normal person: that thing that just happened to me was the worst ugh.

writer: hate what just happened to me & I’m sad right now but this will make a great story someday lol

normal person: that thing that just happened to me was the worst ugh.

writer: hate what just happened to me & I’m sad right now but this will make a great story someday lol

not a novel not a short story but a secret third thing (a super satisfying novella)

the ideas vanish in daylight 🫠

very rude of my brain to only think of things to write when I’m sleepy in bed & to go silent when I’m wide awake at a desk

I am so sorry to hear this. Sheldon was the first editor to ever send me an acceptance & publish my fiction. will always be so grateful to him for that. thinking of him & everyone close to him

an email found me well today but then it rejected my story so the next email will find me suspicious and guarded against being hurt again

his writing in Duplex is so good

reader: wow this seems effortless.
writer: it took me ten years & 400 drafts to complete this story

forgot to add a hot cup of tea ☕️ 👩🏽‍🦳

“I grew fond of the otherworldly hue, the odd effect it had on my temporal placement of events, as though I inhabited a constant, everlasting memory of the past.” love this one, Chris

you’re only as old as you feel, she whispers to herself as she eats dinner at 4:45 & slips into pajamas and swaddles herself in a cozy blanket

Cheryl! thanks so much for telling me—I’m so thrilled & appreciate you including my story

I actually was swimming laps both days last weekend & it did help me sleep a bit better

they should invent a kind of sleep that when you wake up the next morning it actually feels like you slept

yes 🤍

lol yes. right now I’m loving Tacoma by @aaronburch.bsky.social + novels & stories by Leonora Carrington, Yōko Ogawa, & Brian Evenson & it can be intimidating but mostly inspiring

totally get it but I try not to think of mine as being in competition with theirs. easier said than done 😅

best part of reading some excellent books is wanting to go improve what you’re writing as soon as possible

can’t wait to read! my hometown diner is probably my most nostalgic place (with the woods a close second)

it’s a building with a 24 hour sign over it! lots of my stories are in convenience or grocery stores & diners :) I’m intrigued by yours too—a novel?

my story collection in progress:

🌲 👻 🏪 🚂 🏚️

oh no I’ve written too much, I haven’t written enough

me too! there are dozens of us

that’s me in the corner that’s me in the spotlight writing my silly little stories hoping they find readers

Title: Mangoes and Tequila Author: Anna Vangala Jones Image of a large mango Text of the story: My ex-boyfriend—who we now say is my best friend which hurts my actual best friend’s feelings though it’s not a real title accompanied by any sort of perks—helped me move into my new apartment in a faraway state today, so I tell him he can stay over for the night before his long drive back home alone. It’s only fair, I try to explain to my actual best friend over the phone but she laughs and says we’ll probably fall into bed together one last time for a wistful unhealthy goodbye. I think she’s wrong and this move is us starting fresh. Right now we’re at my neighborhood grocery store and I’m struck by that strange sense of being lost in a dream. I’m squeezing fruit like I’m touching the body of a new love while my heart is still longing for the familiarity of the one I’ve just left or lost. My ex-boyfriend / best-friend-in-name-only reaches for a mango at the same time as me so we can touch hands and pretend it is an accident of fate, but I pull away before he can prove my actual best friend right. In the liquor aisle, we hesitate but buy some tequila so as to make the temptation tonight almost too much to bear or resist. “Am I here because I come running whenever you call or because I can lift heavy furniture for you?” He’ll ask this when we’re almost asleep and I'll tell him, “you're here because you’re my best friend and I'm going to miss you.” That last part will be true.

I have a tiny new micro today in @bulbregion.bsky.social. grateful to @sarpsozdinler.bsky.social & any of you who read this story! 🥭 🥃 bulbregion.com/Mangoes-and-...

Sunset

Sky doing sky things this evening.

Title: “A Love Story Told in Nine Lives” Author: Anna Vangala Jones An illustration of a man walking past a cafe window. Inside the cafe a woman is sitting and drinking coffee at a table by the window and the man is looking at her as he walks.

I have a new story in Short Story Long! many thanks to @aaronburch.bsky.social, a wonderful editor who always makes my writing better, the incredible Zoë Petersen for her beautiful original art, & all of you who take the time to read this one ♡ ashortstorylong.substack.com/p/a-love-sto...

title: Maybe Mary author: Anna Vangala Jones a mosaic pattern in blue, tan, and purple

title: Maybe Mary author: Anna Vangala Jones a mosaic pattern in blue, tan, and purple quote from story: “She says she doesn’t want to talk about the disappearance. Anything but that is fine.”

I have a new short story in the wonderful Terrazzo Editions today called “Maybe Mary” & I’d be thrilled if you give it a read. so grateful to amazing editor Gina Nutt. you can find her interview with me here too www.terrazzoeditions.com/terrazzomag/...

At the top of the page is a drawing of a pile of skulls. Underneath is today’s date: September 4, 2025. Then the title of the story and the name of the author: Our second date was meant to be unconventional and unromantic by Anna Vangala Jones. Below that is the text of the story: —we thought we were funny when we suggested meeting at the laundromat because we bonded on the first date about putting it off so long we'd almost reached the bathing suits as underwear stage. But when he called to cancel, I worried I should have held onto my mystique a bit longer and not revealed the lazy mess lurking beneath my put together surface yet. "It's not that," he said. "I have to go to a funeral." After I told him how sorry I was, he said, "Want to come?" I joked, "It's too soon but take me to the next one." I appreciated the earnest vulnerability of his response that he could use the company so I said yes. My friends teased me that we'd only been on one date so maybe he was a serial killer and we would be going to my funeral. Weird how we cope with the possibility of being murdered every time we meet someone new by laughing about how hilarious it'll be if it happens, but it's preferable to being paralyzed by it. "He loves Bruce Springsteen, so he can't be that bad," I told them. The funeral was for his lifelong friend—they had first met at only five years old—so it was of course sad. We held hands as they lowered the casket. After everyone else left, we wandered the cemetery chatting about everything and nothing like we were at a coffee shop and he kissed me in front of a tombstone that read, "Beloved and remembered. Until we meet again." He ghosted me after that. When I listen to Bruce at the laundromat, I wonder why our first and last kiss happened amidst graves and death and almost write him to ask. But maybe it's better not to know.

I have a new tiny story in @havehashad.com today about fleeting connections. thanks as always to @aaronburch.bsky.social, one of the best editors around, & to all of you who read this one ♡ 💀 🪦 ♡ www.havehashad.com/hadposts/our...