Lit Fiction

The first step in stealing a car is to put gas in it, and that’s because even though teenaged girls like myself have airhead...

She felt it in her toes that morning, dread that she would shove into ivory heels and dance on beneath heavy clouds. He felt...

Nikki’s uncle Pete was sprawled across the hood of an old Chevy, bullshitting with another half-dozen men taking a breather from their barstools. She...

She tried to take deep breaths and think of what her happy place might look like if she had one, but she kept getting...

She’d punched a boy on the bus. Square in the mouth, once, then again. Her father had to come to the elementary school to...

In the 1960s, James Royce lived in a suburban enclave tacked onto the side of Memphis, Tennessee. It was called Raleigh and it was...

You didn’t grieve your son’s death, not for one full year, because you didn’t realize that he was dead. You went to the burial, you...

Every night Rasputin chose a different one to come up and go inside the box of blades. Always they were pretty, and always they...

I was sixteen when I first saw New York City.  Everybody who was anybody lived there. Katherine Hepburn, Brooke Astor, Judy Blume, and David...

Martini’s was a small family-run grocery store, just a five-minute drive from Grandmom’s house. I hadn’t been in yet that summer, what with all...