The Girlfriend Game, stories by Nick Antosca

Word Riot Inc.: Kicking Small Press Into High Gear
Creative Nonfiction

The Pickle Jar by Ryan Barrett


Ryan Barrett is a Philadelphia native who currently lives in New York City, where she works in advertising. She has been published in The Huffington Post and Philly Daily News, and profiled by The Washington Post and Politico. In her free time, Ryan likes to work on her French, talk to strangers, and laugh.

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Creative Nonfiction

Mormon Boys in Cars by Ryan Shoemaker


Ryan Shoemaker’s work has appeared in Gulf Stream, Santa Monica Review, Silk Road Review, and Juked, among others. Find him at

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Creative Nonfiction

Catcher by Spencer Hyde


Spencer Hyde’s work has appeared in McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, Hobart, The Pinch, Sweet, and elsewhere. He is currently working on a long-ish story about a birder’s epidemic. He edits for elsewhere magazine. He currently lives and writes in Colorado.

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Creative Nonfiction

Terminal by Stephanie Golisch


Stephanie Golisch writes screenplays, short stories and travel essays. She has been published in two anthologies of PDX Writers, Bengal Lights and will have a piece in the upcoming edition of Mission at Tenth. A recipient of a 2014 Oregon Literary Arts fellowship, she calls Portland home.

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Creative Nonfiction

ORD by Soon Wiley


ORD – Chicago O’Hare International Airport, Chicago, Illinois USA


you beautiful bitch,

you miracle of a clusterfuck,

you anomaly of aeronautical common sense.

O’Hare is a conundrum; O’Hare is an oxymoron. The airport has been voted Best Airport in North America for ten years. It’s been labeled as “America’s Favorite Airport” by Business Traveler Magazine and Global Traveler Magazine. It’s also been ranked second worst in delays, behind JFK and LaGuardia – which seems utterly predictable. O’Hare alone accounts for over a sixth of flight cancellations in the United States of America.

You’re probably

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Creative Nonfiction

Wellsville by Louise Krug


Louise Krug is the author of Louise: Amended (2012), a memoir about the brain surgeries she had when she was 22. She teaches creative writing and composition at the University of Kansas in Lawrence, Kansas, where she lives with her husband and daughter. Some of her recent work has appeared in Parcel and Huffington Post. She has a collection of essays forthcoming from 99:The Press in 2015.

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Creative Nonfiction

Teaching Writing at the Juvenile Justice Center, Fresno, California by J.J. Anselmi


J.J. Anselmi holds an MFA in creative nonfiction from CSU Fresno, where he also worked as the Assistant Nonfiction Editor of The Normal School. His work is upcoming in Weber: The Contemporary West, and has appeared in Copper Nickel, The Writing Disorder, Obsolete!, and elsewhere. A regular contributor to Splicetoday, J.J. also loves beating the shit out of the drums for his doom band, Hymns to the Stone.

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Creative Nonfiction

Fancy Gap by Spencer Fleury


There is a place in Virginia where you can drive south and north at the same time. It’s right where two interstates cross, cutting through swaths of butternut and red cedar like baby’s first X. For about seven miles the two numbers share the same asphalt, and which direction you’re going depends solely on which highway you think you’re on.      If you think about this for a minute, it will make sense. Draw yourself a map if you need help.      This only works because the asphalt isn’t pointing either south or north. It runs east to west, so

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Creative Nonfiction

Scrap by Alex Norcia

Alex Norcia, Head Shot

We were all strippers. Three generations of men. My grandfather opened the scrap yard in the Ironbound in the ‘70s. He had seen his boss shot in the forehead and took over the business as a sort of formality. I never wanted to work there, and after my father took his father-in-law’s money and ran, I had more of an excuse to leave New Jersey. I aspired to be a writer, but I hadn’t done much other than aspire. I left college with no idea of what to do, or where to go, or how to start. I didn’t even

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Creative Nonfiction

Fool by Rick Bailey

Last night, halfway through Jeopardy, I asked my wife if she wanted to suck face. She shook her head in disgust. It’s not our usual nomenclature.      “How about a smooch?”      No.      “A peck?”      “No.”      “Buss?”      “Why do you talk that way?” She pointed at the TV. Alex Trebec was introducing Arthur Chu for the tenth time. Was there anything left to say about Arthur? While the Double Jeopardy categories loaded, I watched her. She saw me, and refused to make eye contact. The truth is, I didn’t want to kiss. I just wanted to

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