write this
emmer effer
a pretend genius broadsuction
some days are better than none
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volume 4, issue vi, 10.31.2009

The Directionless Lunch Van of Pooty Holler

"The whispering became louder now, faster.  It made her laugh. And the aroma of something.  It didn’t matter. Very tranquil, shiny and glassy like obsidian. Underneath she was naked.  She sucked her lips. She didn’t want to go there.

“Whatever you say, sir.”

She began to tremble then restrained herself thinking that if she just kept very very still and pretended it wasn’t there it would leave. She smiled sweetly and sat down on her towel."

Haunted Alice

"Beware and maybe something else. A moon fallen and become liquid. Hard to define, but there it was. Erase it from your mind. It’s been so long since we played, stooped, crouched figures in white and blue. The watery womb of the moon."

Melodie Hongroise

"And still the perspective failed, white windows drooped, still this melodie, always this melodie, this melodie hongroise. There was a whiff of fetid air, the smell of sewage water. She looked into his handsome face. The absence of muzak was something she wasn’t used to. She laughed in spite of her discomfort, grateful for the momentary distraction. She never thought she would end up being somebody’s mistress. "


"We apologize to these authors for leaving any of their work recognizable.

Alice Godwin lives in...

Catherine Edmunds’new novel...

Derek John is useless...

Janet Tay is a..."


A spooky thing happened on the way to the October Issue. We collected the submissions in the usual way by downloading and feeding them into the pretend genius mainframe. On selection day the editors convened in the viewing room like we always do. We had our cookies and goat’s milk. Nothing unusual. Exchanged pleasantries. Made ourselves comfortable and we’re ready to get down to business. We have dozens of monitors set up around the room and normally each submission is opened on its separate screen while we go to work with yammers and whistles. But this time when we flipped the switch on... if I were to describe to you what happened it would read like bad Halloween fiction. It would include these sorts of words:

Oooooooo hhh OOoooooOOO
Bare Tree

And we couldn’t do that. We have too much respect for you the reader.  After the smoke cleared the mainframe was a molten heap which is, I admit, hyperbole. But with our hair all stuck on end and our clothes in frightened decolletage four monitors survived. Three stories and one screen containing four biographies. This was a puzzle. The three stories was fine but a document of biographies shouldn’t appear. We’re happy to use these three stories if that’s all we’ve got but... what about these biographies? Where did they come from?

Miles Cimerman thought we must be missing one story. Bloog was all ‘Aaaaagh it’s the turtle brains and worms!’ It took little Annie Orwell to point out what is, in retrospect, the obvious. These stories have been chopped in pieces and spit back out in this form. The biographies are the authors of four separate stories that are now three mingled stories. ‘Oh my God’ Bloog screamed. ‘We’ve been touched by destiny’. Then we read the stories.

We thought our work was done when the mainframe gave a little hiccup. A few motors whirred. The biography screen began to roll. It read “Ghostwritten by...” (with those three dots) and then it began to scroll dot after dot after dot and at this date October 27th is still scrolling. So this is what we’re going to do. We can’t see actually paying these authors 50 useless American dollars for a few phrases here and there – you know – so we’re going to pay these four authors $25 and the other $100 will go to the ghostwriter in the form of a donation to the nonprofit corporation you’ve been hearing so little about. Too little. Not enough at all. Pretend Genius. This is a one time only deal. I mean... What could we do? We didn’t know. We thank little Annie for pulling our asses out of the fire.

We are beginning a new feature at this fine little website, a message board. Its purpose will become apparent as we go along. We have plans. Small plans. Just you wait. To begin things, from now on all authors that we publish must join the message board in order to be interviewed. That means you, Alice, Catherine, Derek, and Janet. Do it now.

Holiday Generated Editor
Skip Blancherson

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previous issue:
Long Live King Ludd. The Fail Issue.

upcoming themes:  submit here

the blasphemy issue - issue 4.8
Opening Date: October 22nd
Closing Date: December 1st
Publication Date: December 21st

Summation: You love God. You hate God. We won't judge. Come to us to with your devotions, your confessions, or your proclamations. Or come to us with your disdain, your warnings. Bring us your Goddesses and Nymphs. Jesuses. Or your Darwins. Your Hubbardwacks. Your when you're dead you're dead. We don't care. And join together, one and all, in what shall be a heartwarming dialogue of "Fuck God." "Fuck God? No. God is Great. Fuck you." We will choose fairly from the pro god and anti god camps. No agnostics please.

fuck this apocalypse - issue 4.10
Opening Date: December 22nd
Closing Date: February 1st
Publication Date: February 21st

Summation: Every generation thinks that they are living at the cusp of the apocalypse, and we are no different.  But that apocalypse is so much more than the mundane end of the world.  The word comes from a Greek word meaning the "unveiling" or "revelation."  What could be sexier than an unveiling?  What is fucking but a divine revelation?   As Wikipedia (an always reliable source) states, the apocalypse might more accurately be thought of as, "the disclosure to certain privileged persons of something hidden from the majority of humankind."  It is, thus, a revelation of the secret history or unspoken truth of the world, of existence, of the cosmos, or simply of humanity, or even more simply, of the naked human body.

We want to tell the story of the real apocalypse, the erotic apocalypse, and we want your help.  Send us your stories of revelation, and hey, we wouldn't mind it if they happened to be apocalyptic in the more common, modern sense of the word as well.  And remember, in honor of St. Valentine's Day, make it fucking hot!

disclaimer:  write this content does not necessarily reflect the views of all write this contributors. happy flails.

pusscart prize
brenda pott

we who are human

the willesden herald  international short story contest
stephen moran

we changed this link to go nowhere
portend heinous
Tell a friend about this page
the write this message board

yeah, we've got a new feature. the write this message board. go there for interviews and other things like duels (?). from now on authors that we publish must join the message board in order to be interviewed. we'd like past authors to join as well. but you can leave messages there for us and for each other and even get messages back. sometimes the editors write there. you can write there also. but go there. it's where you want to be. our people have tested it and it works. go on...
Infamous author Aden Bell attempts to seduce a Dover edition of Gertrude Stein's famous book, Tender Buttons
more from cafe hopeless
an evening with tender buttons
interviews with writers we have recently published or iwwwhrp for short

alice godwin

catherine edmunds

derek john

janet tay