Authors

Poetry

Not all his children love themselves. Look at little Adrienne.

Poem of the Week

I make peas and argue with a wall. Something gets stuck like that.

Features

The best writers talk a story the way they put it down on the page.

Fiction

He fell to the floor and begged the gods. The gods were silent.

Narrative Outloud

Charlie wasn’t Lena’s first love, but he counted on being her last.

Narrative Outloud

If it were fiction, calling the place Newtown would be too much.

Story of the Week

The new generation doesn’t play war, which is a shame; they text.

Fiction

Rise the Euphrates, my first novel, grew out of a feverish dream.

Editors' Note

We encourage our readers to submit their own memoirs and essays...

Editors' Note

We are pleased to announce the new Narrative website design.

Editors' Note

Welcome to the

new Narrative!

Celebrating our

Fifth Anniversay.

Editors' Note

Whether an editor contributes much or little, the work is the writer’s own.

Editors' Note

Is this the best of times or the worst of times for readers and writers?

Editors' Note

Narrative offers any reader a modern pocket library.

Narrative Outloud

Lust was just a frenzy of activity that had mostly led Benny in circles.

Interviews

I’ve wavered in confidence, but never on whether I was going to write.

Narrative Outloud

Jennifer Egan’s A Visit From the Goon Squad wins Pulitzer Prize.

Interviews - Audio/Video

Audio clips of Pultizer Prize winner Jennifer Egan on her work.

Story of the Week

Her bra is black, her breasts full and white. There is too much flesh.

Narrative 10

Love is the difference between a full life and an empty one.

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Nonfiction

We’d never had a cross word, but I’d never corrected him.

Fiction

I put my arm around Larry’s shoulders and ask him to pull over.

Fiction

She pulls quickly on her cigarette and blows it at me through the phone.

Narrative Outloud
Narrative Outloud

I tell my sister what I didn’t tell my father, I love you. Please, don’t die.

Winter Contest Winners

The graffiti suggests the most essential story of New Haven.

Poetry

What I want is a woman who knows all the meanings of indulgence.

Story of the Week

His mother wasn’t there to meet him at his stop. She never was.

iStories

Someone’s walk is pretty much who they are, from the beginning.

iStories

If you play, decide three things: the rules, stakes, and quitting time.

iStories

She’d planned to choose an adult film and lie back with him to watch.

iStories

Mr. Holt had grown old since Beverly last saw him. He looked weary.

iStories

He’d always wanted to kiss her thigh dimples but never dared.

iStories

It was hard to know what memories or images had marked him.

Fall Contest Winners

I miss sex. I really liked it, and I was good at it, if I do say so myself.

Story of the Week

No poet, no artist of any art, has his complete meaning alone.

Poetry Contest Winners

i was a wild thing down by the river, quiet like wild things are.

Story of the Week

There was no sense in brushing off or any other civilized thing.

iStories

This is what he must have felt when she told him about her affair.

iStories

She holds the shirt to her face and inhales. With a start she pulls away.

Spring Contest Winners

She alone knew how he could be swept up, tender interior laid bare.

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Poem of the Week

The waves have heard of you. How you caress, how you kiss.

Poem of the Week

Show me your darkness, your nothing-to-see and everything to touch.

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Fiction

For a month after 9/11 Bella wept through all her appointments.

iStories

We pushed through the doors, back into the audition, among the lithe adults.

Poem of the Week

A wildness and all the ways I could never be classy enough for pearls.

Poem of the Week

I’m mourning in the armpits of a lover we once called a family friend.

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Fiction

Design a way to kill those rats, and do it now, Fiori, do it now.

Poetry

It is here I learn the speech of men. The speechless guilt of every swig.

Poem of the Week

We have harvested nothing more than the stench of middle age.

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Story of the Week

He smelled like the bars my mother took me to in the middle of the day.