Lit Fiction

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...

That sun burned in an odd way that summer, hotter with wicked solar flares and meaner with intense magnetic disturbances. The crazy heat of...

Panteen lived above the Barb-B-Q across the street. Mama first toodle-ooed to him from the window she had ventilating her cigarette. “Look at his wicked wink,”...