Phoebe crept down the path toward the big house. The dirt road parted the grassy field. The white wood of the house was darkened by the night. The windows showed no signs of illumination. A set of columns stood proudly on both sides of the staircase. A sturdy balcony watched over the land.
Homer was hunched on a knee about twenty feet from the stairs. He rubbed his hands across a mound of dirt.
“Homer? What are you doing out so late?” asked Phoebe in a hushed voice.
Homer quickly stood up and brushed the dirt off his hands. “Huh?”
Phoebe glanced at the patch of dirt.
“What are you doing out your quarters?” asked Homer. “Massa could wake up at any moment. He already gave you fair warning last week.”…
Cal LaFountain has published work with Submittable, Information Today, Exterminating Angel Press, and the Electronic Literature Organization. His audiobook, Puddle Is an Ocean to an Ant, was released by Xocord in 2020. He currently lives in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. To connect with Cal, visit callafountain.com
In this episode of Cover to Cover with . . ., Editor-in-Chief Jordan Blum chats with LaFountain about the process of recording an audiobook, getting Bam Margera to participate in his book trailer, remixing chapters with producers, the joys of prank calls (and childhood activities in general), and more!
It was that – ‘the value of the painting’, as if it needed repeating – that was most overbearingly pressed upon her. It was an artwork like no other, the collector explained, as he laboriously, reluctantly, and over the course of several hours, handed the oil painting to the conservationist. She nodded politely every few minutes. He seemed nervous to part with the thing.
It wasn’t much to look at, as the collector deprecatingly – perhaps a touch defensively – conceded. A fairly plain, oil-on-canvas representation of a nice day. Cheap oil on cheap canvas, at that. A bright sun, some slapdash trees and their misaligned shadows, people standing gaily at the edge of a lake. Nothing reflected in the water, undisturbed by ripples, ducks, or debris.…
The Bitter Kind – Tara Lynn Masih and James Claffey
The spread of COVID-19 has greatly impacted the human experience of 2020 across the world. In addition to our shared illness—and our losses of loved ones, income, and stability—our attempts to combat the virus interrupt our ongoing need and search for human connection. Many of us are feeling painfully isolated. Even in these strange times, though, books continue to provide insight into these particularly human emotions, and they are a source of connection in and of themselves. One such book is The Bitter Kind.
The Bitter Kind by Tara Lynn Masih and James Claffey (Oct. 2020, Červená Barva Press) is a fascinating lyric novelette divided between two alternating points of view: Stela, a survivor of childhood abuse that follows her into a transient adulthood, and Brandy, a Chippewa orphan, a seer, deeply in tune with nature, and a drifter.It’s…
I can’t say the name of the school, but I guarantee you’ve heard of it, a world-renowned elementary school that looks like it should be the kind of bucolic liberal arts college where Donna Tartt might murder undergrads, only it was in Manhattan. That’s all I’ll say. I don’t want to give you too many clues. Legally, I can’t.
I was introduced to the twins my first day. The headmistress had told me about their family during orientation. “We give all our students extra special attention,” she said. “We give the twinses extraordinary special attention.” She then gave me an extraordinarily slow wink. There were three sets of twins in this family. Thus, twinses. I was the only person who seemed to think that odd. Or be bothered by that grammatical choice.…
