I suppose I could have said that I was between jobs, or that I was changing careers. That I’d been distracted by the curious landscape of southern Quebec…
Do You Have Anything to Declare? by Angela Palm
Concrete by Riley H. Welcker
Father was the kind of man who separated the halves of his finger just to show my brothers and me the red flesh after accidentally slicing it with a construction knife…
Honor by Reynold Junker
…neither Roger nor I had dates that night. We’d spent the last two hours sitting in our skivvies underwear and robes in Roger’s room…discussing our almost-completed term papers.
Writing Life: Leaving Your Bad Neighborhood by Elizabeth Gaucher, Guest Columnist
I won’t say we can’t be fit and healthy, but I can say we aren’t exactly known for those characteristics. We are stereotyped as pasty, tortured, intellectual, deeply troubled people with a penchant for alcohol.
Flipped Interview: The Hippocampus Staff Answers Instead of Asks — Behind the Scenes at an Online Literary Magazine
Usually we ask the questions. We inquire the minds of memoirists, authors, agents, publishers, editors and other literary professionals.
Review: Never Can Say Goodbye – Writers on Their Unshakable Love for New York, edited by Sari Botton
If you’ve ever been pick-pocketed by a junkie, or roomed with an artist who painted with his own blood and semen, or watched two rats fight over human feces, then I have a must-read for you.
Hippocampus Magazine Announces Six 2014 Pushcart Prize Nominees
The Pushcart Prize is one of the most coveted honors in literary publishing. And it all starts with a story, submitted to a magazine like ours.
Lessons in Sign by Jennifer Alise Drew
We leave the car in a narrow spot along the shoulder of Highway 1 and slide the boy into the red backpack, careful as we work his long legs through the seat…
Variations on Prayer by Sophie Lucido Johnson
They are a parade of stringless, impossibly fast kites; so kaleidoscopic that a sighting conjures questions of hallucination.
Another Version of Us by Suzanne Farrell Smith
It’s raining when we exit Saks on 49th and Fifth, so I pull umbrellas from my tote. The walk sign blinks, and I move quickly. He blocks my way.
