2024 Flash Fiction Contest by Erika Raskin
Once again, we had the opportunity to read a (virtual) stack of flash fiction pieces that have enlarged our worlds—and we are grateful. As usual, we employed the Venn Diagram method of settling on the winners, each listing our own top choices and then selecting from those that overlapped. It’s an interesting way of judging because deeply held favorites may not even ‘medal’. But that pretty much underscores the subjective nature of contests (or, you know, anything.) What speaks to one person might not, another. Which is all to say—that, contests aside, the truly … Continue reading 2024 Flash Fiction Contest by Erika Raskin
Tips For Aging Women by Christine McDowell Tucker
Let’s just say, for the sake of argument, that you’re considering getting old. We don’t recommend this course of action, of course, because the risks greatly outweigh the advantages. But if you must age, here are a few tips to help you navigate what can be a fun time in your life, if you take the proper precautions. Keep in mind that the main skill required for this period of your life is that of settling; as in settling for things you had never considered you would need to settle for in the first place. … Continue reading Tips For Aging Women by Christine McDowell Tucker
Before the Ambulance and Dandelion, 2 poems by Dennis Cummings
Before the Ambulance I saw him collapse on the trail that divides the golf course, then climbs and looks over the valley crowded with townhouses for fifty-five and older. If we entered the fallen man’s home we could see the forever stamps in folded sheaths of waxed paper neatly tucked beside reading glasses, an hourglass, and gadgets that calculate distance and day. We’d see the unused weekly planners and the used that annotated the meetings with doctors and accountants and one for a lawyer that was crossed out. As the siren from down the hill … Continue reading Before the Ambulance and Dandelion, 2 poems by Dennis Cummings
The (Very Uncomfortable) Art of Letting Go: When Movers Lose All Your Furniture by Katie Wilkes
“Your new life is gonna cost you your old one.” —Margot Berman I forget if it was around the time of a full moon or another supercharged energy portal that I tend to lose track of, but just when I had made the decision to try out this nomadic lifestyle, an intuitive friend posted that message online. It felt kinda ominous. But also reassuring that as giant of a leap as this was, it was also arriving at a fitting time. Sure, I thought, it’ll cost me familiarities and conveniences of DC life. Creature comforts … Continue reading The (Very Uncomfortable) Art of Letting Go: When Movers Lose All Your Furniture by Katie Wilkes
Little Napalm Girl by Jean Mikhail
On the black and white TV, we watched silently, as an American soldier fell into a field of static like he was falling fast asleep, tumbling down the screen, out of sync with the signal, dropping one horizontal line at a time. Then, someone’s daughter came running out to us with her arms raised. They called her the Little Napalm Girl because she burned with Napalm’s invisible fire. She looked to be exactly my age at the time, caught on the camera in this first war, televised. My dad didn’t want me to see her, … Continue reading Little Napalm Girl by Jean Mikhail
Writing For A Generation by Joel F. Johnson
We write for a target audience. Readers differ in their demographics as well as their literary tastes. When my novel, Never, was published, I began meeting with book groups, and they were all baby boomers like me. I realized I’d written a book for my own generation. Never is a coming-of-age story that takes place in the segregated south. Folks my age (I’m turning seventy) can remember Martin Luther King and the turbulent sixties. Southern readers have shared with me their memories of growing up with a Black maid, often articulating a version of the bewildered … Continue reading Writing For A Generation by Joel F. Johnson
Blindsided by Jeanne Malmgren
Jeanne Malmgren is the 2nd place winner of Streetlight’s 2024 Essay/Memoir Contest This should be a quick in-and-out, I’m thinking. As we walk into the Department of Motor Vehicles, I’m cheered to see the line isn’t too long. We’re here for a simple errand, to change our driver’s licenses from Florida to South Carolina. It’s as mundane as any of the other chores related to moving to a new state. This DMV office is home turf for me. It’s just down the road from the country hospital where I was born. This is the … Continue reading Blindsided by Jeanne Malmgren
Writing Through Autocracy by Karol Lagodzki
The one and only time I put a knife in my pocket heading out to church was on Sunday, December 13, 1981. My mother, a single parent, was working a night shift, and my job at age eleven, in a true latchkey-kid fashion, was to get myself and my seven-year-old sister to holy mass. That was far from unusual. I was in charge on most Sunday mornings at that age. I’d usually wake up early, turn on channel one (of two), and watch cartoons for a few minutes before anything else. That morning, instead … Continue reading Writing Through Autocracy by Karol Lagodzki
A Stone by Debbie Bennett
It was a flat grey stone, the kind you found in tourist shops, with pre-set words. What a strange gift from Andrea, I’d thought, and plunked it into my pocket—carelessly. Only later, I found my hand often curving around it, feeling its weight, its contours. Where was she now? All those nights I found myself awake, throwing on some clothes. Inside my car, I cruised through the dead-quiet night streets. Sometimes, the streetlights, or the cold probing lights left on in closed stores, allowed me a glimpse of a huddled shape under a doorway, or … Continue reading A Stone by Debbie Bennett
Moonlight by Ronald Stottlemyer
This is the light of stillness after everything has been said and thought, after the day has been brought to its knees once more, after the excuses, the bargainings with self, conversations that started so hopefully, but stopped. Don’t expect the darkened maple to turn over a bright leaf, find its own breeze. What pours in through the blinds is unmoved as the numb paw of your hand half opened or closed on the snow bank pillow, cold as the truth of its sleep. Let that radiance lift me weightless, timeless, into its night, and … Continue reading Moonlight by Ronald Stottlemyer