Fiction

When Abigail stretched out her arms and chirped in her sweet, piping voice, "We're all going to die!" we couldn't help but laugh...

Dan's most recent short story was published in the 20th anniversary edition of Bellevue Literary Review.

If we were not so young and beautiful as we’d been in those years before the babies, at least we were beginning to look less tired...

He grew a beard some years into the new century, after beards came into fashion among young men but before they went out again. This was the winter of the Paris attacks...

She arrived under fog of epidural at the culmination of a successful mating season between a hedge-fund magnate and an East Hampton catalogue model...

They talked about writing important things. Some wrote very popular things and could talk so as to make the very popular things they wrote seem important. They winnowed. They channeled. They allowed for marginalia...

If it pleases the Board, I prefer to investigate this subject collectively. There is one question in particular, a most vexing question about the nature of the testing process, which has been dogging my mind...

On the morning of the Inevitable Event, one hundred and eighty adolescents––the early comers, twitching like feral cats at the long mica tables of the cafeteria, heads bowed to handhelds––stiffened in synchrony, reflexively, like an orchestra tensing to the lift of a conductor’s baton....

Dan's flash piece –– "Gate 36" –– appeared in the Fall 2015 issue of Carve Magazine. Full gloss, honest fiction, plus an essay by Andres Dubus III.

Chase works the edge of the pool with the shovel, sweat plinking from the tips of his hair, chittering out the perpetual monologue of the eight-year-old boy. Mallory, elfin-eared, eleven, sits squinching her brown toes in the delicious warmth of the bottom sand...

One: a mango-wood pencil cup. Hollow sound. Clat. Juke on the desk. Two-inch shimmy. Slip the pencils out, expecting a lizard. Empty, then. Indonesian piece. Carved, bas-relief delphinium...

Ross McMeekin analyzes "Shifts" at the Ploughshares blog.

Memories are like Asian pears. Store them cold and they will keep. She climbed shivering out of the river. The Taigan smeared its nose on her shin. Soily fish...

The esteemed American novelist, Greg Ivanovski, arrived via the New Canaan branch on a Wednesday morning. By lunchtime, the rumble of loafers and wedge heels had the Louis IX chandeliers rocking on their chains...

An epic tale of romance, suspense, comedy, and tragedy––in eight words.

We planted the coconut palm our first fall in the house, and baptized it by hose, and sawed the lowest fronds off with the corona, and loved it as you love a pet or a handmade thing...

Dan's story of the Shoah, based on his Grandparents' survival testimony, won The Florida Review Editor's Award for Fiction, and was published in Volume 38.

The artist came shambling along the river and though she tried to avoid him he apprehended her and begged her to walk with him to the Gagosian...

(At an Outdoor Café on the Bowery.) He talks and she taps ideograms and slides her thumbs and lets slip her tongue and nods as if thrown into distraction by each word...

Poured from a dusty bottle of Bordeaux: wine she’d been saving for a special moment.