The Mushroom Man, fiction by Sharon Hashimoto

Sharon Hashimoto's first book of poetry, The Crane Wife (co-winner of the 2003 Nicholas Roerich Prize and published by Story Line Press), has recently been reprinted by Red Hen Press. Her work has appeared in American Fiction, The American Scholar, Barrow Street, Louisiana Literature, North American Review, Poetry, Prairie Schooner, River Styx, Shenandoah and other literary publications. Her second book, MORE AMERICAN (Off the Grid Press, 2021), won the 2021 Off the Grid Poetry Prize and the 2022 Washington State Book Award in Poetry. She is a recipient of a N.E.A. fellowship in poetry. Recently retired from Highline College after twenty-nine years of teaching, she writes poetry, short stories, and is currently at work on a novel.

fictionPhoebe BoscheSeptember 19, 2022Raven Chronicles Pressfiction, sharon hasimoto, the mushroom man

The Chelsea Hotel by Ann Spiers

Have I told you about my honeymoon? It was perfect.

When I stepped out of the taxi into a pile of dog poo, I knew I was in New York City. I slipped out of my wedding shoes and left them curbside, proceeding barefoot in my wedding dress into the Chelsea Hotel lobby. Being so unshod was possible back in the great and late 1960s, the hippie days. The Chelsea was perfectly seedy, stinky, badly lit. I was a poet. Dylan Thomas drank upstairs.

fictionSarah SalcedoJuly 29, 2020ann spiers, the chelsea hotel, fiction, short fiction

“Changing Roads”: a story by Jeanette Weaskus

Raven Chronicles Literary Press nominated 6 poems & prose works for the 2019 Pushcart Prize, XLIV Edition. This is one of the nominated pieces: “Changing Roads”by Jeanette Weaskus

"Rider, Writer" Fiction by Jennifer D. Munro

ON the second day of our cross-country motorcycle trip, a stranger at a Washington state gas station said to my husband, “That bike is way too small for a trip like that.” The man eyed the sagging saddlebags on the 750cc Yamaha and on my thighs. “With her helmet-n-boots-n-jacket-n-all, The Wife alone probably comes in at about a hunnerd-n-fifty. Figure in another fifty for the rest of the gear.”

At least he didn’t kick my shins like tires. But the appraisal he gave me would have been different if I’d been revving my own engine instead of riding on the back of a man’s bike, lumped in with the luggage.

fictionSarah SalcedoJanuary 7, 2016jennifer munro, jennifer d munro, rider writer, fiction, short fiction

Essays & Fiction