Waitress
When I was young and had to rise at 5 am
I did not look at the lamplight slicing
through the blinds and say: Once again
I have survived the night. I did not raise
my two hands to my face and whisper:
This is the miracle of my flesh. I walked
toward the cold water waiting to be released
and turned the tap so I could listen to it
thrash through the rusted pipes.
I cupped my palms and thought of nothing.
We invite submissions of 500‑3000 words, fiction and nonfiction, for the fall issue of Blip Magazine. Submissions should be sent as MSWord files (doc or docx) attached to an e‑mail with a short bio. You may also include your text directly in the e‑mail.
We’re pleased to feature an excerpt from James Whorton’s new novel Angela Sloan, just published by Free Press. Check the Features page above or go straight to “Leaving DC.”
Jacinda Russell’s Something Between Want and Desire
Jacinda Russell’s & Nancy Douthey’s In Search of the Center
We are fortunate to have a brace, OK, some short of a brace, a group, half dozen almost, of fine small stories by Frances Lefkowitz, plus a conversation between Frances and our own Meg Pokrass. Apprehend me with mouse to see it now.
I hate the blogging and anything remotely bloggish and all of the crap networking–interesting, yes, for about two weeks after you’ve seen all the available photos of your now shockingly corpulent high school acquaintances. I’d like to see BLIP forcefully
Cleaning House
Kristin vacuums our apartment for the sixth time today. She takes her sweet time inscribing elaborate hieroglyphics in the wheat-colored wall to wall. A word here, a phrase there. She is writing, she tells me curtly, the story of our marriage.
They slept in single beds. My sister and I would sneak upstairs to lie on them when Granny was in the kitchen. We’d divide by gender. Laura would take Granny’s and I would take Granddad’s.
Today we have for you three stories by Jeff Landon and a short interview with the author. Check the FEATURES page or go directly to Algebra.
“From this angle it appears absolutely dead,” said Levon. He was looking at the legs, the cow stiff in the pool as if it were doing the dead man’s float. He walked around the body slowly. Steam still rose from it. It hadn’t been dead long.
“I
Saul’s tradition in the 80s, going to the new Peppermint Lounge on 45th, turned ritual once he met the waitress with the sparkly cleavage, her oral cavity the most lascivious thing he’d ever made it with, which he did every chance he got on those
Added today a feature story by George Singleton along with an interview conducted by Meg Pokrass and Jim Whorton. See FEATURES above or go directly to Gripe Water.
We’re delighted to feature a new story by Olufemi Terry, whose short story “Stickfighting Days” won the 2010 Caine Prize for African Writing. See our FEATURES page or go directly to Dark Triad.
Our next issue is scheduled for July 2011. This will be a special issue of fiction and nonfiction pieces 1000 words or less, edited by fiction writer and essayist Jane Armstrong, James Whorton, Jr., Frederick Barthelme & friends. Submissions
The trick to falling is to do it in the up direction, betraying gravity but following the wind. Try it six times, in a hurry, as if you were pouring coffee from the unstable top step of a ladder, the musky smell of clove and skunk rising back toward
We are delighted to present a developing feature showing the work of French artist and illustrator Chloe Poizat. We’re beginning with just a few images, but hope to have more in the near future. Click on the FEATURES link above or go directly to
I can’t sleep because it is not necessary, a bath won’t help, I have a bath but it is not one I will use and last week he did not have any problems and also the sound of the ocean pleases me; can’t sleep because under is a sub-continent, a captain
We’re pleased to publish today a short feature on Lori Ostlund, including a wonderful story and a short interview. Please look on the FEATURES page or just click here.
You are mostly silent but when you do speak you take that tone with me.
My bones break easily. You see me as fragile, watch where I walk, wrap my ankles in cotton when it rains. The doctor pulls my bones apart, bends my wrist back, pushes in a way
