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self-reflection

I’m A User; I Admit It

Cailey Tarriane·August 21, 2023

I’m A User; I Admit It written by: Cailey Tarriane @caileytarriane they say, hold on to unsturdy...

Poetry English

·1 min read

Working To Abandon Immortality

Robert Ronnow·July 21, 2023

Working To Abandon Immortality written by: Robert Ronnow Let us accept this pain and some fear it...

English Poetry

·1 min read

Thought Number 205 About Old Friends and Lovers

Ray Whitaker·January 16, 2023

Thought Number 205 About Old Friends and Lovers written by: Ray Whitaker I The confusion of days...

Poetry English

·1 min read

Santa Really Comes to Town

R. A. Savary·December 29, 2022

Santa Really Comes to Town written by: R.A. Savary The speakers in Kmart bellowed out that age-old...

English Literature Christmas Featured Post

·27 mins read

Christmas Lightbulb Moment

Jackie Harvey·December 16, 2022

Christmas Lightbulb Moment written by: Jackie Harvey “Christmas is boring, BORING!” “Oh Joe, Christmas isn’t boring, how...

Literature Christmas English

·4 mins read

After a long career tinkering in telecommunications, Jim Bartlett switched to tinkering with writing fiction, both requiring a stretch of the imagination. In the course of putting his fingers to the keyboard, he's been fortunate to have quite a number of his stories featured both in print and online in several wonderful publications, including a story selected for "The Best of Fiction on the Web, 1996 – 2017" anthology. While mentally he strolls along a warm California beach with his wife and golden retriever (shhh, she doesn't know she's a dog), physically they reside on a special little island in the Pacific Northwest.

Reaper by Sharon Frame Gay

As an orphaned son of an orphan, I always see the glass as half empty. I picture the water murky and lukewarm, a waterline etched below the rim. Maybe with an ash or two floating at the bottom, because that’s what I do for a living. I deal with ashes. The remains of the deceased. No matter how those who pass away see their glass, meager or full, they eventually end up in a satchel carried on my shoulder.
My business card reads “Morton Stark Transport.” I’m called upon to disperse the ashes of the dearly departed and honor their final wishes. People hire me to escort the remains throughout the world ...

Features

Barney and His Angel

To Grandmother’s House

The Visit

Interviews

Spotlight On Writers – Maliya Denise Wilmore

Spotlight On Writers – John Neff

Interview Q&A With P.A. O’Neil

A Bead of Ice

Sygnatariusze Listów do Gwiazd

A Strange Place

Finding Cherry

Writing on Wood

Finding Ourselves

What Am I?

self-reflection

I’m A User; I Admit It

Working To Abandon Immortality

Thought Number 205 About Old Friends and Lovers

Santa Really Comes to Town

Christmas Lightbulb Moment

Hymn Of The Eternal Feast

To Grandmother’s House

Breakfast on the Beach

The Visit

The Christmas Figure is Unmoved

Naughty Or Nice

Grandchild

Lips Between Lips

A Strange Place

A Bead of Ice

Sygnatariusze Listów do Gwiazd

Success Despite Childhood Trauma