As I write, the Red Sox are playing the Yankees, hoping to maybe get their second win of the season. It’s a beautiful day in April (minus the, um, maybe second win part) and I’m not playing. Not watching. Likely, I won’t know who won until much later tonight. If the Red Sox lose, I will surely have cursed them by writing this, for which I will feel eternally guilty. There, I’ve said it. (If this makes not an ounce of sense, stop reading. Go watch Fever Pitch. Do come back after. »
by Scott Miller
Like the famed Mars rovers Spirit and Opportunity, this little project we call The Splinter Generation is rapidly approaching the fourthyear of its six-month projected lifetime. Once an experiment in literary community service, we have burgeoned into a full-scale journal.
Some people might be happy to sit back and admire the achievement, but. »
Heather Luby grew up in the Ozarks and proudly considers herself a literary hillbilly. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Word Riot, Bartleby Snopes, Halfway Down the Stairs, The Citron Review, Travel by the Books, and Annotation Nation. She holds an MFA from Antioch University Los Angeles.. »