Natalie Warther

Natalie Warther received her MFA from Bennington College. Her story “Bye Bye Baby” was a 2024 Pushcart Prize Nominee, and she placed second in the 2024 American Short(er) Fiction Prize. Her most recent fiction has been published in Wigleaf, HAD, and Smokelong. She lives in Los Angeles. Learn more at Nataliewarther.com

OUTSIDE HUSBAND by Natalie Warther

April 9, 2025 · Fiction

The survivalist stuff started as a hobby for my husband. An attempt to disconnect from the tech-dependent modern world. But quickly, our renovated backyard started looking more like a trash dump than a place to entertain the neighbors. He just kept making “tools.” Dental floss snares. Crayon candles. Pantyhose fishing nets. Dryer lint tinder. Maple syrup mouse traps. He used every single trash bag in the house for the water collection system. “Where are your shoelaces?” I called to my sons as they trudged towards the bus stop, flopping out of their sneakers. “Dad took them for his tourniquet kit.”…

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BABY ON BOARD by Natalie Warther

July 16, 2021 · Fiction

It’s not a lie. It’s just a sticker. A sticker that says there’s a baby on board, when technically there is not. Can you blame me? You’ve seen how careful people are around a new mother. Otherwise, they are reckless. Besides, people lie about much worse. And there is no sticker that says “Be careful, please, I have a lot of student debt.” Plus, it’s not like there aren’t important things in my backseat. The screenplay I’m writing about a boy who wants to play major league baseball, for example, and a pile of towels from my mother’s garage. Why…

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EILEEN GETS A LITTLE BIT DRUNK by Natalie Warther

January 13, 2021 · Fiction

My sons were watching a movie in the living room and I was upstairs, rummaging through their bathroom. I’m not really sure why, I almost never go in there, but there I was, and I’d had some wine, and we hadn’t left the house for twelve days, for Christ’s sake, so what else was I supposed to do? I looked in the drawers, looked in the shower, looked in the trash can, looked in the mirror and I looked old. I stuck my finger out like a cane, pointed it at the mirror, furrowed my eyebrows, and whispered at my…

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