The 2021 Short Fiction Competition closed for entries October 1. Guest judge and finalist for the 2021 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction Daniel Mason will award the first prize of $1,000; the second prize of $500; and the third prize of $250; and the three prizewinners and seven honorable mentions will be considered for representation by William Morris Endeavor; ICM; the Wylie Agency; Regal Literary; Dunow, Carlson & Lerner Literary Agency; Markson Thoma Literary Agency; Inkwell Management; Sterling Lord Literistic; Aitken Alexander Associates; Barer Literary; the Gernert Company; and the Georges Borchardt Literary Agency.
T. C. Boyle
NEWS & EVENTS
The editors are thrilled to announce the release of the Fall 2021 edition, designed by the acclaimed musician, actor, and visual artist Tunde Adebimpe, with contributions from PEN/Faulkner Award winner T. C. Boyle, MacArthur Fellow Yiyun Li, and Booker Prize finalist David Means, among others.
Why did you accept the invitation to design the Fall 2021 edition of All-Story?
I’m a big fan of the publication and was really honored to be asked. I had spent a lot of the pandemic drawing and painting, just to draw and paint more, so I was in that mindset when the opportunity came up. I also hadn’t made anything to be printed in a book or art-book format for a long while and was excited to have a venue for all these new images.
FROM THE ARCHIVE
When Haguillory woke at four thirty and went to the kitchen in his shorts and slippers, Dot was already there at the table, tanked up on coffee. He poured himself a cup without much looking at his wife. Outside the kitchen window, his tomatoes blushed in the moonlight. The blue crabs down in the Sabine marshes would have been gorging all night under that bright full moon, and this morning Haguillory planned to catch some.
He fixed his coffee and pretended there was nothing strange about Dot sitting up before dawn, when she was usually in bed until nine or ten. Her joints kept her awake late, and on top of that, she’d get herself all agitated watching the nightly news or reading the paper. How she could stand it, he didn’t know; it was always the same thing: New Orleans this, Katrina that, like those people were the only ones who’d been hit by a storm.
In the wee hours, she would finall . . .