Listen to "A Three-Hour Tour". It’s pellets from your sister’s mouth as she spits fuck that, fuck them, they’re not injecting that shit in me, and you wonder if six feet really is far enough, even out on the lawn of your mother’s nursing home with your N95 properly fitted, and no more mandates, no more isolating, no more free tests sailing into the mailbox monthly because everyone says it’s over, thank god, and your sister ranting about how they’re...
Listen to "Under the Rose". Her birth was so violent, she must have thought it was death. I told McMahon, “Take her out and leave her at the bakery on Bancroft Road. They get in early. Wrap her up real tight, and watch from the car until they find her.” But he wouldn’t do it, and ended up giving her to a lady he knew in Pennsylvania. After about a year, she sent a photo of “Baby Marion” crawling in...
To make a tilberi you need wool and if you can’t find wool, you can use your husband’s pubic hair, and if you can’t find your husband’s pubic hair because he shaved it all off and fed the remnants to birds, you can use the hair of a whore, and if you can’t find the hair of a whore you can use dryer lint stolen from bougie lake cabins where people leave their dryers on as they depart so that...
Listen to "Jubilee" read by Tierney Oberhammer. I fell in love with an improv comedian, after the apocalypse. Neither was what I had planned for myself. When the attack came, we were both with different people, people who died horrible deaths, too horrible to mention to each other, except now, tonight, just once, for the first time, after curfew, after lights out, in the glow of the ship’s vending machines and emergency exits, in his cabin, without clothes, naked, in...
There’s a dog curled up, sleeping. There are crows, screaming. Behind the dog, below the crows, there is a wall. There is one word inscribed on the wall. Azadi. Behind that wall is a military camp. Ask the men of my country what lies inside that camp. And they will tell you about death. About traces of their blood, their skin, their flesh, their bones and their ghosts hanging from the walls of the camp. Calling for help. Calling for...
SmokeLong Quarterly has been dedicated to publishing the best flash narratives since 2003.
March 2024
I have so much to tell you. Issue 83 is somewhat of a milestone. With the current issue we are introducing audio to SmokeLong, after 20 years. It took us a while. Please forgive us. Flash is meant to be heard, so we’re excited to offer this option. Issue 83 contains five narratives. This is… Continue reading New Front (continue reading)
The Hybrid Flash: How to Dual-Wield Genre
The Hybrid Flash with Erin Vachon
In this webinar/workshop, you will harness the experimental power of hybrid flash. You will discover the intertwined history of hybrid and flash, and read published flash crossed with image, poetry, and creative nonfiction. You will learn the rules of each genre, so you know how to break them.
Your donation helps writers and artists get paid for their work. If you’re enjoying what you read here, please consider donating to SmokeLong Quarterly today.
Now in the shop
Participation in the A SmokeLong Summer virtual book fair, pre-recorded publisher interviews, a publishers panel discussion with Autumn House, Alternating Current Press, Rose Metal Press, and Curbstone Books; 3 open mic parties; and optional participation in a SmokeLong reading group! Participate in all three webinars with Steve Edwards, Ingrid Jendrzejewski, and Farhana Khalique. All online events… Continue reading A SmokeLong Summer —
The Works!
Marguerite Sheffer is a writer and educator who lives in New Orleans, Louisiana. Her debut collection, The Man in the Banana Trees, won the Iowa Short Fiction Award and will be published in Fall 2024. Maggie received her MFA from Randolph College and is a founding member of Third Lantern Lit, a community writing collective, and the Nautilus and Wildcat Writing Groups. You can find her @mlensheffer.
