Pamela Painter

Three Stories

Appearances and Disappearances

George General patiently explained it to his pretty blonde wife:  how the sun instead of setting this evening had turned right around and rose with the full moon.  He was quite sure it hadn’t happened before.  Never? she wanted to know but only in a desultory way.  Continue reading

Glen Pourciau


Worst part of work is the meetings, ask anybody, and I always seem to find myself in one of them with my colleague with the mile-high view.  If he’s not trying to educate us he’s trying to sell us something, mainly the wisdom of his elevated viewpoint.  I don’t know why he wastes his time on us when it’s obvious he believes we’ll never scale the mental heights necessary to understand him.  It must be cold and lonely up there on the mountaintop, seeing the rest of the world below better than the people who live there. Continue reading

Clancy Martin

Bad Sex, Part Two


“I want you to try on engagement rings,” Eduard said. “Just for fun.”

We were in San Salvador. He’d found us a hotel with a beach we could walk on. We woke early and walked along the beach for more than an hour. We climbed a hill covered with vines and on the other side there was a sea cave. We took off our shoes and our clothes and put them on a high rock and swam naked. We were in the water for half an hour and Eduard said, “Look!” and caught his own wallet floating in the water. He found my shoes in the surf. There was no beach left by our cave and we had to swim out beyond and around the rocks with our clothes in our hands to get back to land. I had wanted to make love on the sand in that cave.

Continue reading

New Work for Fall

We’ve just added another half-dozen pieces to our Fall collection. Please check them out if you haven’t been by in a while. New pieces by Claudia Smith, Clancy Martin, Kathy Fish, Peter Ramos, Glen Pourciau, David Moolten and others. Click here.

Bobbie Ann Mason & Robert Lopez

New work from Mason and Lopez, along with Steven Wingate and Joan Wilking, just added to the Fall 2015 issue edited by Kim Chinquee. Hit this link or Fall 2015 in the main menu above for a look see. Great new work and thanks to contributors. Keep ’em coming.

Fall Issue

We’re pleased to have our Associate Editor Kim Chinquee selecting and editing the Fall 2015 issue of New World Writing. Kim has already taken several pieces and will be reading through the middle of December at least, so keep the work coming. To read the first few pieces click Fall 2015 here or in the main menu above.

Pia Z. Ehrhardt

I Wanted To Sit Closer

On a cold morning in January, my father showed up on our front porch. He said he was in town for a haircut; there was a salon he and his second wife went to in Bucktown, a neighborhood that hadn’t flooded. My husband and son and I had just returned to New Orleans to live together again under one roof. Continue reading

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Sara C. Thomason

The Knowledge Center


In Kuwait, me and Mark go to work with Mom.  Every night at six, she brings us to class so we can watch her teach English to young businessmen.  She likes the fact that she’s in charge of the conference room.  The Arabs have to keep their eyes on Mom or she’ll kick them out, and Mark thinks that’s funny.  I’m the opposite.  I don’t like the way they stare at her when she sucks on the end of her pen, or how she flashes bits of her bare shoulder when she turns around—but I don’t complain.  The new motto of this family is: We’re here, so get used to it.  That is what I’m doing.   Continue reading

About the Fall 2015 Issue


We are pleased to report that Kim Chinquee, author of Oh, Baby and Pretty, and particularly well known for her exquisite flash fictions, will be editing the Fall 2015 issue of NWW. We are accepting submissions now at our Submittable site, reachable through the link in the top menu.

John Henry Fleming


Frank took up golf when he and his wife moved to Lost Lakes Preserve three months ago. He hadn’t broken ninety, and today looked like the day. He’d covered the front nine in 44, chipped in for birdie on 11, and holed a thirty-footer for another birdie on 14. Standing now on the 16th tee, he knew he had only to bogey his way in for an 89—a small thing, maybe, but he understood that the small successes were the only ones left to him. Last year he’d finally been promoted to president of his ad firm after being bypassed again and again for younger candidates with new ideas, or older candidates with more experience, or stronger leaders, or better consensus builders—always someone else. Now he’d finally reached the top of his small regional agency, and there was nowhere else to go unless he was willing to sidle his way into one of the nationals, which would also mean a temporary step backward for the promise of something better. At 58, he’d keep the sure thing, especially when the sure thing had given him and Jeanne the means to build their dream house on one of the last remaining golf course lots at Lost Lakes. Continue reading

Doug Lawson

The Night Witches

Months before the fire—the big one that cuts up through the homes in our hills like a plane through a flock of doves—I see Rochelle in the street. It’s a Sunday. She has her hand in some guy’s pocket. Her hair is paler than I remember it, and it hangs down around her face like she still cuts it herself. She is tanned, broken-in, like she’s been living outdoors all these years. Continue reading