Flash Fiction: They'll Be Dehydrated

One crawled up the side of the bag and opened her wings, a hardtop convertible with legs.


Fiction Friday: Loneliness Is Key

In the story I want to write, Rockland Manchester falls in love with the woman, but she gives him some bell hooks books to read.


Fiction Friday: Tell Me What To Do

The place where her shoulder blades almost met was suddenly purple, and I tasted blood, slick and tangy, against my lipstick.


Fiction Friday: Never Read The Comments

Alone in your apartment at three o’clock in the morning, you find yourself agreeing: you are a stupid bitch; you can’t write worth shit.


Fiction Friday: The Motherhood Gig

She had left him crying in his crib where she’d thrown him, a punishment for needing her more than she could stand.


Amalie Howard: Author

fantasy scribe. globe-trotter. advocate for diversity in publishing.

Credit: Thinkstock

Fiction Friday: Grass

Years from now, it’ll still be growing fast and long, the way it grows in summer even when there’s been no rain.


Fragmented Instructions For Half-formed Girls

Let’s say, hypothetically, that there are people on this earth who are currently saner than you.