Residency Program
The Fictional Café offers two unique opportunities to poets and writers. Our Residency Program gives one poet and one writer each a two year position on our site as the lead artist in their chosen medium. During their two years of residency, each honoree is featured on our site regularly with their own works of poetry, fiction, essay, memoir, commentary and even visual art: any creative outlet can be expressed.
In addition to two years of work featured on our site, each resident will receive a slot in our next print anthology as well as a nomination for a Pushcart Prize.
Upon completion of their residency, each resident is offered the opportunity to publish a collection of works we’ve featured on our site in book format via our Fictional Café Press imprint. This book will celebrate their time at the helm of their craft by showcasing all their work in one place in tangible form.
Residents are chosen by our Editorial Board based on a continued presentation of quality work over several years of experience with each individual as well as the Board’s belief in the individual’s future ability in their particular craft.
Poet-in-Residence Vera West 2022-2023
Vera West Is Our 2022-2023 Poet-in-Residence!
Editor’s Note:We are excited to announce our second Poet-in-Residence, Vera West! Earlier this year, we were introduced to Vera through our all-star Poetry Barista, Yong Takahashi. Michael and Jennifer were throwing around the idea of doing a “potpourri post” of poetry. The timing worked out for it to fall on National Poetry Week, so we organized a lineup of poets for the post. I reached out to Yong to ask if she knew any poets who would want to contribute a poem and she replied with an enthusiastic request to include Vera. (You can see that National Poetry Month post here.) Over the summer, us baristas were discussing who we wanted to nominate for the next Poet-in-Residence position and again Yong came back with Vera’s name. We perused her portfolio and had a delightful Zoom…
“A Sad Tale,” Poetry by Vera West
Editor’s Note: This is Vera West’s first full poetry post on The Fictional Café as our new Poet-in-Residence for 2022-2023. Please help us welcome her to the Café and be sure to read her haunting, heartbreaking trilogy of poems at the end, called “A Sad Tale.” loneliness It’s an odd thing to grieve in advance, to let your mind give you a sample taste of the things you fear; the most flavorful being: loneliness. I’m anxious about the day when my loved ones are all gone, and I’m truly alone. between sisters the first time I told her our father had killed our dog, she hadn’t believed me. Perhaps it was the way I’d said it; “he killed our dog,” was all I’d said. the second time I told her she asked our father and…
“I Hear Yes,” Poetry by Vera West
i hear “yes” I jokingly have asked my husband: “Do you feel like I’m a gallon of milk you got home only to find out it’s expired?” He knows I’m referring to how I used to be pretty but now feel curdled. He laughs—not a real laugh but a confused nervous one I’ve forced out of him by knowing he loves me and asking him a ridiculous question like that anyway. You might focus on the fact that he did in fact laugh—coerced or not—but what you should really be focusing on is how only a sad insecure person hiding behind pain in humor would make that joke in the first place. It says so much and for the record, he always answers no but I always hear yes. ** affect and effect No one…
Our National Poetry Month Finale: Vera West
Please welcome Vera West, The Fictional Cafe’s Poet in Residence, who shares her thoughts about our National Poetry Month celebration: chickadee I’m not always angry but I am mostly melancholy, thinking about those little potholes of memories riddling a twisting road of disappointment; these memories jar me: pancakes, carnivals, front yard barbecues, black fridays and pastel pink egg hunts, nicknames no one else called me; these memories always jarred me, they’re so different than the standard of both back then and now. ** thinking of you Things you did right: encourage me to be authentic, drive me around town, instill independence, and push high expectations. [I want to be somewhere in the middle, between the good and the bad, between emotion and logic, but I’m stuck in extremes. either I miss you terribly or hate you…
Writer-in-Residence Rachel Gonzalez
“Little Black Dress” and “Collegiate Correspondence” by Rachel Gonzalez
Two Stirring Mise-en-Scènes Little Black Dress Lilia walked 7,392 steps to and from her apartment on an average day. And being a woman, Lilia was, on an average day, cat-called at a new corner. A new stoop. A new shop front. Since her body became what it was meant to be, they were there, noticing out loud. A new man. The same bullshit. “Ay Ma, lemme talk to you!” “Yo Shawty! Where you goin so fast?” “Baby Doll! I got something for you!” Day in and day out, Lilia would leave her house in any manner of outfits—slacks, skirts, blouses, shorts, dresses, blazers, heels, flats—didn’t matter. Whatever it was, she shouldn’t be wearing it. Whatever she was wearing was subjected to a sordid request to the men she passed. If she was outside, she was…
Writer-in-Residence Rachel Gonzalez
I’m thrilled and proud to be the latest Writer-in-Residence for The Fictional Café. Writing is how I process the world, it’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do. And I’ve done everything I can to make sure that my life is absolutely saturated in stories. My publications include “The Baptism of an Atheist” for The Bitchin’ Kitsch and winner of the Samuel LaRue Finley Humorous Writing contest; “Hey, You Know What We Should Do?” for The Tunnels; and “Little Black Dress” and “Collegiate Correspondents” for Fictional Café. “Collegiate Correspondents” once again won the Samuel LaRue Finley Humorous Writing contest. Today I work in a public library and am pursuing a Masters in English Lit to become a professor and engage with young adults who were just like me in college. When I’m not writing and…
“Paper Dolls” by Rachel Gonzalez
A Short Story by Our New Writer in Residence He has a collection of paper dolls and a workshop dedicated to them. It’s a perfectly maintained and organized room filled with tools of his trade. Xacto knives and self-healing mats, tacky spray for stubborn pages, creasing tools for the ideal line. There are no unruly folds or crinkled edges in his workshop. He’s a sentimental man. His favorite paper dolls live in a box on the highest shelf. Sometimes he pulls them out to admire them, or to take inspiration for his newest project. His process is very thorough: First comes the raw material. He can spot the potential of a page from a mile away. Be it the pattern or the texture or the pliability, he knows a good page when he gets his…
Our Writer in Residence Hikes the Grand Canyon
Rachel Gonzalez, Fictional Café’s Fiction Writer in Residence, recently completed an adventure known as the “Grand Canyon Rim-to-River-to-Rim” hike. In April, 2023, Rachel and three friends started at one edge, or rim, of the Grand Canyon, hiked down a vertical mile to the bottom, along the Colorado River, and then back up – about 17 miles in all. AllTrails says this hike on the South Kaibab, Phantom Ranch, and Bright Angel Trails, is “Generally considered a challenging route.” Here, in words and images, is the tale of Rachel’s adventure as told to Fictional Café. Very special thanks to Becky Armendariz for her photography. Fictional Café: Hi, Rachel. Challenging indeed! When did you hike it? Rachel: Hi, Jack! We went out April 13th. We were staying at Bright Angel Lodge, which was also our exit point from…
Previous Residents
Writer-in-Residence Derrick Lafayette
“The Oddity of Jo Bobby and the Seven Doors” – A Story by Derrick R. Lafayette
Editor’s Note: This story is a bit longer than our usual fare, but we’re publishing it nonetheless because it’s an unusually entertaining work: a western and a mystery and even a bit of a supernatural thriller, set in the early days of America. Enjoy! “You Bobby-Jo?” “I’m Jo Bobby.” A gunshot blast rang through the wraparound porch of a colonial-style blue and white house that morning in Wormwood, Tennessee. August 9th, 1830, the hottest day Wormwood had ever seen. A gunshot blast so loud that the nearby sheriff, prune-skinned with a handlebar white mustache, woke up in his bed. The gun holster, cupping his gleaming silver pride and joy, was hanging lazily off his bedpost, adjacent to a snoring whale of a woman who wasn’t his wife. The sheriff gripped both sides of his coarse…
“The Lighthouse,” A Short Story by Derrick R. Lafayette
Featured Image Photo Credit: Wikipedia. West Quoddy Head, in Quoddy Head State Park, Lubec, Maine, is the easternmost point of the contiguous United States. A clump of snow slid from the plunging power lines and splattered atop the coffin. Utility poles leaned on both sides of the road. When Maverick looked up, the empty white sky was blocked by rubber cables. For miles ahead, the snow sparkled untouched. No tracks, nor footprints, completely uncharted. Behind Maverick and Goose were two sets of footprints and sled marks. Thick rope was cutting into their shoulders, dragging the wooden tomb. Its imprints creased the burly coats they’d been wearing for two months. Goose pulled down his wool scarf. The first exhale billowed into a cloud of frost. His nose was beet red, poking out from a black garden of unkempt facial hair,…
“Lester and the Mysteries of Wax and Wane,” by Derrick R. Lafayette
Lester, for all intents and purposes, was walking his dog down a familiar trail at 8:21 pm. The first block was uneventful. The dog peed where he’d always peed millions of times before. Shat where he’d always shat before. Lester readied his green, eco-friendly poop bag, bent down with ease, and collected his pet’s droppings. At 8:35pm, Lester and his dog about-faced and were heading home when a giant flash of light enveloped the sky. He saw nothing but white, and his dog was an inverted shadow, blurring in his vision. When Lester was able to see again, all of the familiar surroundings took an interesting turn. A man whose feet never touched the ground, shrouded in orange garb with mandala designs, appeared before him. The man stretched his arm, opened his hand, and inside…
Derrick R. Lafayette Is Our First Writer-in-Residence
Announcing the newest position on The Fictional Café: the Writer-in-Residence. Our Editorial Team has awarded this role to longtime FC contributor Derrick R. Lafayette. Following a wonderful year of our first Poet-in-Residence, awarded to Mbizo Chirasha, we decided to expand upon this idea by adding a prose writer. Each Residency lasts two years. This staggering allows our members to greet a new face each year and allows us two full years of sharing each Resident’s work. As our Writer-in-Residence for 2021-2022, we will be publishing some of Derrick’s short stories, novel excerpts and perhaps some essays as well. He’s been featured on our site several times over the last three years. Each time, we’ve been impressed by his growth as well as his ability to create engrossing tales using both unique storylines and moments from…
“The Witness” A Short Story by Derrick R. Lafayette
I spent the entire day in bed staring at the white ceiling. If you stare at it long enough, it begins to sweat. Mother always said I was an “overthinker.” When she remembered me, before Alzheimer’s. Before the inevitable change where we all wither. I never believed it until now. I scrolled through my phone searching for the app that controls my life. Since my remote’s been lost in the abyss of my apartment, I needed it to tune in and tune out. It was an ungodly hour. I could tell from the pulsating tangerine glow of the streetlights on my white curtain blinds. During particular times in the night, they malfunctioned. I used to think microscopic cameras were inside snapping pictures of me. Aliens sending morse code. Or, that I was subconsciously controlling it with my mind, trying to send myself a message from within. A myriad of paranoid fantasies. I take pills now. I’m better now. I don’t think as much. …
“Heather, Ludwig and Nathaniel,” An Excerpt by Derrick R. Lafayette
LUDWIG I was surprised she’d read the first chapter. My tutor usually found small detours in any narrative I put forth. It reminded me of looking at a sheet through a magnifying glass, judging the components that hold it together. Inside my glasses were three strands of hair, dust, and a fingerprint, yet, I blinked away the annoyance and kept going. When I finally finished chapter two, I emailed my document to her. She unearthed a cellphone twice the size of her hand, stuck her face into the screen, and scrolled with her pinky. “Do you know what a journeyman is?” the tutor asked slyly, leaving a hum of arrogance in the question. “A nomad?” I responded, unsure. “Ah, but you do know what failure is?” “A worker or sports player who is reliable but…
Poet-in-Residence Mbizo Chirasha 2020-2021
Please Welcome Mbizo Chirasha, Our First Poet in Residence
It’s a great honor to introduce Mr. Mbizo Chirasha to our Coffee Club members. We met Mr. Chirasha through Poets & Writers magazine when he sent us an email recognizing our efforts. After reviewing his credentials and reading, “I am a capable literary and cultural arts worker. My role and purpose is to shift perceptions, inform and educate society through my writings and literary arts activism projects,” it was evident we could ignore neither Mbizo’s internationally acclaimed poetry nor his extraordinary activism. After discussion among us baristas, we decided Mbizo should be offered a new position, created especially for him: the first Fictional Café Poet in Residence. When it was offered, he wrote: “I am greatly impressed by your offering this position. I accept with my all poetic humility. I thank you greatly.” Mbizo is a…
“Dimples of Haiti,” Poetry by Mbizo Chirasha
DIMPLES OF HAITI Haiti, stink of sweat smelling millet slavery and the scent of blood revolutions. Slapped in the face with sanctions mud by hands under the influence of imperialistic alcohol. A super-concoction of propaganda maize porridge and Media yeast. Waterfalls of anger washing away your freedom dimples Handmaidens and mental epileptic waiters serving political syphilis in ideological cafes Children smelling stale ideological urine and dirt diplomatic cocaine Identities condomised with donor culture and sexual myopia Baboons eating colors of your flag, munching apples of your freedom Tongues kissing bottom streams of the state under the veil of democracy gospel Haiti, my pen is a weapon of mass instruction, I see the spreading yellow York of the sun, gently falling over the darkness of your skin, yawning off the old skin of dust, Regaining the lost richness of your dimples. ** DAWN OF…
Poetry and Prose to Honor Juneteenth
We at The Fictional Cafe are shocked, dismayed and angered by American policemen gunning down American men of color. We assume you feel similarly. Times of great stress, like the COVID-19 pandemic, bring out both the best and the worst in people. It is a time in which we must be patient, calm, understanding, even forgiving, even while we protest for change. We have no way of knowing what strife and pain, or growth and joy, await us in the endless days of this pandemic. All we have is today to be the very best humans we can possibly be, and that today, today, is Juneteenth when the world bows its head to remember the end of slavery in America, circa 1865. Of course, we know it wasn’t the end and that racism still runs…
“Black Oranges,” Poetry by Mbizo Chirasha
BLACK ORANGES Xenophobia my son I hear a murmur in the streets A babble of adjoining markets Your conscience itching with guiltiness like Genital leprosy Your wide eyes are cups where tears never fall When they fall the storm wash down bullet drainsand garbage cities ii) Come nomzano with your whisper to drown, Blood scent stinking the rainbow altar. Darfur, petals of blood spreading, Perfume of death choking slum nostrils Slums laden with acrid smell of mud and Debris smelling like fresh dungs heaps Fear scrawling like lizards on Darfur skin Kibera. I see you scratching your mind like ragged linen Smelling the breath of slums and diesel fumes The smoke puffing out through ghetto ruins is the fire dousing the emblem of the state iii) Belly of Zambezi ache with crocodile and fish Villages piled like heaps of potatoes against the flank…
“Prince of Satan,” A Short Story by Mbizo Chirasha
A solitary baboon barked throughout the night. The barking sound was the stitch between silence and darkness. Dogs never barked to anything. Owls were ironically trapped in their dark nests. Dawn arrived unexpectedly. My father coughed from the pit of his lungs. My skin tightened because his cough was deep. His incessant loud snores disturbed the silence. Fingers of the sun soon filtered into my torn blanket. Intense heat pricked my whip-lashed back. I felt an irritating pain inside me. I sneaked out of my night trap with a bold start and peeped into the real world through the crevices of my rondavel. I couldn’t believe my innocent eyes. Just outside, next to river, stray dogs whined and snarled amid a leisurely sexual act. I made an embarrassed laughter. They danced in their act as…
Mbizo Chirasha – My First Year as Poet-in-Residence
Time has legs: it walks and of course it runs. Somewhere in the cybernetic land of the brave, America, a trailblazing coffee shop is situated, born from assortments of poetry biscuits, flash fiction soups that wink likea jolt of rainforest lightning. The Fictional Café, a buffet of literary commentary and steaming cups of cappuccinos,the sweet aroma of words waft through its glowing virtual walls, beckoning and satiating all sure creatives.Inside the Café, you are welcomed by a band of poetry baristas. I joined the Fictional Café as the Poet in Residence and the greatest blessing is a myriad of my experimental writings have been serialized, featured, and published within its digital pages. Jack B. Rochester and your team of literary champions:I salute you for the Poet in Residence position and for your confident investmentin my writings and mutual collaborative efforts. ***…
An Excerpt and News from Mbizo Chirasha
Editor’s Note: Mbizo Chirasha is The Fictional Café’s Poet-in-Residence. We have featured his work for two years now and are closing in on the end of his term. You may have noticed that we have featured less of his work this year, which, we are sad to say, is because Mbizo has been fleeing his home in Zimbabwe and trying to find asylum in another country. Due to his criticism of African politics and corruption in his writing, he has frequently been a target of violence from his government. We have partnered with a few organizations to help him find a safe place to live and write, but he continues to meet challenges. Mbizo has recently published a new book, which we announced earlier this year. Here is an excerpt from his book, called, “Along…
