MR CHIPS AND THE MANGO-TANGO MOTHER SHIP BY ALICE HATCHER 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 36
She’d left her so-called husband on the couch, watching a Super Bowl half-time performance by some kinky little biped in spandex tights. He’d had his head so far buried in televised tits that he hadn’t noticed her going in and out of the house to load the car during the second quarter, taking breaks only to peek into the living room for an occasional glimpse of Aaron Rodgers, the only human being (certainly the only NFL quarterback) worth half a rat’s turd, from what she could tell. The miserable specimen didn’t even look up when she said she was going out to get some cigarettes. It served the son-of-a-bitch right to make his own damn supper, or at least reheat last night’s leftover tuna casserole and then spend the rest of his allotted lifespan drinking beer with his knuckle-dragging buddies (nothing against apes, who seemed cognitively advanced, relative to humans, and until sexual maturity, quite congenial). Served him right to be shit-out-of-luck in the relationship department. The human race didn’t need the likes of him reproducing, anyway.
WILLIE WAYNE WILLIAMS, PHD 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE CLARA B JONES ISSUE 36
THE LANDLINE BY JOSEPH GRANTHAM 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 36
Most of us are searching for meaning in the madness, seeking answers to questions in love, sex, spirituality, family), hopes of escape, Bruce Springsteen songs, or vodka-laced mango slushies. Most of us are looking for the Mother Ship.
My fiction always begins with the premise: what if? The inspiration for The Landline came about because for several years bill collectors kept calling my number trying to locate the Laura Brink of my story.
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BARBARA L BAER
Like most everyone else, I’m busy skating around on the surface, but sometimes I just stare into space and think about who and what has gone from life, and about the planet as it heats up.
I dream of being known, of being loved for my stories and their characters. Some valuable lessons I’ve learned about writing have to do with discipline, such as to focus on the writing, not on the drama of my own anxieties, and to build on the mood of the story, no matter how vulnerable it makes me feel—in fact, the more vulnerable the better.
CLARA B JONES
I think that reality is fractured and discursive—we all, for instance, are good and bad, subject and other, present and alienated, healthy as well as sick.
My story The Good Consort is published in the 34thParallel Magazine Issue 31 . My poems, flash fiction, essays, reviews, and interviews are published in Transnational , Matter , Bluestem , The Yellow Chair Review , WNC-Woman , The Review Review , Entropy , and others.
I often fear that I am not who I am supposed to be, or even who I want to be, though I am not really sure I know who either of those people are. I think, for a lot us, myself included, we are raised with one set of expectations for what our lives are going to be, but we grow up and realize that those expectations were not our own.
My work has been published in The Auburn Circle (Auburn University).