The Museum of Americana, an online literary review  that “revives or repurposes the old, the dying, the forgotten or the almost entirely unknown aspects of Americana,” invited very short (500-word) essays involving “creatures . . . from pets to beasts of burden.”

That prompted a reminiscence of Deep Springs, California. In accepting it, editors Lauren Alwan and Lindsey Griffin said they “enjoyed the elegiac stance, an unexpected approach to a subject often full of bravado.” It’s published now; read it ==>>here.

I doubt that many folks here in my retirement community  have even considered online dating services like eHarmony, Match, etc. But a few months ago someone mentioned trying one, so who knows? there may be others. I would find the idea distasteful, but was prompted to imagine a recently widowed man being urged by his son to sign up for such a service, and balking. Aiming for a sense of mournful open expanse, I placed it on the Platte River in Nebraska where the sandhill cranes stop each spring, which prompted a title.

A literary magazine named Nightingale & Sparrow wanted stories for their 5th issue on a ‘love’ theme, and they liked my Threshing. You can buy the volume at Amazon or other booksellers; read it online at their website (my story is at page 57) or (easiest) read it ==>here

Toho Journal, a fledgling literary magazine in Philadelphia, was looking for short-short stories with a strong sense of place. Toho is an ancient Japanese word for sword, and the editors wanted “pieces that are sincere and honest and that send shivers down our spine.” In less than 500 words.

I’d recently written about two of the most sincere and honest neighbors Brad and I had in our 65 years together, and I thought I’d successfully conveyed a sense of Connecticut farming country where we built our first house. I wasn’t sure about shivers down the spine, but I sent the story, and they liked it.

It’s now online at https://www.tohopub.com/thrift

. . . and of course here at my blog

Toho Journal, a young print-and-online literary magazine based in Philadelphia, invited short stories for its second issue that managed a strong sense of place in less than 500 words.

The place that came to mind was New Hartford, where I built our first house — and the near neighbors who still largely lived off the woodlands as their Yankee forebears had. I called it Thrift.

The journal is available now for $20, and an online version is promised soon. Meantime, yo9u can read my st0ry ==>here.

Falling Star Magazine invited short stories somehow involving an intersection. The one that popped into my mind was on a floor of Death Valley, where a college pal and I explored an unusual sand dune and got caught in a blinding sandstorm on New Year’s Eve almost 70 years ago. It was also, symbolically, a nice intersection of a dark desert and a hostelry ablaze with holiday lights.

But the magazine didn’t invite narrative non-fiction. Never mind, I’d turn myself into “Andy” and relate that night in the third person.

The editors liked it. You can buy a copy of the winter issue at an online bookstore name Lulu (sorry, they haven’t so far made this issue available online) — or just read it ==>>here

I suggested to the editor who chose my short story “Ransom” that the author bio mention my debt to William Sydney Porter and Red Chief. Alas, he must not be an O. Henry fan, so there’s no such acknowledgement.
The story did, though, meet the criterion established by the online magazine, Defenestrationism — that, as the name implies, it involves an incident of (figuratively, at least) throwing people out of windows.
It’s a contest. You can read my story, and participate in a reader poll, ==>>here

(But don’t feel compelled to take time to vote. In their 2016 contest, there were 2,494 votes cast, so it would take a LOT of my friends to make much difference. I took second place in 2016 —with a short-short titled “Surveillance” — read it ==>>here — but that year there was no runner-up prize. There is, this year: two will get $30 each. Not exactly a king’s ransom!

Part of downsizing, on my way to selling the house and moving to Seabury, was selling or giving away clothes. An ad for what seemed a high-fashion consignment shop on the Berlin Turnpike caught my eye. Emily and I took a bunch of Brad’s things one morning—which proved the inspiration for a short story that’s now out in Every Pigeon magazine, readable online ==>>here