Best of Net

Congratulations to Dorianne Laux and George Singleton both of whom have had work from New World Writing select­ed for inclu­sion in the new edi­tion of Best of the Net, due out soon from Sundress Publications.

Colter Cruthirds ~ You Can Live Forever in a Paradise on Earth

Julia knocked on the door and I answered in a pair of rat­ty blue jeans, hold­ing a put­ter and three golf balls. She had a friend with her, a teenage boy, who did all the talk­ing at first. He deliv­ered a script­ed speech about cre­ation ver­sus evo­lu­tion, and read from Hebrews some­thing that said

Blip invites submissions

WERE READING NEW FICTION AND NONFICTION with an eye toward the April 2012 issue. If you’d like to sub­mit, please fol­low the link below, leave a short bio note and any­thing else we might need to know. We are par­tic­u­lar­ly inter­est­ed in work of medi­um length, say 1000–3000 words, but will read what­ev­er falls upon our plate, and we will try to be speedy in our reply. Many thanks for your inter­est.


Elizabeth Wagner


The man behind her said, “Let me ask you a ques­tion,” but she didn’t turn to see what the ques­tion would be.  Something about what he said both­ered her—it was the way he put it.  She was out of sorts today, but, nev­er­the­less, what he said was not the same as ask­ing, “Can I ask you some­thing?” Or say­ing, “Excuse me, I’ve been won­der­ing…” 

Julie Odell

Whoa, Hey

The mail­man deliv­ers the pack­age on Tuesday. I rip open the small white Fed-ex enve­lope and a clear zip-lock sand­wich bag falls out from between two pieces of card­board. Inside is the necklace—a large met­al cutout of two fists side by side with pinkies extend­ed. “Too much rock for one hand.” It hangs from a cheap met­al chain. 

Pamela Painter

Indoor Gardening

He had been watch­ing her for four years—watering her plants, groom­ing her plants.   First in grad school, then when they moved in togeth­er in Cambridge, and lat­er in their first house as a new­ly mar­ried cou­ple with house plants.  It had tak­en years for him to cred­it:  to observe, to sus­pect, to hypoth­e­size about, and final­ly to believe.

Andrew Roe


Hello there, I say, and you’re stunned, so stunned you don’t say any­thing back, you just stare, stare open-mouthed and silent like I’m a ghost. And okay, all right: that’s what I am. People even­tu­al­ly stop call­ing when calls are not returned. The reflec­tion in the mir­ror starts to look like some­one else—or no one at all.

A Note from Diann Blakely

The Zanesville Bear Cub & the Puritan Tradition

A tru­ism of American his­to­ry and thought is our country’s ten­den­cy to project evil onto an object and then attempt to destroy that object. We call this “the Puritan tra­di­tion,” and it includes woods, Indians, women pre­sumed to be witch­es, the entire South, New York City when near-bank­rupt­cy, smok­ers, mod­er­ate drinkers and eaters of trans­fats, –more

Nina Lindsay ~ Poems


mis­trans­la­tion after Chinese “duck” rid­dle

Just one among the many ground-scrap­ers–

all my struc­tures shak­en from the rat­tle of the trains.

Everyone here bal­ances their duties with such accom­mo­dat­ing pos­ture;

pos­es for their big dance num­ber (I put down my book to watch):

Shoulders Up! And Stumble Back!

But it’s hard, every­one drops their intan­gi­bles,


Michael Knight

Our Lady of Consolation

Ninety-one days after I quit smok­ing, my wife bush­whacked me with a brochure for Our Lady of Consolation. I was already in bed with a ser­i­al killer nov­el. Lake fin­ished brush­ing her hair, then poked her hand into a purse hang­ing on the door­knob, fished out the brochure and dropped it in my lap. On the cover—an aer­i­al pho­to­graph of a white stone monastery nes­tled among bushy pines.

You need a –more

Brad Watson


He’d always been stunned by his wife’s beau­ty when she slept.  Sleeping, her nat­ur­al beau­ty was unde­ni­able, entire­ly unin­flu­enced by his feel­ings, her feel­ings, their var­i­ous dif­fi­cul­ties with one anoth­er, resent­ments, by their com­plex his­to­ries, unful­filled long­ings, secrets. In repose, there was noth­ing to inter­fere with the unde­ni­able fact of her phys­i­cal love­li­ness.  You might even –more

Meg Pokrass

I Asked The Lord To Giveth Me A OneTouch

When I stepped bare­foot on the bee I was aller­gic to bees. The Jesus-man stead­ied me with an even gaze. My attrac­tion to the Jesus-man may have had some­thing to do with feel­ing like a fraud, which I’d been feel­ing for too long.