Getting Even, Letting Go: an Interview with Julian Tepper by Svetlana Satchkova
Julian Tepper’s fifth novel, Getting Even, Letting Go (Rare Bird, 2026), takes place over a single day in New York. We experience it with Gene Mills, a broke writer whose ex-wife has become a famous painter. Years after their marriage ended, Gene still has some forty paintings his ex-wife left behind. Among them are two portraits of a man she had an affair with while they were together. In need of money and still nursing the wounds of the marriage, he decides to sell the portraits at auction, hoping both for a financial windfall and, perhaps, a way of finally
Upshot by Selen Ozturk
“Guess our ages,” the clearly slightly oldest one says. “Start with our widdle baby.” I’d chosen the remotest nook of a bar that I choose daily at whatever hour my house gets cold, to bear in mind the end of my most painful, lonely, robust bond, which I’d since smoothly prolonged only another year. I compare the tiny bald face of the massive one, the baby, to the faces on both sides of him. “How old am I?” asks the one by the wilted plastic palm tree. “Here’s a hint: It’s one of our birthdays tonight. You may be off
Bradley Sides Recommends: Nine Collections that Capture Rural Settings in their Simple Beauty
Oftentimes, as a kid in rural Alabama, I fell asleep with my window open. I could hear a mix of cows mooing, frogs croaking, and creeks flowing. It was the best sound machine I’ve ever had. The days were just as pleasant. I swam in ponds, gave show cows baths, and hung out with my grandfather in his expansive garden. Each day was brimming with the natural beauty of the rural world. In my debut novella, The Volcano Keeper (Regal House, 2026), I plant my characters in a fictionalized rural Alabama community that is similar to the one I’m from.
Back when we lived in the flat that faced the street by Amber Ken
A man knocked on the door to comment on what we were eating for dinner, ‘got cheese on that’, he said, ‘can I have some?’ We were eating spaghetti bolognese, and then rethinking our table’s proximity to the windows. Back when we lived in the flat that faced the street we were watching reality TV one summer night, the smell of cigarette smoke. It wasn’t hot enough to need the windows open. I turned my head, saw fat fingers wriggling through our letterbox as though taunting. We let our dog do the talking and ran to the bedroom. Back when
Sex With Marge Simpson by Julián Martinez
We demand the presence of Marge Simpson—no family, no security—this Friday, 10am, at the Mt. Splashmore front entrance, right when they open the gates. A day of thrill and adventure for Marge and whichever suitor she will choose, her one true Husband and her, culminating in a weekend at Rancho Relaxo—any Marge fan worth their salt remembers Marge’s spa getaway. But the irresponsibilities of Homer brought her back to the rags of the household. This server, once the Husband’s chosen, will self-destruct—no rubbing it in, no rushing to screenshot what’s different about this hotel breakfast from their morning before. Those
Keepsake by Mark Williams
I was nursing a beer at Hoosier’s Bar in Cooke City, Montana, when he walked in. Little guy, about my age. Mid-twenties. He had blond dreadlocks and a scruffy goatee. There were a few people sitting at tables, but except for me, the bar was empty. With a dozen-or-so stools to choose from, Dreadlocks sat two down from me. I’d been working on my beer for most of a Chiefs/Colts game. The fourth quarter was about to start. Until then, the only words I’d heard the bartender say were, “We’re out of that,” to the waitress and, “Drink up, we