A Chat with James Wade
interview via email by Mai Nguyen Do James Wade lives in Austin, Texas, where he writes fiction for his wife and two dogs. His wife is encouraging, but t...
interview via email by Mai Nguyen Do James Wade lives in Austin, Texas, where he writes fiction for his wife and two dogs. His wife is encouraging, but t...
The window in the corner of the room framed pedestrians walking below on brick sidewalks as Star Langley bobbed and weaved in her wheelchair. Her creamy brown f...
TW: suicide A letter to my sister, Ericka Dear Ericka: Exactly three months have passed since you sat in your small American car, faced a r...
After six decades of living as drag queens in New Orleans, many aging, skanky-assed, washed-up, tired bitch-queens relocated on top of a patchy spot of brown mu...
On the final stretch of her eight mile run Morgan became fixated on the last slice of pumpkin praline cake leftover from Thanksgiving—a significant wedge lying ...
1. Few realized how quickly the world was converging on itself. In fact, few believed the world was converging at all. The earliest reports were dismissed, labe...
I couldn’t wake him up. I only sat there staring at the ceiling, a single gray stripe denoting its only partition, where in the mornings after I had been erased...
Poppy taught us where the safety is, and how to hold real still when your finger pulls the trigger. Into the hot baked clay, like mom’s cakes or her hair pomade...
He’ll pay me mint juleps for a Mississippi summer to see Purple Wave petunias bloom in crushed-velvet heat. To escape from cement and the city’s stale air for s...