“Detroit 1, Los Angeles 0” by A.C. Powell (fiction, ’10), published by Typishly.

Detroit 1, Los Angeles 0

Before dinner, the clothes were brought out. Tomorrow, Milly Marsten was going to a red carpet thing. The red carpet of the year. The nomination had shocked the family, but Milly’s cousin Ruth had been more shocked than the rest. Milly was without levels, thought Ruth, and no one without levels ought to be vastly rewarded for doing practically nothing. And now, dresses were required. It was absurd. The nomination had shocked the world too. Perhaps others noticed that Milly was without levels. Nonetheless, tomorrow there would be photographers, a globe’s worth of watchers, and what Milly wore would be noticed and documented. Because of the red carpet, her family was up from La Jolla, and before anyone could bear to eat, they begged to see the dress.

Milly, who knew how to hold out just long enough not to look too eager, skipped down the long, white hallway, from her powder puff of a living room to her bedroom, where her closet thronged with dresses delivered by Neiman Marcus on Wilshire. The stylist had been there all afternoon and left drained, without a firm decision.

Back to the living room skipped Milly, cradling a stack of silks in candy colors, as well as a strand of something clear and bright. Into the crook of one elbow, she had locked a pair of silver shoes so potently metallic the vamps reflected her pink chin and open mouth, which hung open, panting decorously.

[… continue reading “Detroit 1, Los Angeles 0” at Typishly.]

gloss . a . ry |ˈgläs-ə-rē|

noun 

plural glossaries

an alphabetical list of terms or words found in or relating to a specific subject, text, or dialect, with explanations; a brief dictionary.

  1. The daughter makes a glossary of the peculiar things the mother and father say.

gosh |gäSH| dag . nab . it |dagnabit|

exclamation

a euphemism for a widely-used phrase in which a deity is invoked to curse someone to heck, which is another euphemism for a widely-used word representing the devil’s fiery realm. This substitution is most often made by those averse to swearing and those strictly observing the Third Commandment. This aversion to curse words may be imposed by one’s self, one’s religious institution, or one’s spouse.   

  1. When the father misses a serve during a tennis match, he slaps his palm to his forehead and screams, “Gosh dagnabit, Bob, you flipping idiot!”

guy . sies |gīzēz|

noun 

plural of the plural form of guy

typically used as a term of endearment to identify or address a group of people with whom the speaker feels particularly close, usually members of one’s own family. 

  1. The family is playing a card game. The mother, out of nowhere, says, “Guysies, I like books about little mice.”

singular form (rare): guysie 

  1. When all the children have left the nest, the mother turns to the father and says, “Guess it’s just you and me, guysie.”

heav . ens |ˈhevəns| to |toō| Bet . sy |betsē|

noun, preposition, proper noun

an exclamation of disapproval or disgust, having nothing to do with an angelic abode or a woman named Betsy.

  1. The mother takes the daughter to a movie. When they return to the car after the movie has ended, they discover that they have left the lights on and the engine is dead. The mother nervously calls the father from the payphone in the movie theater to tell him what has happened. He yells, “Heavens to Betsy, Ellen! Can’t you do anything right?” and then promptly grabs the keys and rushes to the car to rescue them.

woo . ey |woōē|

exclamation

used to express delight, surprise, or disapproval

  1. The mother’s parents call to invite the father and the mother to join them on a trip to Egypt. The mother hangs up and remains sitting in the chair saying, “Wooey! Wooey! Wooey!” over and over again before she finally gets up to fold the laundry.
  2. The mother is in the kitchen doing dishes late at night after the children have been tucked into bed. The father goes around to the backside of the house and lights his face up with a flashlight outside the window where the mother is washing the dishes. The mother screams, calms down a bit and, resuming her scrubbing, says, “Wooey!”
  3. The mother is watching a movie with her family. The couple on the screen begins to kiss passionately. The mother squirms in her chair and says, “Wooey! They sure don’t kiss like they used to. It looks like they’re eating each other!”

woo . ey |woōē| guy . sies |gīzēz|

exclamation followed by the plural of a plural noun

used to express extreme delight, surprise, or disapproval to a group of people with whom the speaker feels extremely close, almost always members of one’s own family. 

  1. The mother comes home, all lit up from a church activity she has just attended. 

She exclaims, “Wooey guysies, women love crafts!”

The daughter challenges her on this, saying, “Mom, you don’t even like crafts.”

The mother, modifying her statement, says, “Wooey guysies, most women love crafts!”The daughter often says “Wooey guysies!” in mimicry of the mother. She uses it at first to poke fun at the mother and then, later, because she finds it endearing.

“The Magpie: A Key” by Kerrin McCadden (poetry ’14), published by New England Review.

The Magpie: A Key

One magpie always means watch out.
One magpie in the yard means stay in the house.
Two magpies in the lane mean don’t go farther than
the roadside. 
A magpie walking with its beak open, but quiet, 
means go out, but come home quickly.
A magpie calling means something will happen en route.
A magpie on the clothesline means watch your back.

[… continue reading “The Magpie: A Key” at New England Review.]

“When I Say Love I Mean El Greco’s The Assumption of the Virgin” by Sara Quinn Rivara (poetry ’02), published by Sweet: A Literary Confection.

When I Say Love I Mean El Greco’s The Assumption of the Virgin

where she rises from a crowd
of men into the sky, how she throws open

her arms and floats into a cloud of gold.
She’s the only woman in the room.

And isn’t that
what I’m supposed to want? to be the only woman

worth lifting into the clouds, bride
on her wedding day, mayflies buzzing

around all our heads.
Mayflies have no mouths.

[… continue reading “When I Say Love I Mean El Greco’s The Assumption of the Virgin” at Sweet: A Literary Confection.]

“Orphans” by Christy Stillwell (fiction ’14), published by Hypertext Magazine.

Orphans

During the service, Josh suffered. His wool jacket was fine for Denver summers but not Nashville in August. Under the weight of his seven-year- old daughter, Grace, he could feel the heat trapped under his arms, down his back, and on his chest and stomach. Looking around, he seemed to be the only one in such a state. The club was air-conditioned. Not one person used the program as a fan. Not one jacket removed. When he lived here, years ago now, nobody seemed to mind the heat but him. Josh came from the north to play football for Vanderbilt. He turned out to be a disappointment, largely, he believed, due to the heat.

Next to him Patsy sat with their youngest on her lap. Tully was fast asleep, draped over her mother like a poncho. Patsy was a Nashville native, though she lost her accent after college. Never teased her hair, no jewelry and very little makeup. Her Aunt Lucy had already told her several times that she looked like she was dying, which only meant she was fit. The Tegels were a big family. A big deal in Nashville, and physically big. Back when he met them, Josh’s size was his ticket in. He was six-two and filled doorways. Plus, he was a football player. The Tegels liked football. And they liked Vandy. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t any good; they told him so all the time.

[… continue reading “Orphans” at Hypertext Magazine.]

“Close Calls” by Olivia Olson (poetry ’18), published by Stirring: A Literary Collection.

Close Calls

On bad days I watch CCTV footage of car wrecks
and unscathed drivers walking away. Babies falling off tables
and getting caught. I haven’t written in a while. I’ve been busy.

I haven’t written in a while to set myself down in obsolescence
and endure. Coffee brings our the brute in me, booze
puts a damp hand on my eyelids and pushes gently down, down.

[… continue reading “Close Calls” at Stirring.]

“After Hearing of His Passing” by Rose McLarney (poetry ’10), published by The Millions.

After Hearing of His Passing

I kept sliding lemon under the skin
and herbs into the openings
of a chicken, its cold countering

the recalled warmth of eggs
in the time when we
collected them fresh

from beneath hens. Our hands,
feather-brushed, found ways
to come near one another.

[… continue reading “After Hearing of His Passing” at The Millions.]

“Sweet Land” by Jill Klein (poetry ’16), published by Scoundrel Time.

Sweet Land

Everything’s coming up oranges.
“Ollie Ollie in come free,”
it’s all the statue can do to whisper.
Meanwhile, cats prowl the edges of wildfires,
eagles abandon their towers—
dropping knee pads and hats on an underclad country.

And the FLOTUS floats above this great country,
in gowns that will never be orange.
The handmaids watch as she enters the tower,
as children and chickens roam free—
cage to cage, scratching like matches that can never light fires.
Voices fall in the Capital, to lisps and backside whispers.

When I say wiretaps, I mean the kind that hears horses whisper—
even assholes have assholes to let out the gas. Imagine a country
where they do not. Which begs the question of who fires
first. Which begs the answer. Armpits or oranges?
Imagine the speed of a sea turtle freed
from a six-pack ring that once held Dos Equis. Up to the seaweed tower!

[… continue reading “Sweet Land” at Scoundrel Time.]

“The Unexploded Ordnance Bin” by Rebecca Foust (poetry ’10), published by Verse Daily.

The Unexploded Ordnance Bin

our son found the hollow shell
snub-nosed & finned
& looking like an Acme cartoon bomb
where we raked for clams
he wanted to keep it
& we wanted to let him

even the old oysterman wanted
to let him    but we’d read about
the shell found & kept
for three weeks by a boy
in Oregon before the powder
dried & it went off

[… continue reading “The Unexploded Ordnance Bin” at Verse Daily.]

“Jokes can deliver information in a way that gets through to readers.” Kate Kaplan (fiction ’18) on the work of “conditional jokes” in Cynthia Ozick, Ana Menéndez, and Paul Beatty.

“The Conditional Joke, a Tool for Fiction Writers” by Kate Kaplan (fiction ’18), published by Fiction Writers Review.

The Conditional Joke, a Tool for Fiction Writers

Here’s a joke from the 4th or 5th century, CE: Shopping for windows, a Kymean asks if there are any that look south.

Here’s a joke I heard two years ago, at my MFA program: What’s the difference between a poet and a large pizza? A large pizza can feed a family.

These jokes are conditional jokes. That is, they’re jokes which work when listeners have the information necessary to get the point. They have something else in common: in both instances, the conditional information is supplied by the joke itself. I have no doubt that readers understood the jokes even if they came to this essay ignorant of the way the ancient world stereotyped Kymeans and unaware of the presumed impecuniousness of poets. Conditional jokes can educate, and that means that they can be used as exposition.

Done badly, exposition can interrupt a story with a lecture, change the narrative distance, or force characters into artificial behavior—reminiscing where reminiscence isn’t called for or telling people things they already know. Jokes avoid those pitfalls. They engage readers because they’re lively, short, and have unexpected endings. They don’t distort character behavior or change narrative distance, because all kinds of people—all kinds of characters—engage with jokes as tellers and listeners.

[… continue reading at Fiction Writers Review.]