A California Magazine with Local Focus and Global Appeal:
Community - Entertainment - Human Interest

Weekly issues every Saturday morning and other special articles throughout the week — there's something for everyone. Check out our sister site KRL News & Reviews for even more articles every week.


by Alexander Inglis

It’s not every day that you wake up one morning and say: “Why don’t I start a mystery publishing house?” It was almost like that with ReQueered Tales, an indie publisher of LGBTQ fiction started in the early spring of 2019. Three online friends – we’ve still never met in person – chatting in a Facebook gay mystery group were bemoaning the number of gay mystery novels that had slipped out of print. After some due diligence, ReQueered Tales was born.


Dead Set By Richard Kadrey

IN THE January 4 ISSUE

FROM THE 2014 Articles,
andEvery Other Book,
andFantasy & Fangs,
andJesus Ibarra

by Jesus Ibarra

Richard Kadrey, best known for his Sandman Slim urban fantasy series, enters the world of YA fiction with Dead Set. Not a completely unexpected thing, as YA fiction has become an incredibly popular genre, with almost every popular urban fantasy author writing a YA novel. However, Dead Set strangely does not read or feel like a YA adult novel. It doesn’t focus on a lot of the current YA tropes such teenage romance, someone finding their destiny and or trying to save the world. Kadrey avoids these trappings by making Dead Set all about dealing with grief– specifically the grief of the teenage character, Zoe, who is still mourning the loss of her father.


by Cynthia Chow

Lack of height has never hampered five foot tall private detective, Sean Sean, the tracer of lost persons, collector of evidence of malfeasance and revealer of fraudsters and thieves. However, for his current cases, Sean’s greatest tasks will be trying to investigate the motivations and identities of his actual clients. The probably-not-his-real-name, Mr. Gehrz, is using his cash retainer to hire Sean to find Tiffany Market, a woman with whom Gehrz claims to have once had a relationship but who has since disappeared.


by Elaine Faber

One October weekend Mom took Sissy and me to the Leger Hotel in Mokelume Hills, in the Sierra Mountains. She left us in the room while she went sightseeing. We stepped through the windows that opened onto the balcony where the prostitutes used to sit, according to the maid, advertising their wares. Coming back inside, we could just make out the wispy outline of an old guy sitting on the sofa. His face was covered with gray whiskers and he was missing a front tooth. He waved a gnarled hand. “Excuse me. Could I trouble ya’ to help me move on to the here-after?”


by Kristin Cosentino

First of all, let me just say that I have a pretty tough life. I’m not trying to get sympathy; I’m just telling it like it is. It’s been just my mom and me ever since my dad ran off and my brothers and sisters found new places to live.

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by Diana Hockley

“Do you think you can do it?” he asked.
“I know I can!” she purred. “And if I can, will I get the job?”
“Yeah. Go for it. Knock yourself out, sweetheart.”


by Daryl Wood Gerber

“David!” I pounded on the apartment door. “David, are you in there? Dave—”
The door swung open and my breath caught in my chest. David hung from a rope in the middle of the room, his face blue, body slack, boxers soiled. All the booze and crap I had consumed last night gushed up my throat. I drove it down and stared harder in an attempt to memorize the scene.


Farang: Mystery Short Story


FROM THE 2013 Articles,
andMysteryrat's Maze,
andTerrific Tales

by Jill Amadio

I knew before I hit the ground I had been struck by a farang. I could smell the meat in his pores in that split second of contact, as his shoulder sent me reeling halfway across the street. Steak-loving American soldiers have become easy prey in the Vietnamese jungle where they are fighting the war and their odor is just as recognizable here in Bangkok.

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by J.R. Chabot

I have my own room. Of course, since Mamma died, the whole house is mine. Mamma left me the house and the money. But this room is really my own. I grew up here. All my treasures and all my secrets are here. My father left before I remember, so it was always just Mamma and me. And now she’s gone.


by Paula Gail Benson

The quest for scholarships is a rite of Spring, but in my twelve years as a law school admissions director, I had never seen a situation like this one.
I’d attended plenty of meetings with potential students, seeking to optimize their chances at partial or full scholarships. What I had not previously encountered was a student-parent-financial-package-tag-team.


by Paula Gail Benson

For four months, in February of my sophomore year in high school– now almost thirteen years ago– I decided that for all practical purposes my life had ended at age fifteen. I wasn’t being overly dramatic, just realistic. What hurt the most was the fact that the end was my own fault.

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by Lida Bushloper

“I’m so glad that you would make time for an old lady like me. I hardly ever get to meet any of Joseph’s friends.” It was early May when I sat in the perfect kitchen of this woman I had just met, but recognized from the photograph I had been given. Of course I knew what response was expected of me, and I didn’t disappoint.


by Nancy Means Wright

For a while, back in l874, it looked as though Widow Dottie May Leach would be the mother of five hundred acres, as many Merino sheep, and married to the best catch in Branbury, Vermont. She was just thirty; Vic was twenty-four. He was interested in Dottie May all right. Other folks say different, but I know the whole story, being her only near relative and a local correspondent for the Addison Register. When you get paid a penny an inch, you develop a nose for news.

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by Dennis Palumbo

It wasn’t my first time in jail. Back in college–many years ago, I’m afraid–I was an overnight guest of the Pittsburgh Police as a result of protesting the U.S. invasion of Cambodia. Well, to be honest, this totally hot girl who sat next to me in Biology did the actual protesting. I just went along to offer moral support and in the vain hopes of getting some action.


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