by Savannah Rush If I could be selfish with him, I imagine it would look something like this: We’re at a random bar on a Thursday night, except they close at eleven instead of ten, and we have time. I take slow sips of my gin and tonic as he reenacts an encounter he had recently, with all the carefully chosen details and theatrics of a top-notch storyteller. There are several moments when his delivery has Read more…
by Shannon Stockdale-Elftman What is whimsy, really? The problem is whimsy is hard to pin down. It’s much like that oft-misunderstood quote concerning pornography. “I’ll know it when I see it.” Ironically, when we think about whimsy in storytelling we tend to favor children’s stories. James and the Giant Peach, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, The Wind in the Willows, and other classics, as well as more modern fare. Children have, supposedly, cornered the market on Read more…
by Sky Allen I like it best when it rains. There’s a sort of kinship I feel when I look out the window at the slate sky and find the sidewalks to be empty. I can breathe better feeling like we’re all on the same playing field again. On the other hand, when I can tell that it’s a beautiful day outside from the sun warming the carpet beneath my window or the cacophonous music Read more…
by Laurie Hilburn Captain James Hook, edge still earning him more than a crown ever could. Out of all of his bastard children, Beatrice was the only one to bow and bide her time. Gerard was clever, but he could never put his intelligence to proper use, too distracted by sparkling baubles, ancient treasure maps, and impatient harlots. Caxton was blunt, bludgeoning where there should have been deft precision, while his twin Hawes could slice Read more…
by Zenia deHaven The stylus bled black rivers in its wake as it danced across the papyrus. Its wielder’s eyebrows knitted together in a furrow, like a peasant girl’s wretched attempt at sewing. Huffing, the man sat back. The nubs of the wicker chair’s legs squeaked against the stone floor. He inhaled, breathing in the soft musk of night and old parchment, and rested his palm on the drawing. His pointed finger landed on an Read more…