A Literary Magazine Sponsored by The University of Maine at Farmington
You sit in a white-walled classroom, fidgeting in your seat. A cluster of tables is in front of you, and fourteen other people sit around them, staring at stapled sheets of paper: your paper. It contains your fiction story.
Two weeks earlier, you had typed away at your keyboard, word after word, feeling like a genius. The story was perfect. A masterpiece. You couldn’t believe how amazing your talent was.
By Keith J. Clark
[This story is a runner up in the Fall 2017 flash fiction contest, “200 in 2 Weeks”]
“How much for a drink?”
“One piece.”
by Richard Southard, The River editor After doing these posts for a few weeks, and covering a number of main genres, it appears I’ve exhausted what would be my “easy” choices. … Continue Reading Musical Fridays: Just (Another) Friday
Empty Headed by Jade Hurteau. Click for more!
Tone. Tone, tone, tone. When I began writing this, I tried to think of tips my writing professors had given me to help establish tone. Of course, I came up with nothing. Brains work like that, I guess. Though I’m not completely sure I remember a time we really went over it in class in detail – it was just something everyone seemed to struggle with, yet no one seemed to have any solutions.
By Ronald Moran
It happened last night, the first time
in over
fifty years: I lay in bed for seven hours
awake,
by Richard Southard, The River editor I’ll admit: I’ve been dreading to write the Musical Friday post for Hip-Hop. Not because I don’t enjoy the music. In fact, it’s quite the … Continue Reading Musical Fridays: Hip-Hop
By Tyler Michaud
the uneasy refrain of my breath fills the modest apartment,
and you search for the words in its mass like rent in the laundry fund.
you’re in the next room, composing yourself. the arrhythmia in your step betrays you,
Name: John Everyman
Age: 37 Earth years.
Physical Description: He is every-man. He’s that dude. The dude you swore you’ve seen before, the one with the brown curly hair and sideburns, with blue eyes and a tall figure.
by Bob Meszaros
Here, foreclosures slowly rot:
their wooden shingles warp and snap;
at night, thieves and drunkards rip the molding
from the plaster walls and strip the copper
piping from below the sinks.
by Richard Southard, The River Editor I find “rock music” to be such a general term. I don’t often find myself describing music off the word alone, or at least not … Continue Reading Musical Fridays: Rock (ish)
Relax on a train traversing the scenic route through the mountains!
Meagan sits in a worn maroon chair with wooden armrests, opening her laptop. The chair rests to the right of the front doors – three of them, one after the other – two wooden and one screen, each keeping the last of the sticky summer heat inside the creative writing house. Normally, they would be used to keep the heat in during the winter; holes between the windows and their sills let in egregious amounts of air – but now, they just serve to stifle the room.
By Michaela Zelie
My body fought
when you began unraveling the threads
of its scar tissue veil.
I cringed at the way you read
the coordinates,
by Richard Southard, The River editor “For me, electronic music is like cooking: it’s a sensual organic activity where you can mix ingredients.” -Jean-Michel Jarre I find that quote interesting, mostly … Continue Reading Musical Fridays: Electronic
By Judy Carr
to share my luxury survival
condo located in renovated
Atlas F missile silo, equipped
to withstand nuclear shock, global
warming and other unnatural
disasters.