Publisher, Rural Fiction Magazine; publisher, The Chamber Magazine; founder, the Farmington Writers Circle. I have written short stories and poetry for many years. In my careers as a Naval officer and in the federal government, I have written thousands of documents of many types. I am currently working on a second edition for my poetry collection and a few novels.
Rural Fiction Magazine (RFM) would like to publish more writers from around the world, regardless of your country of origin. So far, RFM has readers and contributors from 46* nations.
RFM wants to develop talent, measuring it in a fair and equitable way to find hidden and disadvantaged talent in a world where not everybody has an equal chance to exhibit their abilities. RFM does not discriminate against anyone. The only personal criterium for publication is talent in use of English and in developing outstanding stories. Because RFM embraces the global community, RFM embraces differences, whether those are race, age, ethnicity, religion, gender, sexual orientation, or physical ability. RFM wants to see diversity in writing from around the world, from all time zones. RFM respects everyone’s voice and strives to create a culture in which people from all cultures, races, and backgrounds feel encouraged to express their ideas and perspectives. You can help our contributors gain exposure by sharing their works widely and also by back linking to them and to RFM’s homepage.
RFM is seeking short stories, poems, reviews and press releases, on rural fiction books that reflect the beauty, tranquility, joys, anguish, sorrows, humor, tragedy, comedy, and drama of rural life. RFM believes that all stories are about people and that genre is secondary. Therefore, RFM is open to almost all genres such as mainstream, literary, romance, horror, western, mystery, thriller, historical, realist, coming of age (Bildungsroman for those who speak German), science fiction, magical realism, dystopian, etc, so long as they are connected to rural life and culture anywhere in the world.
Your work must be in English. It can a translation from your native language, but it must be in English, which is spoken around the globe and gives the work and author substantial worldwide exposure.
Please note that there is no pay for this other than a publication credit and exposure to the English-speaking markets. However, all rights remain with the author.
Currently, RFM is publishing material within a few weeks of acceptance, though this may vary depending on the number of submissions.
Please share this announcement to give it maximum exposure.
Financial donations through either our GoFundMe or Buy Me a Coffee accounts will help expand our global reach by paying for advertising, more advanced WordPress plans, and expansion into more extensive Content Delivery Networks.
*These nations include Canada, United Kingdom, India, Austria, Taiwan, Australia, Thailand, Japan, Ireland, Germany, Poland, New Zealand, Lithuania, Indonesia, Costa Rica, Greece, Singapore, South Korea, France, Netherlands, Sweden, Norway, Nigeria, Finland, Saudi Arabia, Romania, South Africa, Mexico, Bangladesh, Italy, Palestinian Territories, Guatemala, Switzerland, Nepal, Portugal, Barbados, Kenya, Malta, Hungary, Spain, Ukraine, Turkey, Oman, Brazil, Estonia, and Pakistan.
Nobody had seen him since the fall. After sheepherding, he’d come by Crooked Creek Ranch to bathe and leave his summer’s pay with my grandparents for safekeeping; had hooked up the field cultivator to spread and work the summer’s worth of chicken manure into a small alkali flat that was a thriving hay meadow in my grandfather’s mind’s eye; had been seen loafing and sipping on Picon Punch at the bar in the Basque restaurant in Mica; had stopped over at the Shooting Star Ranch to shine as a deft roper during their autumn branding and arranged to winter there in exchange for maintaining their tack and harness. As usual in the fall, he had scooped up his prospecting gear from the Dreaming Lion Ranch and headed south. That was the last anybody had seen of him.
He would usually have been back as October’s warm spell, Indian Summer, was cooling, before bitter cold and deep snow were serious risks in the mountains. Here in the valley, he would set trap lines for the winter. Maybe he had sensed bad winter coming and headed south on the eternal search for gold (or golden solitude with no responsibilities), far enough south that the Sonoran desert held him, ever promising but never delivering, all winter long. But, then, he would have drifted back to the Beckworth Meadows by April in time for lambing, spring round-ups, and deep disking the vegetable gardens. Yet he did not come. People began to wonder if the early snow had caught him and the Tormentoso winter had devoured him.
Then, a very old pickup truck rattled and clattered up to the Crooked Creek ranch house and out tumbled a disreputable looking bundle with a wild bushy beard and an unkempt mane. A pick and rucksack and a fat, 6’ square object (later revealed to be a cattail quilt) spilled out after him. He straightened up, squared his shoulders, futilely smoothed the mane, strode to the door, knocked, and then bowed respectfully to my grandmother. She stood stock still, then greeted him stirring warmth with exasperation. She jerked her head sideways. Obediently, Luke walked around the house to the patio facing east.
He set a wooden stool beside the galvanized metal washtub, then placed another nearby. He began shedding fabric, furs, feathers and cattail fuzz. Even stripped down, he still sported an unfamiliar fur. There was a terrible stink, but maybe he was used to it. He sat in sunlight, absorbed in simply being. He was the scrawniest man I had ever seen.
My grandmother came out in a canvas apron and perched on the other stool. Luke hung his head and offered her his left arm — looking close you could see that his fur was not natural, but rather involved a ruin of weirdly dark and hairy waffle-cloth long underwear. Waffle cloth is normally a light oatmeal color, with bright narrow raised edges around square hollows, the squares about half an inch on a side. But not this version.
She looked at his arm and then up into his eyes and shouted, “I’ve never seen a man go without a bath so long that his body hair’s grown through his Long Johns!” His body hair had wound its way through the waffle cloth, encasing him in an outer skin that was both him and not him.
With firm, deft, graceful movements, she began clipping the wiry hairs down close to the cloth. Remonstrating and occasionally expostulating — I could not hear the words — she eased the first two fingers of her left hand under the cuff of the sleeve, working it a little loose. She drew out a pair of nail scissors with the right hand, slid them in, and snipped. One square of the waffle cloth was detached. Relentlessly, but unhurriedly, she worked her way around that wrist. Luke regarded it with bemusement, blew softly on his newly bare wrist, and smiled.
She snipped and lifted her way around the next row of squares, then the next. Onward, she worked her way up from the wrist, first clipping the hairs on the outside and then working underneath the fabric. Having trimmed the hairs on the outside meant that on some of the squares, the hairs slid through when she lifted the cloth with the scissors. Then, with a bigger scissors, she cut off the fabric.
On the stubborn squares, she eased the nail scissors under the fabric. She snipped the hairs one by one to free the cloth.
She and Luke began to sing. In some places, the fabric disintegrated as she worked. Shadows glided from the west. Finally Luke stood, naked as a baby, the long underwear in rags about his feet, some sores and angry patches on his skin.
Cowboys who had been moving furniture during the weekly mopping of the house’s concrete floor staggered out, carrying huge kettles to pour into the washtub. My grandmother returned to the house. Luke folded his skinny frame into the tub and sat there for half an hour. Then he grasped the scrub brush, worked up a good foam on the soap, and scrubbed — wherever the skin was whole — from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet. Then a dip to rinse. My grandmother returned, donned rubber gloves, dipped a washcloth in a bucket of clean water and carefully cleaned injuries and sores. After he toweled himself off, she set to work with the medicines. As the day waned, he was decorated, almost tattooed, with purple gentian violet and vermilion mercurochrome on his sores and injuries, a wild and savage look, but recognizably human.
“Thank you Ma’am, Bless you for your kindness. Never again, Ma’am,” he promised. “Welcome back,” she said. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, even if not a pretty one.” They laughed.
Please share this story to give it maximum distribution. Exposure is our authors’ only pay. You can also help our contributors gain exposure by linking to them and to RFM’s homepage.
Financial donations through either our GoFundMe or Buy Me a Coffee accounts will help expand our global reach by paying for advertising, more advanced WordPress plans, and expansion into more extensive Content Delivery Networks.
Rural Fiction Magazine is on a mission to showcase the rich tapestry of rural experiences from around the globe. Whether you’re penning heartwarming tales, poignant poems, or insightful reviews on rural fiction books, we want your voice! Our open-minded approach means we welcome all genres—be it romance, horror, or magical realism—as long as it connects to rural life. Your story matters!
A Worldwide Platform for Diverse Voices
With contributors from 46* countries and counting, RFM celebrates the universal human experience. By submitting your work, you join a vibrant community that transcends borders. Share your unique perspective and connect with readers who appreciate the beauty and complexity of rural narratives.
RFM wants to develop talent, measuring it in a fair and equitable way to find hidden and disadvantaged talent in a world where not everybody has an equal chance to exhibit their abilities. RFM does not discriminate against anyone. The only personal criterium for publication is talent in use of English and in developing outstanding stories. Because RFM embraces the global community, RFM embraces differences, whether those are race, age, ethnicity, religion, gender, sexual orientation, or physical ability. RFM wants to see diversity in writing from around the world, from all time zones. RFM respects everyone’s voice and strives to create a culture in which people from all cultures, races, and backgrounds feel encouraged to express their ideas and perspectives. You can help our contributors gain exposure by sharing their works widely and also by back linking to them and to RFM’s homepage.
Fast Publication for Your Creative Work
No waiting indefinitely to see your words in print! At RFM, we pride ourselves on our efficiency—most submissions are published within weeks of acceptance. Get ready to inspire others and gain well-deserved exposure in English-speaking markets including the USA, UK, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, and Ireland.
Your Voice Matters – Take Action Today!
Ready to share your story? Visit our submissions page for detailed guidelines and join us in celebrating rural fiction’s diverse tapestry. Remember: while there’s no monetary compensation beyond publication credit and exposure, your writing will resonate with an audience eager for authentic voices like yours.
Please share this announcement far and wide to help us discover exceptional talent from every corner of the world!
Financial donations through either our GoFundMe or Buy Me a Coffee accounts will help expand our global reach by paying for advertising, more advanced WordPress plans, and expansion into more extensive Content Delivery Networks.
*These nations include Canada, United Kingdom, India, Austria, Taiwan, Australia, Thailand, Japan, Ireland, Germany, Poland, New Zealand, Lithuania, Indonesia, Costa Rica, Greece, Singapore, South Korea, France, Netherlands, Sweden, Norway, Nigeria, Finland, Saudi Arabia, Romania, South Africa, Mexico, Bangladesh, Italy, Palestinian Territories, Guatemala, Switzerland, Nepal, Portugal, Barbados, Kenya, Malta, Hungary, Spain, Ukraine, Turkey, Oman, Brazil, Estonia, and Pakistan.
The nip of early morning air reflected on his brow scented with the aroma of freshly brewed tea untainted by impurities of city life, envelopes his lungs filled with bird song and gentle splash of water falls the incessant buzz of insects and coy of reptiles pervading the otherwise silent landscape man and nature unite, as they share in this resplendence
And as he meanders down misty mountains He observes … the figure of Varshi framed in the distance As she moves through the rolling hills of emerald green Adorned in a neatly pleated sari of many colors As if competing with the myriads of wild flowers A soft far away smile on her face lingers As she tips the tea leaves in to a sack with nimble fingers
Now, the villagers all jostled for his attention His Straw colored hair, so different to their own “Ayubowan sir" they greet him with glee And guided by undeniable curiosity They overwhelm him with their hospitality With humble offerings of …sumptuous sweets … and tea Sweet…. strong…. Ceylon tea
On passing the factory he notices Varshi again With her matted hair…her feet bruised and bare A full basket of tea buds bobbing at her back His eyes brim with awe…with fascination As she labors on sorting...stacking…shifting The tea leaves now left to wither and shred The statuesque figure retraces her steps Jauntily he hails her, “Good day miss” She nods shyly portraying a girlish demeanor
As the sunset descends with its many palette of colors the silhouette of the maiden looms before him… like so many of her kind she was resourceful although her earnings were far from plentiful With a heartwarming smile she extends to him A basket overflowing with tropical fruits Capturing the enduring power, beauty and spirit of true generosity.
Hiranya says about his life: “I am a visually impaired Sri Lankan with a Degree in Law and Management. I am a passionate writer and hope to publish a collection of poems in the future.”
Please share this story to give it maximum distribution. Exposure is our authors’ only pay. You can also help our contributors gain exposure by linking to them and to RFM’s homepage.
Financial donations through either our GoFundMe or Buy Me a Coffee accounts will help expand our global reach by paying for advertising, more advanced WordPress plans, and expansion into more extensive Content Delivery Networks.
Rural Fiction Magazine (RFM) would like to publish more writers from around the world, regardless of your country of origin. So far, RFM has readers and contributors from 46* nations.
RFM wants to develop talent, measuring it in a fair and equitable way to find hidden and disadvantaged talent in a world where not everybody has an equal chance to exhibit their abilities. RFM does not discriminate against anyone. The only personal criterium for publication is talent in use of English and in developing outstanding stories. Because RFM embraces the global community, RFM embraces differences, whether those are race, age, ethnicity, religion, gender, sexual orientation, or physical ability. RFM wants to see diversity in writing from around the world, from all time zones. RFM respects everyone’s voice and strives to create a culture in which people from all cultures, races, and backgrounds feel encouraged to express their ideas and perspectives. You can help our contributors gain exposure by sharing their works widely and also by back linking to them and to RFM’s homepage.
RFM is seeking short stories, poems, reviews and press releases, on rural fiction books that reflect the beauty, tranquility, joys, anguish, sorrows, humor, tragedy, comedy, and drama of rural life. RFM believes that all stories are about people and that genre is secondary. Therefore, RFM is open to almost all genres such as mainstream, literary, romance, horror, western, mystery, thriller, historical, realist, coming of age (Bildungsroman for those who speak German), science fiction, magical realism, dystopian, etc, so long as they are connected to rural life and culture anywhere in the world.
Your work must be in English. It can a translation from your native language, but it must be in English, which is spoken around the globe and gives the work and author substantial worldwide exposure.
Please note that there is no pay for this other than a publication credit and exposure to the English-speaking markets. However, all rights remain with the author.
Currently, RFM is publishing material within a few weeks of acceptance, though this may vary depending on the number of submissions.
Please share this announcement to give it maximum exposure.
Financial donations through either our GoFundMe or Buy Me a Coffee accounts will help expand our global reach by paying for advertising, more advanced WordPress plans, and expansion into more extensive Content Delivery Networks.
*These nations include Canada, United Kingdom, India, Austria, Taiwan, Australia, Thailand, Japan, Ireland, Germany, Poland, New Zealand, Lithuania, Indonesia, Costa Rica, Greece, Singapore, South Korea, France, Netherlands, Sweden, Norway, Nigeria, Finland, Saudi Arabia, Romania, South Africa, Mexico, Bangladesh, Italy, Palestinian Territories, Guatemala, Switzerland, Nepal, Portugal, Barbados, Kenya, Malta, Hungary, Spain, Ukraine, Turkey, Oman, Brazil, Estonia, and Pakistan.
