- Fiction
Dimitra Nikolaidou
“Sometimes you do a thing because it is the only arrow you have left in your quiver. You do it, not because you have a brilliant plan, but because if you do nothing your soul withers and dies.”
- Book Review
Paul StJohn Mackintosh
"There is no strident simplistic chest-thumping: the arguments, as well as the historical facts, are very well explored, and the often horrific consequences are demonstrated with great imagination."
- Book Review
Paul StJohn Mackintosh
"Conquerors live in dread of the day when they are shown to be, not superior, but simply lucky."
- Fiction
Matthew Sanborn Smith
"They pushed past the eighth layer of clothing. This was as deep as he’d dared go his first night in the house, once he’d realized what he had here."
- Book Review
J. S. Loveard
"Now I live inside a story and fret about its outcome."
- Book Review
William Grabowski
"[A] very large yellow butterfly with black spots like microchips on its wings; flying toward her: It had a scrunched-up, old man’s brown face, with wrinkles, sort of pruney, she thought."
Recent Posts
- Fiction
Dimitra Nikolaidou
“Sometimes you do a thing because it is the only arrow you have left in your quiver. You do it, not because you have a brilliant plan, but because if you do nothing your soul withers and dies.”
- Book Review
Paul StJohn Mackintosh
"There is no strident simplistic chest-thumping: the arguments, as well as the historical facts, are very well explored, and the often horrific consequences are demonstrated with great imagination."
- Book Review
Paul StJohn Mackintosh
"Conquerors live in dread of the day when they are shown to be, not superior, but simply lucky."
- Fiction
Matthew Sanborn Smith
"They pushed past the eighth layer of clothing. This was as deep as he’d dared go his first night in the house, once he’d realized what he had here."
- Book Review
J. S. Loveard
"Now I live inside a story and fret about its outcome."
- Book Review
William Grabowski
"[A] very large yellow butterfly with black spots like microchips on its wings; flying toward her: It had a scrunched-up, old man’s brown face, with wrinkles, sort of pruney, she thought."