Some Thoughts on Florida literature
At best this narrative elevates the state to the level of mythology (a pattern of bungling Florida men become Florida Man). At worst Florida is no more than the butt of a joke...
Prose
Czar Thumbsky
A troupe of Russian dwarves retired from the circus to found a community built to their scale in South Florida. They purchased land off the Tamiami Trail bordering an endless plain of flooded sawgrass and called it Sweetwater, a mistranslation of the Seminole name for the same swamp.
An Excerpt from The Way of Florida
The sharp oyster beds cut into the feet and to move in the water is a slowness. There is a quiet around you there. The sun is almost welcome. Is almost a wanted sun up above the window of the sea you wade through the bending sights below all bended and rippled you pass a hand through that waterpane and see your arm take an angle to the oyster there...
Out Out
I was desperate for a CVS, but instead found one of those birds—long neck bent like a spring, beak like a spear, caw like a motor that won’t turn over—wading in somebody’s blue blow-up pool.
Vow
An excerpt from Pat Rushin's new story collection, Quantum Physics & My Dog Bob.
Egg-Laying Queen
The bucket was half full of papery spit globs. Soon she’d be able to take it outside and add onto her project: an enormous wasp nest big enough to house a human body.
Jack’s Chair
There’s something haunting about the chair. It commands the back room of the small cottage on Clouser Avenue in Orlando like some sort of derelict general...
Orlando Jones Lends An Ear
I’ll have you know I was almost chum once. And that’s not something you should go around calling people in the Keys...
The Works of Tele: Matt Kamm
I would like to think that as we age with our work, we understand ourselves more...
An Audioanimatronic of Richard M. Nixon Awaits the Next Executive Addition to the Hall of Presidents
I’ve been standing here in absolute darkness for months, me and my forty-three counterparts. I can hear the rustling of Gerald Ford’s restless fingers on the hem of his jacket to my right. Below me, Theodore Roosevelt is breathing so forcefully, he may rip his suit. Bottom stage left, Ronald Reagan is weeping uncontrollably.