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http://www.accenti.ca/once-upon-a-pizzeria-charly-chiarelli

Once Upon a Pizzeria

by Charly Chiarelli 

 

Once upon a pizzeria, a little pizzeria in the big big city, there lived a woman named Maria, but everyone called her Nonna Maria. Nonna means grandmother in Italian, and everyone loved to adopt Nonna Maria as their own personal grandmother. Nonna Maria didn’t exactly live in the pizzeria, she lived upstairs from it. More...
 
 
 
 
 

http://www.accenti.ca/online-features/art-scene/interview-with-francois-morelli-by-giuseppe-di-leoClaudia

by Caterina Edwards

 

Honour met no other cars on the narrow mountain road, and the few isolated houses she passed looked deserted. Had she gone too far, or not far enough? She should have asked for the exact distance to the turn off. There were no signposts, no addresses. She drove up the mount, across a seemingly uninhabited ridge, and down the other side. Had she misunderstood or been misled? “On the right, half way up,” Claudia had said. More...

 

 

 

 

http://www.accenti.ca/online-features/art-scene/interview-with-francois-morelli-by-giuseppe-di-leoBeached

by Genni Gunn

 

Panic never leaves her. It only recedes for intervals, like the tide in ​Bahía de Navidad. For days, the ocean can lap in benign ripples on the sand, then suddenly rise in swirling breakers that smash to shore, shaking the hotel in its foundation. Monica lies in the penthouse bedroom facing the ocean, trying to make herself get up. It’s a vacation, the waves a sea of mirrors reflecting the sun. More...

 
 
 
 

Poppy Crackers

by Marguerite Dakin

 

Cat jumped into the backseat, asked for snacks and Shawn Mendes. Rosie granted one of the two requests and they waited for Grace, as the heat blasted and Stitches played. Cat pulled out her lunchbox to scrounge for leftoverse ... More

 

 

 

 

 

 

Zia

by Elegie LoCascio

I re-read the telegram for the third time. But the message would not change. Zia had died. Alone. In the small Italian village where she had lived for seventy years. Only three months ago I had seen her for the first time. She was standing at her front door, waiting. All of her life she had lived in that mountain village, never travelling more than ten miles from ... More

 

 

 

 

 

Every Novel Has a Soundtrack

by Terri Favro

 

Long-form writing is a lonely business. In a previous blog (“Writing With My Feet”), I talked about the role of the gym in my fiction writing (and preventing my shoulders from taking on a permanent slump from crouching over the digital hearth with my imaginary friends, also known as “fictional characters”). More...

 

 

 

 

 

Truth, More or Less

The Darkness You Hold

by Linda Morra
 

Imagine this: he is twenty-four years old and he wants to take the world in his long fingers. It’s his for the taking. He knows it’s his, as he lies wide-awake in bed to watch the dawn nudge away a reluctant darkness and spread like wonder across the sky... MORE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Truth, More or Less

Truth, More or Less

by Rosanne Pagano

 

Causes of my grandmother’s lifelong limp - the one that afflicted her right leg (or maybe it was her left, memories contradict) - are lost to time and the Sicilian aptitude for turning the ordinary into the legendary. Consider the Tale of Uncle Benny’s Toe. MORE

 

 

 

The Hog Slaughter: February 1862

by Rosanna Micelotta Battigelli

 

The hog is limp, having shuddered its last breath after a single blow to the head with a mallet. Gabriella and some of the neighbourhood women watch her father Lorenzo… More

The Motorcycle

The Motorcycle

by Licia Canton

 

“Monsieur, Monsieur.”
      He could hear a voice far away. Then he felt a light tap on the shoulder. He opened his eyes not knowing they had been closed. MORE

24 Hours

24 Hours

by Anthony Cristiano

 

Through cobbled streets, old historic houses
       returning scents of flavoured bread and oil; MORE

 

 
 
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