Musical Fridays: Taking It Easy
by Richard Southard Remember last week when I said I would do a more “topical” and “conversational” post? Well, I was in the process of that, and my saved post … Continue Reading Musical Fridays: Taking It Easy
Cardboard Box Heart
By M. Stone
Dear stained glass Jesus:
they tucked me between pews
so I could imagine my heart
as a cardboard box, flaps open
to entice you.
Plot? What of It?
By Meagan Jones
Two people walk into a bar.
One says, “I’ll have a glass of H20, please.”
The second says, “I’ll have a glass of H20, too.”
The second person dies.
New Day
By Barbara Alsop
The soft paw strokes my face
purr rumbling like a deep earthquake.
Musical Fridays: Maine Artists
by Richard Southard, The River editor Last week, as I was writing the post “Music from WUMF”, I began to think about the great local artists that we have received music from … Continue Reading Musical Fridays: Maine Artists
Twain, Found In the Ruins
by Matthew Campbell
“My kind of loyalty was loyalty to one’s country, not to its institutions or its officeholders. The country is the real thing, the substantial thing, the eternal thing; it is the thing to watch over, and care for, and be loyal to; institutions are extraneous, they are its mere clothing, and clothing can wear out, become ragged, cease to be comfortable, cease to protect the body from winter, disease, and death.”
― Mark Twain, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court
Self-Critique: The Red Pen in Your Hands
By Meagan Jones
I firmly grip the red pen, but my hand’s shaking, and the pen spills drops of red ink on the freshly printed paper. I think vaguely about how there have been studies about red pens – how they negatively affect the human psyche. Red, scribbled all over a paper, is a student’s worst nightmare.
Aluminum and Gold
By Elizabeth Kane
[This story is the official winner of the Fall 2017 Flash Fiction contest, “200 in 2 Weeks”]
She would’ve gone anywhere. Her tap shoes scraped the pebbly sidewalk, the tulle on her skirt fluffing in the cool wind. The light from her dance studio blinked out down the street as her teacher locked the door.
Musical Fridays: Music From WUMF
by Richard Southard, The River editor Since my first year at UMF, I have been involved with 91.5 WUMF, the campus radio station. Music had remained in my interest out of high-school, … Continue Reading Musical Fridays: Music From WUMF
Transparencies
By M.J. Iuppa
[This story is a runner up in the Fall 2017 flash fiction contest, “200 in 2 Weeks”]
No one suspected that she’s the one who said, so long. Until
someone called—the sudden blast of the cell phone, ringing
like Paul Revere, like Chicken Little fearing the sky’s falling.
Workshops and Critiques: All in the Life of A Piece
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.
Penny For Your Thoughts
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.”
Musical Fridays: Just (Another) Friday
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
Empty Headed by Jade Hurteau. Click for more!
Trending Towards Tone
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.
The Arms of Morpheus
By Ronald Moran
It happened last night, the first time
in over
fifty years: I lay in bed for seven hours
awake,