Learning to work the twisted stairs was like learning a language.
Author: joanspilman
Former teacher, writer of Appalachian Literature, short stories, and fantasy. Current publication, "This Will Never Stop" see Kirkus Reviews, Vol. LXXXXVII, NO. 22 Nov. 15, 2019. Also featured on booktrib, and Booklife. Has published a YA entitled "Sansablatt Head", and books for children under the general title of "The Waddling Dead". Received MFA from Wichita State University where she received the fellowship. Published in Southern Humanities Review, Short Story International, Carriage House Review,Willow Springs, Laurel Review and other literary magazines. Winner of George Garrett Prize for Best Prose, W.WashingtonU. Winner of Microkosmos Fiction Award, WSU. Winner of John Maier Award at Marshall University.
Intro to “Nonna” (A Harshbarger Mills Story)
The King, alive on a hot pink tee shirt, lives again. Of the four poses, this one is his favorite. This is the way he would look, Reuben decided, if he were a star.
This Textured Darkness, #57
There are twenty one steps above, each designed to break a leg or crack a skull.
This Textured Darkness, #56
Releasing the gonfalon, Mirella had managed to take two steps before falling flat.
This Textured Darkness, #55
Mirella had run the halls, feeling as though she owned everything in sight.
This Textured Darkness, 54
The Red Robes were watching the crowd. If she were caught using the secret passageway, no excuse would spare her.
This Textured Darkness, #53
“Ah, the little Shivelite girl,’ Lord Birknell sounded sympathetic while peering down her bodice. “May I be of assistance?”
This Textured Darkness, #52
“I must find my handkerchief. I lost it in the press of the crowd.” Mirella said.
“You’ve got a secret,” Bresca’s eyes narrowed.
This Textured Darkness, #51
Fresco’s eyes, described by the poet’s as limpid pools, were now surprisingly alert.
This Textured Darkness, #50
“No wonder the skinny chit remembered him,” remarked a raven haired beauty. “Did you notice his codpiece?
