A New Kind of Literary Pulse

I don't know who started this absurd Christmas ritual, but it's become as essential to family get-togethers as pecan pie or honey-baked ham. As soon as the food is served and we're all seated around ... [+]

"The baseboards can always be painted over."
The sentence played over and over again in Margaret's head. The real estate agent had muttered it innocently under her breath, but it stuck with he ... [+]

How did they first meet? By the revolving door, on the beach side. It was like a scene in a Lelouch film. Being a person who hums shoobedoobedoo every time I walk into our dear old hotel, I was ... [+]

With his arm outstretched and his shoulders relaxed, he concentrates on the target. No rush. Shooting with a bow and arrow is a delicate art. He remembers the words of his trainer, "You have to be ... [+]

7:23 a.m.
Since September, every 7:23 a.m. has been the same. First, the dull sound of an engine, then the headlights piercing the dark. The bus slows, then stops. The doors open in front of me ... [+]

We were lying on the beach. Marie, who felt the cold less than I did, had gone for a swim after our picnic. She'd come back to lie next to me, without drying off, enjoying the hot sun on her wet ... [+]

There were two old men sitting on a bench. They looked as if they were waiting for a bus, but when the bus went past, they were still there.
The one on the left was holding a bunch of flowers. The ... [+]

My very dear Claire,
I already know so much about you, and yet I have never actually seen you. For six months now, I have been passing you, sensing you, hearing you, closing my eyes when I ... [+]