Top Stories
Stories in Writers that you'll love, handpicked by our team.
chopping onions. Top Story - November 2026.
a stanza stolen from my past self people bitch about chopping onions but how many specks of the mundane stick in your eye forcing you to mourn their own passing? isn’t that a small price to pay for returning your attention to that acid burn: the ever-dissolving now?
By Tyler Clarkabout 23 hours ago in Writers
Daybreak . Top Story - November 2026.
Selfish somnolence regardless cats crowd my face, my hair, fresh baked bread. Today’s plans, not much, baring skin in the sunshine heartbeat in bird song, austinite, suns voice swimming deep into a moon quenching from the heat. A thin scent of pollen, something much bigger than hope sways clear ethos. Most don’t see the stars. Boreas takes, wants it all beyond suns setting. Stars are everywhere and all the ways to see them mapping the ways to immortal horses— meadows swayed with bells and chimes, longstanding zephyrs looking westerly, moist pollen breezes stagger undressing young love. Gripping all the birds mistral sky’s, its persuasive ways hang on loosely. When I die I will come back as unspoken wind, acquiescence murmur, a trojan filled horse. Mayflies have twenty-four hours to love in silence. Lose I held a rose, thorny an ant on its stem, ill-omened stirring I’m tired of words, the way they look back at me. Shooting stars, fire back angry, helpless, scared— hating the way I see war, hopeful I write poems. Black rain in Iran, the presence of history tangible by touch, sure, she said, it rains like it would be always rain or was it close too. Within a flower preparing to love our ghosts pollen dust and bee’s, in shallows, tadpoles everyone’s thoughts of lotus dragonflies dip, weave a single cut flower warmed with its own breath hangs free, ghost feet within reach. Shy smiles redden blushing on the edges of a flowering pith. Hair brushes my skin. Warmth of her lit eyes open a moths wings flutter, meringue on my tongue, cool sun is lemon yellow today was the day condensation forms. Skin of a fresh red apple I’m just not the one, close but don't close doors, could not have been much more vague. A figure traced in rain, wind with windmills chime. Grass and barley both agree, drama queen the sky. When storm clouds appear, the leading edge of lightning petrichor, a horse. What rushes in time unconditionally falls, yellow maple leaves. With a little seiche in it, a body of water, a sandy floor between two rocks catching the oceans empty ash. In this space a salty breeze rubs my face, stars disenchant— my eyes open to mornings street din. I have seen that moon before, a sliver in the dark morning sky— a tinge of amber misty cloud cover, this time the horizon is not yours, this time silence did its work, for the lotus of happiness is short lived, acceptable behavior roots in the ash, raising a surface into a shape of beginnings, a fetus—sometimes I feel foolish I did not have enough time to think about it —missing the conversation, I tried to write words into body— I tried to write love poems, I really did but they are not that interesting, love does not work that way—for I love to hate; I love to eat, I love to walk on the beach —the body always wants to strike back.
By Gerry Thibeault4 days ago in Writers
We're All Drunk Here. Top Story - November 2026.
This is in response to A. Bell's unofficial challenge, Tell Me About You. You can read about that here: Tell me what you love to write, what scares you about sharing it, or what you’re hoping to accomplish here. More importantly, tell me which of your stories you wish more people had read.
By L.C. Schäfer4 days ago in Writers
Politigram Survivor. Top Story - November 2026.
The modern Far-Right believes itself the heir of “European culture” and the last in a long lineage of torch-bearers, upholding civilisation through virtue, wisdom and strength against a tide of “degenerate third-worlders”. In fact, the version of “European culture” they claim is a bastardised, homogenisation of ancient Greek, Roman, Celtic, Germanic and Near East cultures retconned into a cohesive identity despite the historical differences between these groups, and fuelled by the colonial “othering” of non-European races.
By I. D. Reeves6 days ago in Writers
Talking Hearts Cards. Top Story - October 2026.
Author's Note: I picked the cards and answered them first. He didn't answer them at the same time. Later he answered them, sometimes after I shared mine, some of the answers brought humor, and laughter, as this exercise always does. FYI: the photo above is not us. 😉😂🤣
By Denise E Lindquist12 days ago in Writers
Parisian diaries. Top Story - October 2026.
Bonjour tout le monde—hello, Vocal fam! I’m writing to you from the French countryside, at a beautiful writers’ residency in the Champagne region. This opportunity first came to me in March 2025. It’s something I’ve been waiting for, fantasizing about, and obsessing over for a long time. Now I’m here.
By Natasha Collazo14 days ago in Writers
