Gulf Coast Online Exclusives


Night Moves

Ella Marilla

At 1am, 2am, the across-the-road-guy decides to start shooting stuff. Cans or nothing maybe. Ten shots each time. After each ten you think he's all out. After the first ten shots I wonder whether he's shooting our dog Snoopy—I guess he's said he would—but he wouldn't shoot Snoopy 1000 times, at least I doubt it. Sky says the guy told his landlord, the blueberry lady, that he would have been down in…


Poetry, Fiction, & Nonfiction   

The Lord's Earth

Callie Collins

The whole town of Garland sweltered and glistened. There was fog for months that fall, and the sun hung behind it round and shining like the moon or a piece of fruit. It was hard for Roger to stick around, so he didn’t. Then, after some years, men came to his door.

The Nurses of My Dengue Fever

Jason Nemec

She would fly from the islands and fall in love with a white boy like me, start a family, get lost in a medium-sized Midwestern city...

2 Poems

Paúl Puma, transl. by Jonathan Simkins

You return, at last. / At the edge no longer./ At the margin’s curve no longer. / Circular no longer. / In the embers of unfading foam. / The sputum of inscrutable lava.

Oh, How Vital They Are to This World

Jeanne Kocher

And there they are, two little boys, Jacob with his face scrunched in agony, and tears and a nub of his finger on the floor near the closet...

From the Archives

Interview with Brian Van Reet

Brian Van Reet, winner of the Gulf Coast Prize in Fiction, talks with Gulf Coastintern Melissa Dziedzic about his story, “The Window.” Melissa Dziedzic:…

Vulgar Remedies: Transgression and Transformation

Anna Journey

Second books can be as different from their predecessors as Plath’s fiery originality of Ariel is distinct from the coolly conventional poise of The Colossus...

The State of the Author

David Hollander

I repeat to you, ladies and gentlemen: the State of the Author is strong. And with the unlikely help of every last one of us...

A Missing Goldfish

Yoshihiro Okumura

Today, however, all I could think of was the nose of Gogol. The image of a human-sized nose banging on my door.

From the Blog

On Violence

$138,000 into the story, there is nowhere else to go. I spent my twenty-seventh year typing letters of application, the nerves in each hand wrecked by…

On Shame

156,000 into the story, the room is empty.   The man I have started dating listens to my stories of how the dinners at the American Academy would unfold,…