Best Short Stories from The Saturday Evening Post 2015
Sarah Gerard, Mathieu Cailler, Lisa Trank, Anita Garner, John Van Kirk
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
The Best Short Stories from the Saturday Evening Post Great American Fiction Contest 2015 features more than 25 must-read new stories — representing all genres of fiction from today’s talented pool of up-and-coming writers, many making their national publishing debut.
From a sideshow on Coney Island to a coast-to-coast road trip set in 1939, from a small-town courthouse after WW II to a cocktail party among academics in contemporary Chicago, the Best Short Stories 2015 presents a diversity of style and subject matter guaranteed to engage and entertain. Award-winning author Michael Knight returns to introduce the third volume in the series, showcasing this year’s winning story by emerging writer N. West Moss.
For more than 200 years, The Saturday Evening Post has been publishing a who’s who of American authors — Ray Bradbury, F. Scott Fitzgerald, William Faulkner, Louis L’Amour, Jack London, Joyce Carol Oates, Edgar Allan Poe, Anne Tyler, Kurt Vonnegut Jr., Sinclair Lewis, among so many others — and continues to support the legacy of the storyteller.
and the polishing increased in September when he gave me a ruby engagement ring for our one-year anniversary. He made me aware that I regularly dropped consonants from words and that I used too many clichés. My taste in film was primarily good but some all-time favorites didn’t do me credit, such as Private Benjamin with Goldie Hawn. It seemed I used quite a few words with political overtones — like bork — that some wouldn’t appreciate. And then there was the street where I lived — Goethe. I
other with gauging eyes and shrouded thoughts. On Tammy’s mind was the worry that she looked unattractive under the punitive sheen of the florescent panels. But then she dismissed the worry with the thought that she was wearing Reinhold’s favorite “frock,” a blue-and-white checked dress with a white lace collar, and that her sandy brown hair was shampooed and combed and falling loose to her shoulders. She remembered how Reinhold had once said he liked the American “tidiness” of her appearance —
knees. For a moment she considered apologizing. And then she decided it was he who should apologize to her. And then she decided neither owed the other an apology at all, it was a simple matter of miscommunication. It’s this place, she thought. Happy Trails. It was supposed to be a temporary stop on a wider journey across America. She’d never envisioned actually taking up residence there. One electrical outlet, one sewer hook-up, $10 a night, the distant drone of the interstate, the constant
Minnie blurted out. “We love it,” Miss Copland responded, “don’t we, Mama?” Mrs. Copland couldn’t answer because she had a mouth full of Aunt Sophie’s magical cooking. Aunt Sophie had cooked surprises and the Coplands loved the surprises; they hired Aunt Sophie to cook for the wedding. When the wedding rolled around, the cousins helped Aunt Sophie cook the food and she took us with her to help her cater. We wore matching aprons that Aunt Sophie had bought for us. We worked hard and our
show the girls how to sail,” he explained. The man on the dock helped my mother into the 10-foot sailboat and steadied her as she sat down on the low seat in the middle. My sisters and I climbed in next to her. We huddled together in the center of the boat for security as well as warmth. It was getting quite cold. As our father got in and sat at the tiller, the man who stood on the dock leaned over to hand him two paddles. “We won’t need those,” Father called out to him jauntily. “We’ll be