Scarecrows, fiction by Steve Rasnic Tem

G ibson stumbled out of the woods with his orange jumpsuit covered in beggar-ticks and burrs. Maybe walking away from the county road crew wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever done—he only had a couple of months left on his shoplifting sentence—but as his mama used to say her son wasn’t known for his smart decisions. “You got no self-control.” Mama was right. But Gibson believed in grabbing opportunities when they came, and their guard was young and not much good at guarding. The kid spent most of his time on his cell phone sitting in the truck. Gibson and another convict named Frank Moore were working in a ditch not more than thirty feet from the woods. It took them less than five minutes to get gone. Moore wanted to split up—Gibson had an unlucky reputation—and so they did. But Gibson had at least one good reason to take off. Two years ago, he killed a man in Memphis with a lug wrench after a quarrel in a parking lot—another lapse in self-control—and the police hadn’t figured it

Rockaway Beach, fiction by Nick Kolakowski

W hen Jonsey said the five of us should pool our money to rent a place on Rockaway Beach for the summer, it sounded like a cool idea. He’d found a glorified shack off Beach 98th, so weathered by the sea air that you could stick a pencil through the wooden walls without much resistance. But at least it was cheap, and we could spend three months surfing in the morning and smoking weed all afternoon before heading off to our respective night shifts. That summer, I worked as a hospital orderly at St. Vincent’s, down in the Village. You might think that spending most of your waking hours stoned would make you terrible at such a fast-paced job, but believe me, it was a necessity for staying upright and functional in that red chaos. Especially if, say, a Martian got you in a vicious headlock and threatened to break your neck like a wishbone. Which is exactly what happened. It was a sweaty Friday in August and I was looking forward to a weekend of nothing but waves and sunburns and a sof

Press Release, Half Crime 3/5/24

Redneck Press 119 Bradstreet Avenue Revere, MA 02151 FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE TITLE/RELEASE DATE: HALF CRIME, 3/5/24 CONTACT: Rusty Barnes, 617-816-8538 EMAIL: WEB: “Fuzzy had a password for weed sales. You had to say "Where's the good stuff?" Then he'd take you behind the petting zoo into the zebra trailer, where he had all the contraband stored neatly in plastic bags of various sizes in cardboard boxes, and you know, do his thing. I'd brought him weed before many times, but usually at his house in Wellsboro, and this new arrangement made me antsy.” APPALACHIAN WRITER PUBLISHES FOURTH STORY COLLECTION, HALF CRIME REVERE, MA, December 4th, 2023— Appalachian expatriate and poet Rusty Barnes of Revere, MA, will debut his story collection, Half Crime, as Redneck Press’s first full-length book of fiction, March 5 2024. "Half Crime reads like a collection of stories written by Raymond Carve

March 2024

 COMING SOON! Redneck Press begins publishing books! Specifically, story collections and novellas between 20 and 40K.