The first time Cassandra passed through the wall, she hadn’t meant to. She had been standing at the edge of a retirement party at the hospital feeling as uncomfortable as usual, had leaned her back against the wall, and...
Around the corner, the lot opened up and the asphalt smoothed out. The rough patches disappeared and Patrick glided along, gaining speed as he headed for a concrete barrier. A half dozen of them sat angled in different directions,...
He was not a very good person. He was, by many accounts, vile, impolite, crude, inappropriate, ignorant, insensitive, and offensive. He was a gifted asshole, a precocious prick, a well-rounded, ahead-of-the-curve, 40-under-40 douchebag- the kind of person whom other...
The eyewitness entered. He had no eyes. Unsteadily he made his way through the courtroom, groping the air with his hands. Blood ran from his eye-sockets, blood so red it seemed nothing could be redder than the red of...
At ten years old, I liked to jump out of my bedroom window at night and lie on my back behind the house. Here I could think about whatever I wanted without fear that the echoes of my mind...
Anne Bernays has been a mainstay of Pangyrus since our launch--and a mainstay of fiction and non-fiction writing for decades.
Co-author of What If?, one of the most enduring texts in creative writing, she's helped countless writers succeed. In her "Dear...
I once had a friend who was a microwave oven. She heated up quickly, but had a cold heart. I went to high school with her. We kept in touch over the years.
She married a man because she believed...
On his first visit from the town to the village, Matt's heart sank. The room he was supposed to teach in had no windows and barely even a door. It was nothing but a hovel, fashioned out of dried...
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When she turned the corner of the store, holding two gallons of paint in one hand and box of rainbow chalk in the other, I realized I’d dreamt about her the night before. In my dream, I was still...
The year my father moved to Oregon, I asked Santa to bring me a puppy. When he didn’t deliver, I began my lobbying campaign.
I had the perfect dog in mind—a Scottish terrier I’d call Blackie—and I drew pictures of...
The lake was alive with lights: the lanterns on the boats golden and round like hundreds of miniature suns, and the moon so heavy on the horizon it seemed impossible it would climb any higher in the sky. The...
An out-take from the acclaimed novel Heat and Light.
Jennifer Haigh:
In drafting a novel, I give myself permission to follow every thread of story that fascinates me. This keeps the process interesting, and results in livelier, more surprising...