might not think the Taco Bell secret menu could be made tragic; trust Kyle Seibel, it can.

The person at Waffle House
drops my card and starts crying.
She’s here alone until 2. It’s 2.
Kind of hard to avoid the fact
that I am part of the problem.

A few more beers in, we talk rejection, the places we’re sending our stories, how it doesn’t seem like there are many outlets where the editors might be having these same conversations about pop culture and writing, how the whole landscape just doesn’t seem like much fun at all. Hey, one of us says, too many beers in now: What if we started our own literary magazine?

One summer, I started explaining myself. There was no reason for it, or if there was, I couldn’t clarify it even to myself. It could have been the lack of talking in the previous summers, all leading up to the taciturnity of winters, the dry mouths and moody colds. Then again, talking wasn’t the same as explaining.

My career as an international bank robber was brief and unprofitable but at least I never got caught. After three decades I’ve stopped watching for INTERPOL over my shoulder.

As Catholics, the Church is our house, everything from the hearth to the lock to the floor we stand on. When we leave, we build ourselves new homes, log by back-breaking log.  

Our latest online issue is a themed issue that explores what happens when parenting intersects with famous musicians. Entirely fictional, of course. Edited by Hannah Grieco.

Something endures: the hot-white center, the teeth and bones of it all. This is what Gifted speaks obliquely around, comfortably nestled in the concrete, mundane details of the everyday.

What distinguishes Dasgupta from other essayists is her capacity to balance joyous and vibrant moments with a sense of discomfort.

Nothing here has value except her own doubled-down commitment to it—there’s a kind of nobility in deciding to hold onto the nothing that you have.

What Hunt reveals is the strangeness of other people, and the way their agonies and compulsions are other to themselves, propelling them.