New tales from the Midwest provides a suite of reports that commemorate an American quarter too usually overlooked in discussions approximately precise local literature. The editors solicited nominations from greater than three hundred magazines, literary journals, and small presses and narrowed the choice to 19 authors. The tales, written via Midwestern writers or targeting the Midwest, show that the standard of fiction from and concerning the middle of the rustic opponents that of the other area. visitor editor John McNally introduces the anthology, which positive factors brief fiction by means of Charles Baxter, Dan Chaon, Christopher Mohar, Rebecca Makkai, Lee Martin, and others.
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Additional resources for New Stories from the Midwest: 2012
She has an ass like a bread truck, so that when we walk around in the museum, I have to slide behind her to let people on the other side of the hall get past us. Nancy has to pretend not to notice I have dipped out of her peripheral vision and then popped back in to accommodate foot traffic. ” I watch the ridge of muscles in-between her trompe l’oeil eyebrows bulge out. She would be scowling, if she could. She says, “Sorry. You looked so unhappy over here. ” She sweeps an open palm out in the direction of the table like a stewardess showcasing an escape hatch.
Jimmy walks up from off the street, wearing only a T-shirt and some jeans. He rubs his hands over his thin biceps and I feel colder looking at him. He trips climbing onto the porch and walks into the bubble of light formed by the single bulb over the door. The lids of his eyes droop down and his mouth is slightly open. It’s only been a few weeks since we met, but I feel like I’ve been waiting forever for him to come find me. ” I start to tell him it isn’t mine to share, but before I can get a word in, he walks closer and says, “C’mon.
She was straddled against his hip and watched with silent interest as he bent down and snagged it. He’d had the feeling that it wouldn’t be just a normal dollar and he was right. There was writing on it. Someone had written along the margins of the bill in black ink, in a clear deliberate handwriting that he guessed might be a young woman’s. “I love you I miss you I love you I send this out to you I love you please come back to me I will wait for you always I—” This written all around the edges of the bill, and he was standing there studying it when his sister, Joni, came down the steps of the library toward them.