Work in Jellyfish Review and Syntax & Salt – forthcoming with Atticus Review

Hello! A lot has happened since my last blog post. We’ve brought our second daughter into the world, and she’s now five months old. We’ve also been dealing with a new medical diagnosis.

In the midst of it, I’m excited to share recent publications! My flash fiction piece, “Tuesday,” was published with Syntax & Salt in June (originally appeared on Ellipsis Zine), and my story, “After the Vital Signs,” was published in this month’s issue of Jellyfish Review just a few days ago! Two very different pieces–I’m honored to be in both publications. I hope, if you check out my pieces, that you read the other work published on these sites–it’s wonderful!

I’ve also just gotten the news that I’ll have a piece of creative nonfiction published for the first time–forthcoming with Atticus Review! It was a difficult piece for me to write, as I process what’s been going on the past few months, but it is an important piece for me.

I’m more often on Twitter these days, so look for me there @Emi_Livingstone. Hope all are well.


“The Hero’s Shadow” – Flash Fiction published with The Molotov Cocktail, issue 8.17

I’m very excited that The Molotov Cocktail published my piece, “The Hero’s Shadow” as part of their issue 8.17 today! I originally wrote this story for their Flash Hero contest, and I got very attached to it, and I’m glad it found this home! I hope you’ll take a read and check out the other two fabulous stories by John Holland and Carl Napolitano.

As we get ready to welcome baby #2 to the family, I’m trying to stay on top of my reading, writing, and submitting for another few weeks, before I anticipate somewhat of a hiatus!

Molotov Cocktail issue-8-17

image is the property of The Molotov Cocktail – 2018

“Chick,” pub. with Jersey Devil Press, and other news

It’s been a little while since I’ve written here. I have been keeping busy with life, but still finding time for writing, submitting, and meeting with my fabulous writers’ group. I have news on a few fronts.

I’m very excited to have my flash fiction piece, “Chick,” published in this month’s issue of Jersey Devil Press Magazine. I’m glad this piece has found a home, and psyched that that home is with JDP Magazine! I hope you’ll read the whole issue–some great writing there! (and great cover art!)

I also have a flash fiction story, “Tuesday,” forthcoming with Ellipsis Zine. Many writers I admire have published there, so I’m very pleased to be among them, and glad that “Tuesday” found its place–another piece that I care a lot about!

In non-literary news, I’m just past halfway through my second pregnancy. I hope you’ll hold good thoughts for my little-one-to-be, who should be joining our family in late April. We’ve told our daughter that she will have a little sister, but, as you can imagine, it is pretty abstract for our two-year-old so far.

I have been more active on Twitter lately, so I hope to connect with you there as I continue to write, grow a human inside me, and try to be more diligent with this blog.  : )

Happy Halloween! – Enjoy the Halloween Issue of The Molotov Cocktail

Happy Halloween! My flash fiction piece, “Comeviatorum,” was published today with The Molotov Cocktail in their Halloween Mega-Issue as part of their Flash Monster contest. My piece placed 9th. I’m just getting started reading the great pieces there. The winning story, “Moist,” by Erin O’Shea is fantastically frightening with perfect imagery and some nods to the fairy tale. You’ve got to read it!


copyright The Molotov Cocktail 2017

“Listening to the Animals” takes 1st place in The Molotov Cocktail’s Flash Worlds contest!

Hello!  Exciting news this week!  My flash fiction story, “Listening to the Animals,” was awarded first place in The Molotov Cocktail’s Flash Worlds contest!  I’m honored and more excited than it’s easy for me to express!  I hope you’ll check out my story and the others in the issue.  I also love the cover art and the image they put with my story.


Copyright The Molotov Cocktail, 2017

Click here to go to The Molotov Cocktail’s Flash Worlds Mega Issue 

I’m reading my way through, and I can confirm that the 2nd and 3rd place stories by Celia Daniels and Christina Dalcher are fantastic.  I’m going to be haunted by their worlds for some time.  I’ve also already read FlashDog Voima Oy’s story, which earned 7th place, and it is beautiful!


“Reading the Signs” Flash Fiction for Friday Fictioneers

This story was written for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by wonderful author and artist, Rochelle, on her website, Addicted to Purple.  Each week, she provides us with a photo prompt and her own story, and we have 100 words to respond with out take.  Anyone is welcome to participate–just give credit to the provider of the photo prompt (provided this week by J. Hardy Carroll), write your own story, and click on the blue frog below to read others’ work and add a link to your own.


Image copyright J Hardy Carroll

Reading the Signs

(100 words)

Frieda and Barb moved through the debris, touching familiar broken chairs and upturned tables absently.  They had been many times to the abandoned factory, but none of those trips had been this important.  Brenna was missing.

Barb gasped at the first stained glass image.

“Brenna,” Frieda said.

They followed the pictures from left to right, seeing the little girl get scooped into a car and driven to a little house by the ocean.  They studied the car and the man driving it.  They studied the house.  They called 9-1-1 and gave an anonymous tip.  They watched the glass, and prayed.

“Sacrifice” Flash Fiction

The following was a story I originally wrote for the Flash Doom contest hosted by The Molotov Cocktail.  Great fiction gets published there, by the way–definitely check out thee winners of Flash Doom and the other pieces on the site!  I didn’t place anywhere in the contest, but I had a lot of fun writing this one and wanted share it here.


by Emily Livingstone

Sonia stepped out of the climate-controlled room and onto the balcony of the gleaming white tower.  Heat enveloped her.  Leaning over the rail, she saw a congregation of alligators lumbering out of the river to sun themselves out of the jungle’s shade.  Mother said that once there weren’t so many alligators, but now, Earth had cycled back to the beginning, and alligators ruled.

She squinted.  Mother said she shouldn’t come outside—the sun would bake sickness into her skin—but she was eighteen now, and felt free out here with nothing to bar her from the world except distance.

Movement.  A scraggly dark line wove through the trees.  Penitents.  They carried signs above their heads.  She always wondered if the signs were for her, yet they never looked toward her—was she invisible, this high up?

WE HAVE BROUGHT THE END, said one sign.



Peering through the telescope, she saw that there was one among them without penitent robes.  His tanned, muscled chest showed through his ragged shirt, and a different heat rose in Sonia.

A young woman pulled back her hood.

Sonia tensed, knowing what was coming.

The woman strode toward the alligators, hands rising up, palms open.

The alligators let her get close.  Then, the largest sprang, taking her leg in its jaws.  Another leapt at her hip.  She screamed.  There was blood.

The spectacle ended, and then Sonia’s skin prickled.  The strange man was staring at her.  She felt suddenly naked.  He raised a hand in the air.

The bells jangled, and she ran to the other side of the balcony.  Looking down, she saw Mother waving the red handkerchief.  Sonia opened the trapdoor and flung the rope ladder down.

While Mother climbed, Sonia glanced back, but the man was gone.

“What happened?” Sonia asked, helping Mother up.

“Helicopter went down.”

Normally, Mother landed safely on the roof.  Sonia’s stomach flipped at the thought of Mother unprotected.

“Did you see the penitent girl?” Sonia asked.

“I heard her.  You were on the balcony again?”

“What else can I do but watch the alligators and the penitents?”

Mother snorted.  “Read.  Practice your music.  Paint.”

“I do, but—”

“But what?”

“None of it’s real.  Outside is real.  The penitents, today, there was—“

“Idiots!  Acting out their guilt for global warming by martyring themselves, feeding the big lizards.  All that’s out there—”

“—are desperate people, ready to kill or be killed,” Sonia finished.

Her mother blinked. “Exactly.”

Usually, Sonia was happiest with Mother home, but that night, over and over, she felt the thrill of that man’s eyes meeting hers.

The next day, Mother left on foot to salvage supplies from the helicopter.

Sonia played her harp.  She read.  She watched the jungle through the telescope, trying to spot snakes in the trees.

The bells clanged and she jumped.  Looking down, she saw the red handkerchief.  She’d already dropped the ladder when she realized the figure at the bottom wasn’t Mother, but that man.  He grinned and climbed.  She thought about getting a knife to cut the rope.  Instead, she waited.

Finally, he came through the trapdoor.  Rising and panting, he extended his hand.  “Jim.”


His hand grasped hers.

She led him into the air-conditioned tower.  Jim took in everything.

“Are you a penitent?  I saw you with them…”

“I saw you, too.”

She blushed.

“They speak of you—defying the planet’s fate and the rule of Earth’s Chosen, the Cold-Blooded Ones.  All this—air conditioning, refrigeration, generators—destroyed the world.”

“But you’re not a penitent.”

“No,” he said.  “I think you should share resources with us, live among the people.”

“Mother says—” Mother says people are desperate.  She says there isn’t enough for them.  She says they are dangerous and deranged.

            “Your mother’s out, right?” Jim grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the balcony.  “Let me show you what it’s like down there.  We’ll be back before she knows you’re gone.”

Sonia felt faint.  “Another time.”

“Come on.  There’s life beyond penitence.  There’s fellowship, community—love.”

She compared this to love scenes in her books.  Where were the flowers, kisses, vows?

“The people need help,” he said, pulling a little too hard.

“I’ll go,” she said.  “Just wait a minute.”

Mother was right.  He was dangerous.  Sonia went to her bedroom, loaded her pistol, and returned with the gun at her side, shrouded in her skirts.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she said.  “You need to go now.”

“I’m not leaving without you.”  He stepped forward.

She raised the pistol.  “Go.”

He hesitated, and his eyes hardened.  But he left.

Sonia lay in bed afterward, wracked with guilt, both for letting Jim up and for making him leave.

The next morning, she woke to a roar of sound.

Jim was back, at the head of a mob of people, none in penitent robes.

He yelled, “Let down the ladder.”

Sonia gripped the railing.  “I can’t.”

A woman said, “If you don’t, we’ll kill her.”

The crowd parted, and there was Mother, bound and gagged.

“How do I know you won’t hurt me if I let you up?”

The people howled, but Jim shouted above them.  “I swear you’ll be fine.  We’re not monsters.  We’re just trying to survive.”

Mother shook her head.  They’re lying, Mother was saying.  Sonia’s mind crept toward nightmarish possibilities understood vaguely from books, things worse than death.

The people were getting louder.  Suddenly, Mother was on the ground in a pool of blood.  She didn’t see what happened.  Jim was shouting.  Sonia sank to her knees and the crowd left.

She wanted to retrieve Mother’s body, but it was impossible.

Night fell.  When the sun returned, so did the mob, carrying a great ladder.  Sonia felt numb.  She opened the trapdoor and climbed down.  The crowd yanked her from the ladder. Hands pulled her hair and skin, scratched at her eyes.  She couldn’t see Mother or Jim.  Let it be over soon, she thought

“Revised Edition Pending” -Friday Fictioneers

This story was written for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by wonderful writer, Rochelle, on her website, Addicted to Purple.  Each week, she provides us with a photo prompt and her own story, and we have 100 words to respond with out take.  Anyone is welcome to participate–just give credit to the provider of the photo prompt (provided this week by Roger Bultot), write your own story, and click on the blue frog below to read others’ work and add a link to your own.


Image copyright Roger Bultot

Revised Edition Pending

(100 words)

There he goes again, telling my story, and telling it wrong:

How he saved a woman from a brutal murder.

Not quite.

I found out where she was.  When I broke into his basement, she escaped.  He killed me, claiming self-defense, that I’d come after them both.

I was a quiet man, with few friends.  People believed his version.

I’m not so quiet now, though.  I make a hell of a lot of noise in his diner and his house.  I’m still learning the ways of this misty world, but I’ll tell the story my own way before the end.

“Possession” – Flash Fiction for Friday Fictioneers

This story was written for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by wonderful writer, Rochelle, on her website, Addicted to Purple.  Each week, she provides us with a photo prompt and her own story, and we have 100 words to respond with out take.  Anyone is welcome to participate–just give credit to the provider of the photo prompt (provided this week by J. Hardy Carroll–thank you!), write your own story, and click on the blue frog below to read others’ work and add a link to your own.

I’ve been lax with participating and with my blog in general, but today was a good day to write here!  I am still writing, at least.  I’ve just been hoarding my time for other projects, but I do feel that nagging twinge that comes with neglecting the blog, and, as ever, I am telling myself to do better!  : )


Photo Copyright J. Hardy Carroll


(100 words)

It’s hard to hear Evelyn say we’d always been welcome when they’d always had the iron fence.

I remember the day I’d climbed a tree and dropped down.  I explored all those secret spaces.  I imagined wearing a gown.  A prince would propose, but I’d say no, I couldn’t leave my garden or my fish pond; I’d send him back beyond the gate—but I was the one ejected.  As I left, Evelyn watched in triumph.

Now, the town mourns Evelyn’s father.  She wants our love, but how can we love when we can’t even reach them with arms outstretched?