Categories
interviews

Author Q&A with Frank Gaughan

Interview Highlights with Frank Gaughan

February 13, 2026

An orange watercolor illustration of a bee on a blue textured background.



Frank Gaughan
is a fiction writer and educator based in New York. His short fiction appears in Arcturus, and he is completing a collection of contemporary short stories. His academic writing on composition pedagogy has appeared in College Composition and Communication and Inside Higher Ed. He teaches composition and ESL at Hofstra University. His short fiction, The Grieving Scar, is available in Issue #22.

Tell us about yourself.

I live with my wife and daughter in New York. I teach English composition at Hofstra University. I’ve worked there for over twenty years now. I appreciate the opportunity to continuously work with young people. Among other advantages, doing so helps you to see how reading and writing practices evolve.

What unique or surprising detail can you tell us about the origin, revision process, and/or final version of The Grieving Scar?

I’m happy with the ending, and I’m rarely happy with the way my stories end. I wanted Susan and Carson to meet again, and I wanted AZZO and Bennington to have a legitimate story arc.

What did you learn (about yourself, craft, or life in general) through writing and revising it?

There’s an element of humor and absurdity to life. It’s hard (at least for me) to render those elements in fiction, but I was able to do it in this case by paying attention to Carson, by allowing him to be insistent on his feelings.

What do you hope readers take from the piece?

You mean a lesson? The piece was fun to write, and I hope readers take some joy from reading it. I didn’t have a specific moral that I was trying to convey, but Carson is interesting to me because he refuses to be indifferent about his breakup. I doubt he would think of things that way, but that’s how I see him. When Susan and Carson meet at the end, they have another kind of conversation about indifference.

What fuels your desire to write (or engage in other creative outlets)?

It’s fun to write creatively. Where there was nothing before there is something now. I enjoy the process of making things. In this respect, I don’t see a huge difference between writing fiction and writing a course design or a lesson plan for class. Both are creative processes where I’m in charge of the direction and where I have to live with the outcomes.

What has drawn you to writing fiction? What other genres do you write?

We understand through story. In good stories, we also empathize. If I can create a story where there was nothing before and also have that story that help someone understand and empathize, I’ve done my job. I write poetry too, but I don’t think I’m especially good at it.

What have been the biggest influences in your writing?

My parents and my wife—excellent readers, all. My daughter, who has an intuitive sense of humor and narrative structure. My students, who as a group have a low tolerance threshold for boring stories.

How do you make expression a part of your daily life, or how do you find a balance between your writing and other responsibilities?

You have to write even when you don’t want to, and even in suboptimal conditions. If you only have 30 minutes that day, then write for 30 minutes so that you’re in a position to do better the next day.

Are there any special projects, other pieces, or books you’d like to promote?

I came across Jan Kerouac’s Baby Driver recently, even though it’s been out in the world for 40-plus years. She was firing on all cylinders there. Beautiful stuff. 

What do you think when you hear, “the good life”?

People being good to one another, regularly and reliably.

Illustration of a honeybee on a black circular background, showcasing a watercolor design.


Thank you, Frank, for being a part of our growing literary community and for spending extra time with us on this Q&A. We wish you the best with writing and all life’s endeavors.

Categories
micro monday poetry

Valentine’s Night in County Clare by Dan Thompson

Valentine’s Night in County Clare
by Dan Thompson


Walking away from O’Connor’s pub
on a cold February night in Doolin,
each step further away from the music –
the same jigs and reels already here
two hundred years ago tonight
in this place of austere beauty,
the crashing Atlantic forever tackling
the rocks below the village –
it wasn’t the cold that froze me there
or anything else that might have prepared me
for what I saw when I looked up,
the crystals so thick against the black
I felt I could reach up and grab a handful
without any need for a getaway.

Transfixed,
I called out
Look up!
and just as I,
you stopped
in mid-stride.

A “Wow!” of wonder escaped your lips –
As Above, So Below –
your breath repeating a foot in front
the milky midnight way above.

There we stood,
Herd Boy and Weaving Maiden …

gazing forever across the sky
at all that is and might have been.

Artistic watercolor illustration of a bee on a black circular background.
About the Author:
A man wearing sunglasses and a graphic t-shirt is taking a selfie outdoors, with a backdrop of mountains and trees.

Dan Thompson (PhD) is a U.S. Army veteran and former editor-in-chief whose creative and critical work has appeared in a wide range of literary and scholarly journals, including, within the past year, issues of Feral, Canary, Eclectica, The Raven Review, Black Coffee Review, and Jerry Jazz Musician, among others. In an earlier life, he worked as a music producer for educational videos and as a DJ at a country music radio station.

Categories
interviews

Author Q&A with Jake Bienvenue

Interview Highlights with Jake Bienvenue

January 30, 2026

A young man in a Naruto headband making a shushing gesture with his finger to his lips, standing in a fast-food restaurant with a soda fountain machine in the background.



Jake Bienvenue
 holds an MFA in fiction from the University of Montana, where he was the Editor-in-Chief of CutBank. His work has appeared in The Offing, The Baltimore Review, EcoTheo, and others. He is at work on a novel about the Oregon wine country. He lives in Brooklyn. His short fiction, Palimpsest, is available in Issue #22.

Tell us about yourself.

Sure. I’m young, handsome, and I’m getting crazy money. I’m overeducated and restless and by this point practically feral. I live in a windowless room. I have with me about a dozen items. The rest, mostly books and wine, is stuffed in a closet in my father’s basement in Folsom, California. I write ridiculous poems and stories at a desk which would be too small for a third grader. When I pass people on the street I pretend I have no face.

Palimpsest is such a uniquely funny and dark story that reveals a lot about our society. Can you tell us where the idea for this story came from? What other details would you like to share about the revision process and/or final version of this piece?

All my writing comes out of my hatred of work. All of it. In this case, my previous job was as a rentals manager at an arts center in rural Oregon, a role I actually kind of liked. So during the day, when I needed a break from sending emails, I’d wander the halls of this big building, daydreaming. I wrote some of these little fictions down. I kept daydreaming. I realized these daydreams had a perspective, a dreamer who was not me. From there it was a matter of shaping.

What did you learn (about yourself, craft, or life in general) through writing and revising it?

Nothing I’ve published is even remotely like this. It’s mostly been straightforward realism. But I think with “Palimpsest” I got more comfortable with weirdness, with just saying shit I think is striking or funny, and not worrying about how it’s going to cohere. It’s a trust thing, I think.

What has drawn you to writing fiction? What other genres do you write?

I just love stories, honestly. I love making things up. Like wouldn’t it be goofy if this happened? But with fiction, instead of wondering, you construct then inhabit a narrative perspective, you say, “Something very goofy did happen, and I was there, I saw it.” I also love poetry and that’s what I’ve been writing lately. I’ve published creative nonfiction and criticism too.

What have been the biggest influences in your writing?

Walt Whitman, the Bible, anime. In no particular order.

How do you make expression a part of your daily life, or how do you find a balance between your writing and other responsibilities?

If art is the negative of productivity, and I think it is, then my writing consists of moments I’ve stolen back from my life, whether that’s work or leisure or laundry. Maybe I’m not explaining myself well. That’s okay too.

Are there any special projects, other pieces, or books you’d like to promote?

I think if you have any interest in me or my work, which you should not, I’d encourage you to read a very short nonfiction piece I wrote for The Baltimore Review, called “Gold Country.” It’s very different from “Palimpsest” but I think with both you get a sense of where my work is right now. Or where it was about a year ago, really.

What do you think when you hear, “the good life”?

I think of a huge pile of mulch I have to spread on a Saturday morning. I think of rows of white houses with two-car garages. I think of sapling poplars attached to growth stilts. I think of Traeger grills and cold pools. Heat, summer, Yeti coolers. Things I’m a visitor in. Probably this is not the answer you were looking for. Now I’ll think of an excellent literary magazine in Nebraska!

Illustration of a honeybee on a black circular background, showcasing a watercolor design.


Gold Country” is a fabulous piece, Jake! Thanks for sharing. Thank you, also, for being a part of our growing literary community and for spending extra time with us on this Q&A. We wish you the best with writing and all life’s endeavors, except maybe work, since your distaste for it seems to be particularly fruitful.

Categories
micro fiction micro monday short fiction

House Party by Dory Rousos Moore

House Party | Dory Rousos Moore

I start on my second coat of Red Hot, the boldest color of nail polish I could find, carefully painting each nail. Aviva and I sit on our apartment balcony, our shiny legs long on the railing, hot air balloons in primary colors floating above us as everyone starts to arrive. When her new boyfriend’s black Grand Am swerves into our complex, she jumps up, her drink spilling over the edge. The way she falls in love is with a whoosh, like she’s being sucked into a vacuum, and the way I fall in love is by pretending not to. 

Moments later, Raj crosses the parking lot from his apartment to ours with long strides, grinning up at the balloons and clouds drifting toward the horizon. With graduation next weekend, we soon won’t be living close to each other for the first time since college started, and we became friends, walking to classes together and talking the whole way, drinking Red Bulls while studying for our physics exams, our laptops set up on his beer pong table as the sun rose purple-orange outside his front window, a meeting of chemistry and wonder.

In the living room, the roar of the music, bass turned up, vibrates the walls. Conversations punctuate the air with exclamation points, and the strawberry Boones Farm fills my body with soft static. Aviva is making out with her boyfriend in the middle of the room with one hand in the air, like she’s on a rollercoaster or praising God. 

Refilling my solo cup, I look at Raj across the crowded room, watching everywhere his eyes land, his irises the whorls of a fingerprint that I want to press into me. I’ve kissed boys I don’t know at parties, but never the one that I love. When his gaze finds mine, instead of glancing away, I hold on, walking toward him.   

A watercolor illustration of a bee on a black circular background.
About the Author:
Close-up portrait of a smiling woman with long dark hair wearing a blue shirt, sitting inside a vehicle.

Dory Rousos Moore lives in Ohio with her husband, three rambunctious sons, and opinionated rescue dog. This is her first prose publication. Her poetry is forthcoming in Modern Haiku. A dedicated daydreamer, she loves reading for hours and letting her optimism lead the way. You can find her at dorywrites.bsky.social.


Categories
announcements

Sub Window for Issue #23 Closes Soon

We’re open for our Spring Issue, but the window is closing soon…

A colorful announcement with a blue background, featuring the text 'Submission Window Closes January 20th' in bold orange letters, a yellow bee illustration, and information about a $60 submission fee and nominations for multiple prizes.
(Click to access the magic portal)

We are currently reading for Issue #23. We publish poetry, short fiction (up to 5000 words), flash fiction (up to 1000 words), short cnf , and flash cnf. We nominate for Pushcart, Best of the Net, Best New Poets, Best Small Fictions, Best Micro Fictions, and Pen Short Story Award, AND pay $60 per piece published in the seasonal issue.

Guidelines are available on our submission page, and the form to submit is on Submittable. The fee is $3, and a fee-free option is available for those who need it (please email editors@thegoodlifereview). But don’t wait, the window closes in one week!

A vibrant promotional graphic announcing free submissions, celebrating spring and summer, with a background that evokes a creative atmosphere.

We also want you to know… 100% of the work we publish is unsolicited, and each piece that lands in our queue is handled with care, given serious consideration, and evaluated by two or more people from genre-specific editorial teams, including both editors and readers.

A watercolor illustration of a bee in shades of yellow and orange on a dark background.
Categories
micro monday micro nonfiction

The Taste of Absence by Bethany Bruno

The Taste of Absence | Bethany Bruno


My father drank black Maxwell House from a repurposed Big Gulp cup, the kind with a faded NASCAR logo and a plastic straw he never used. Every morning, long before the world stirred, he filled it to the brim and cradled it between his knees as he drove to work. No cream. No sugar. Just heat, grit, and something close to devotion.

He called it fuel, though he never rushed through it. He sipped slowly at red lights, windows cracked even in July, letting the scent of burnt coffee mix with wet palm air and the steady hum of morning sprinklers. The South Florida sun always rose early, golden and mean, but he met it with caffeine and stubbornness.

On weekends, he used the “Grumpy” mug I bought him when I was twelve. We were at Disney World, sweating through a heat advisory, and I picked it out with the kind of glee only a child feels while gift shopping. Grumpy had always been his nickname. He was famously irritable before his first sip of coffee, muttering through breakfast like the day had personally offended him. 

The mug was heavy, white ceramic, with Grumpy’s furrowed brow and crossed arms printed on the side. I wrapped it in tissue paper and held it behind my back like I had smuggled treasure. He drank from it for years, even after the handle chipped and the cartoon face faded to a ghost of itself.

He died in 2016. Six months from diagnosis to gone. Cancer took his voice first, then his appetite, then the rest. His work boots stayed by the door. His Big Gulp cup stayed on the counter. Some mornings, he still made coffee, but by the end, it was mostly untouched, the steam rising while he slept through the daylight. The bitterness outlasted him.

Since then, I have tried every method of coffee making. French press. Pour-over. Chic glass carafes with wooden collars. None of them feels right. They are too clean, too careful. They don’t know what it means to keep going. The smell of Maxwell House from a plastic tub still carries more weight than any hand-picked Ethiopian blend ever could.

Each morning, I make coffee. I press the button and wait. I listen for the sputter, watch the steam curl into the quiet. I pour a cup and drink it black.

It is not good coffee.

But grief has a way of anchoring itself in the ordinary. It clings to routines, disguises itself as habit. Sometimes I open the cabinet just to look at the Grumpy mug, still tucked behind the others, its handle glued back together with a crooked seam. I never use it. I am afraid the crack will not hold. I am more afraid it will.

Love, when it lingers, finds its voice in the bitterness. It slips into the places we thought we had cleared out. I drink, and he is there.

Still warm. Still rising.

An artistic illustration of a bee in shades of amber and gold against a black background.
About the Author:
A woman with long, wavy hair smiles at the camera, wearing a colorful top and a black cardigan, set against a neutral background.


Bethany Bruno is a Floridian author and amateur historian. Born in Hollywood and raised in Port St. Lucie, she holds a BA in English from Flagler College and an MA from the University of North Florida. Her writing has appeared in more than seventy literary journals and magazines, including The Sun, The Huffington Post, The MacGuffin, McSweeney’s, and 3Elements Review. More at bethanybrunowriter.com.

Categories
announcements

Introducing Issue #22 ~ Winter 2026

Welcome to Winter and the Best of our Best: A Stunning Collection of Poetry, Prose, and Artwork

January 8, 2026

Cover of The Good Life Review, Issue XXII, featuring silhouetted birds flying against a vibrant orange sunset, with publication details in the corners.
“Impressions of Waking Cranes” by Kim McNealy Sosin

Dear Lit Mag Enthusiasts,

We’re excited to announce the release of Issue #22 ~Winter 2026. This issue is a “Best Of” Edition that features some of our prize-worthy pieces from the past two years, plus bonus new work from Matt Mason (Nebraska State Poet 2019-2024), Jake Bienvenue, Frank Gaughan, and the Nebraska Writers Collective 2025 Kate Sommer Memorial Poetry Prize winner, Rebecca Oliver! We’re honored to share and celebrate this bountiful collection of amazing work!! 

More in Poetry…
Best of the Net Finalist: How to Hear God While Making Thanksgiving Dinner by Charlene Pierce, 2026 Best of the Net Nominees: what to make of autism by Tim Raymond and ephemera 31 by Chris Lisieski , Pushcart Nominee: Arouse Yourself, why do You sleep, O LORD? by Yin Cheng, and Editor Selected Pieces: Mosaic by Muiz Ọpẹ́yẹmí Àjàyí, True Apothecary by Ellie Gold Laabs, They Put the Graffiti On by Matthew James Babcock, The Year I Carried You by Sara Shea, and 2025 HoneyBee Poetry Prize Winner, Autobiography of a Violin by Cassie Burkhardt

In Short Fiction… Palimpsest by Jake Bienvenue and The Grieving Scar by Frank Gaughan, Pushcart Nominees: Tbilisi by Sara Maria Hasbun, and Mall Goddess by Marilee Dahlman, and 2025 HoneyBee Prize Winner When Mr. Boppo Joined the Cohort by Sharon Lee Snow 

In Flash Fiction…
Best Small Fiction Winner Razia, Razia by Sara Siddiqui Chansarkar,
2026 Best Small Fiction Nominee and 2025 HoneyBee Prize Winner: While Making Out the Lineup for Tomorrow’s 12U Softball Championship Game by Jim Parisi, other Best Small Fiction Nominees: The Next Empty Cup by Myna Chang and The Summer He Left by Alison Ozawa Sanders

In Micro Fiction…
Best Small Fiction Nominees: Return by Adesiyan Oluwapelumi and Drunk Husband Crashes Yard Sale by Alice Kinerk, and Best Micro Fiction Nominees: Closure by David Obuchowski, A Haunted House at the End of the World by Autumn Bettinger, and Once I Lived in Heaven by Mea Cohen

In Short Creative NonFiction…
2025 HoneyBee Prize Winner: The Laundry Hangs at Noon by Ginger Tolman and Editor Selected: Rearview Mirror by Brad Snyder

In Flash Creative NonFiction…
Best of the Net Nominees: My Mother, the Story-Weaver by Kiana Govoni and The Crush of Dusk by Michaela Evanow, 2025 HoneyBee Prize Winner: I Conjure My Great-Grandmother In a Dream; She Gives Me a Lesson on Revision by Alayna Powell, and Editor Selected: I Am a Body Lying in the Grass by Allison Hughes and the doctor says i must milk her body by Camila Cal Mello 

In Micro Creative NonFiction…
Editor Selected: Alary Things by Hilary Fair, Boyfriend Jeans by Heidi Bell, Detroit Salt by Linda Drach, i use google more than i care to admit by Jessica Hudson, and Dungeons and Dragons is by Ryan Stiehl 

In Artwork…
Cover Art and Best of the Net Nominee: Impressions of Waking Cranes” by Kim McNealy Sosin, plus other Best of the Net Nominees: “Haley and Celeste” by Cameron Shipley and Kunik” by Hiokit Lao, and new art by Maia Brown-Jackson. For all art accompanying the pieces in this issue, visit the Issue #22 Artwork page.

We hope you enjoy all of these pieces as much as we do!! This issue will be available in print in a few short weeks. More on that soon!

As always, thank you for visiting, reading, supporting independent journals, and believing in the arts!

Cheers,
~Shyla, Tacheny, and The Good Life Review Team

Issue #22 Editorial Team: M.A. Boswell, Ashley Espinoza, Tacheny Perry, Tana Buoy, Patrick O’Dell, Carina Faz, Amy Crawford, Annie Barker, Debra Rose Brillati, Erin Challenor, Cid Galicia, Terry Belew, Michelle Pierce Battle, Cat Dixon, Stepha Vesper, and Shyla Shehan

Issue #22 Readers: Jamie Wendt, Toni Allen, Zach Vesper, Jill Veltkamp, Julie Johanning, Brittany Turek, Miranda Jansen, Madeline Torbenson, Mitra Vajjala, Julia Sample, Ashley DeVrieze, and Christine Nessler

A watercolor illustration of a bee in shades of yellow and orange on a dark background.
Categories
book review

Jiya Kotecha Reviews Prachi Gupta’s “They Called Us Exceptional”

Unpacking the Model Minority Myth: Prachi Gupta’s “They Called Us Exceptional”

Review by Jiya Kotecha

They Called Us Exceptional
And Other Lies That Raised Us
By Prachi Gupta

ISBN9780593443002
Published onAug 20, 2024
Published by Crown
Pages 288

Book cover of 'They Called Us Exceptional' by Prachi Gupta featuring a silhouette of a woman against a blue background with white text.

In a world that often celebrates the model minority myth, They Called Us Exceptional and Other Lies That Raised Us shatters its polished surface to reveal the quiet struggles beneath perfection. 

Written by Prachi Gupta, this memoir unravels the psychological cost of Asian Americans attempting to attain the ‘American Dream’. The novel explores the familial dynamics between Prachi, her parents, and her brother Yush, whose intertwined struggles trace a journey through unseen wounds of cultural pressure. Primarily set in New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and New York, with mentions of Canada, India, and California, the book seamlessly moves through personal memory and social critique. Through honesty and heartbreak, Prachi exposes how the pursuit of exceptionalism can both bind and break a family. 

Prachi has chosen to write the memoir as a letter to her mother using the second-person perspective. Not only does this add intimacy and is profoundly evocative to the reader, but it also adds a layer of immediacy to the current societal expectations of Asian Americans. Utilizing a letter-like construct is a unique craft decision and is used to portray both heartbreak and love towards her mother. It shows her heartbreak of not being able to get through to her mother in any scenario before this, yet still maintains a compassionate tone in explaining her traumas and struggles. Prachi coherently explores the complexities of her mother being a victim and the aggressor at the same time.  

In the first chapter of the memoir, there is a harrowing scene of Prachi’s mother being emotionally and verbally abused by her father – an unsettling introduction that immediately sets the tone for the rest of the book. While her mother is clearly the victim, Prachi reveals how deeply this dynamic permeates her own sense of identity and belonging. Growing up within the Indian diaspora, she learns that silence and endurance are often the price of maintaining respectability. This respectability is, however, called into question when the mother’s passions and choices are not truly respected by anyone, including Prachi at times. Prachi internalises her father’s behaviour, joining in the mockery of her mother’s accent, revealing how cycles of shame and power replicate themselves even within love. Prachi’s portrayal of this tension exposes the hidden emotional costs of immigrant ideals and the confusion of a child forced to choose between loyalty, survival, and selfhood. Yet, throughout the novel, we see Prachi as a child sometimes stepping in to protect her mother, assuming an adult role that feels both courageous and inappropriate. 

The most difficult parts to read are when Prachi’s mother uses Prachi as a shield and lets her take the abuse from her father. At a point, Prachi had prepared herself to “absorb the anger that he reserved for her” which takes a toll on their relationship and adds another layer of expectations onto Prachi. As the novel progresses, we see Prachi taking a stand and asserting her individuality. The first time she hangs up on her parents is a key turning point in the book, but it poses a new complex decision: should she carry on and face life on her own, or should she apologise and continue the lies of being perfect? Here, it is clear that there is not much incentive for Prachi to question her family structure, as that is what she has been familiar with since being born and is the current status quo. Leaving her family would mean facing the uncomfortable realities about how she and her mother both deserve better. The second turning point we see in individuality is when Prachi chooses to stay with her Buaji (aunt) instead of her father, making a conscious choice to prioritise her own emotional well-being over familial obligations. With the journey of the memoir and the domino effect of a ‘perfect’ family, the reader can clearly understand and sympathise with why Prachi chose to leave and distance herself from her parents. 

Adding to the emotional tension of Prachi’s memoir is the pervasive belief that nothing could be wrong in a household where the children are high-achieving, and the father is a respected doctor. This facade not only completely overlooks the mother’s abuse but also makes it hard for outsiders and even family members to acknowledge the dysfunction brewing beneath the surface. Prachi impactfully captures the in between of showing how the pursuit of perfection can silence the truth. Despite these heavy and groundbreaking themes, the book remains amazingly accessible. The memoir’s chronological structure and clear prose allow a reader to follow Prachi’s journey with ease and compassion, making the story both relatable and profoundly affecting.

Ultimately, They Called Us Exceptional and Other Lies That Raised Us is a powerful reminder that the pursuit of perfection can hide pain, and that breaking the silence is often the first step towards reclaiming not just one person’s truth, but the truth of a whole society.


They Called Us Exceptional And Other Lies That Raised Us is available from Bookshop.org and other retail outlets.

Illustration of a watercolor bee on a black circular background, symbolizing themes of community and resilience.

About the reviewer:

A young woman with long, dark hair poses by a body of water, smiling softly while holding her hand near her face. She is wearing a black long-sleeve shirt and several colorful bracelets on her wrist.

Jiya Kotecha is a writer from Nairobi, Kenya. A senior writing major and dance minor at the University of Tampa, she is deeply invested in art as a form of resistance, memory, and cultural preservation. Her academic interests centre on postcolonial literature, feminist theory, and global narratives. TESOL certified, she spent a semester tutoring students from non-English-speaking countries, an experience that strengthened her commitment to cross-cultural education. She has also taught Indian classical dance in Nairobi for four years, blending movement, storytelling, and tradition in her artistic practice.

Categories
micro monday micro nonfiction

Chia Shower Pet by Crockett Doob

Chia Shower Pet | Crockett Doob

No, it was just that Cora told me how you put chia seeds in water and drink it and it’s good for you and I was pliable enough at the time to try it but I’d stopped–it’d been years and I forgot all about chia seeds but when Ricki gave me Ray’s half gallon jug–“he says it makes smoothies taste too gummy”–I wanted to do it again and the muse struck and I thought this time I’d do it with herbal tea, but I forgot how I got the seeds in the bottle so I figured I better buy a funnel but when I cleaned it, I didn’t think to dry it so it was wet in the middle when I put the seeds in so they got stuck there in these clumps, and I didn’t have any chop sticks–I always forgot to ask–and what else besides chop sticks could get in the hole but then I thought, the shower head (the water gun setting) and I tried it and it worked, nailing the middle of the funnel, blasting the seeds out and I made my chia drink, finally, with herbal tea, and it looked beautiful and red and I made a video for Cora and so all was well; but then I was in the shower, a few days later, whatever it was, and I noticed a little plant coming out of the drain, and it was too much, like my apartment’s already on the edge, my Draino-addicted sinks, outside on the street, “our local puddle,” as I call it, which is like a car-sized puddle (two car-sized) that never goes away, all year long, this nasty green/brown puddle, and I live by the beach and sea levels are rising and I was like, and now I have plants sprouting out of my drain, but then I realized it was just a chia pet


An artistic illustration of a bee in shades of amber and gold against a black background.
About the Author:
A person in a colorful plaid shirt standing against a softly illuminated background with yellow tones.


Crockett Doob lives in Rockaway Beach, NY, and does not surf. He plays drums in a vacant courthouse, works with autistic teenagers, and edits a documentary about a cemetery. His work has been published in Cleaver Magazine, Vol. 1 Brooklyn, Fiction Attic Press, and Does It Have Pockets.

Categories
interviews

Author Q&A with Sarah Schiff


Author Q&A with Sarah Schiff

Dec. 11, 2025

Portrait of Sarah Schiff, a smiling woman with curly dark hair, wearing a maroon top against a blurred green background.

A native Floridian and dual US and Canadian citizen, Sarah Schiff earned her PhD in American literature from Emory University but is a fugitive from higher education. She now writes fiction and teaches high school English in Atlanta. Her short stories have appeared in Pembroke Magazine, Valparaiso Fiction Review, The Saturday Evening Post, and Cleaver, among others. She’s been twice nominated for a Pushcart prize, by J Journal and JMWW, was a finalist for the TulipTree Review’s Wild Women Story Contest, and was a 2024 Jack Hazard Fellow. Her flash fiction, Drained, appears in Issue #21.

Tell us about yourself.

I’m a Sagittarius who likes long walks on the beach. Just kidding—though both are true. What’s also true is that I’m pretty boring. I’m a mother but, as much as I love my kids, I don’t want to be “known” as that. I suspect that few male writers would identify themselves as “fathers”—unless speaking of the glorious work they’ve sired. I’m a high school English teacher, but I don’t consider that who I am. It’s not my calling. It’s something I do because it pays the bills, and I love literature, and I want future generations to appreciate its ongoing relevance despite all the flashy distractions and distortions of our world. I’m a writer, but that title feels especially fraught for all the usual reasons writers often feel like posers and imposters, and especially in a time when readers are an endangered species. What people often see me as is not what I am, and what I am (because of genetics and history) is not always how I identify. Ha, you were kindly asking me a straightforward question, and I got all angsty about it. Blame it on the teenagers I’m constantly surrounded by.

What unique or surprising detail can you tell us about the origin, revision process, and/or final version of your piece appearing in this issue? 

I drafted “Drained” a decade ago, so there’s a weird temporality to it. The world and our nation have obviously changed drastically since then. But with the renewed virulent rhetoric about immigration and the general state of our world, I felt drawn back to it, and I’m so grateful that The Good Life Review rescued it from my “Ghosted Stories” file. 

What fuels your desire to write (or engage in other creative outlets)?

Despair, frustration, cynicism, hope, obsession, and a lack of awareness about what else to do with these few precious moments of my life.

What has drawn you to writing fiction, and/or what other genres do you write? 

We all know that fiction lies its way to the truth, so I want to promote truth in a world riddled with lies, and I want to add just a little bit of beauty to a world that, at times, can be heartbreakingly ugly. 

What have been the biggest influences in your writing? 

Libraries and bookstores. The more of them that close up shop, the closer we get to the brink.

How do you make expression a part of your daily life, or how do you find a balance between your writing and other responsibilities?

If anyone has figured out a sane and healthy way to achieve balance between writing and work/family life, I would love to hear it—especially if it doesn’t involve getting up at 5am.

Are there any special projects, favorite pieces, or books you’d like to promote?

I wish! Although if anyone wants to check out other stories I’ve written, and since we’re all starving for “views” and “clicks,” a visit to my website would be a wonderful treat. If you do, please leave a message with a link to your own writing, and I’ll definitely check it out! 

What do you think when you hear, “the good life?”

If we’re talking about my personal idea of the good life, it would be sitting on the beach, surrounded by friends and family, getting to hear their joys and chatter while my face is buried in a good book. 

If we’re talking about a piece of writing, then it would be having the opportunity to come to life by being read. Thank you so much for giving my story its own good life!



Thank you, Sarah, for trusting us with your story. We’re also happy we were able to rescue it from the fate of being ghosted! Thanks also for spending extra time on this Q&A. We appreciate you and wish you the best with writing and all life’s endeavors! Oh, and happy birthday!!

An illustration of a honey bee in orange and yellow watercolor style on a black circular background.