Nominated for Best Small Fictions by The Masters Review

The Best Small Fictions is the first contemporary anthology solely devoted to honoring the best short hybrid fiction published in a calendar year.

The series began in 2015, featuring seasoned and emerging writers. Flash, micro fiction, prose poetry, and haibun stories are just some examples of the hybrid forms honored.

The Masters Review is excited to share our nominations for Best Small Fictions! Meet the authors, read their stories:

The High Points by Craig Kenworthy – Winner of Ooligan’s Write To Publish Short Fiction Contest

A trip back to The Azores Islands-my birthplace

This is in Ponta Delgada on Sao Miguel. 

Cinco Picos- Mom and I on the ridge where Dad’s military post was .

Overlooking the square in Angra on Terceria the island I was born on.  Founded in 1480 and yes, I ran up the small peak in the background.

Fish Anthology Launch event

Craig Kenworthy

In lovely Bantry, Ireland. Quite a treat to read my short story there among so many wonderful writers.  I told the audience:
As we waited to board Aer Lingus in Seattle, I was chatting with two Irish guys. They asked why I was going to Ireland. I told them I was reading a short story at a literary event.  And what is it about?  Long pause. You do not want to tell someone boarding a Transatlantic flight that your short story is about someone investigating a…plane crash:)

What I’m up to and a novel excerpt

I’ve finished the final revisions to my novel “At the Feet of the Hanged” a thriller involving World War One veteran police sergeant Thomas Holiday and Constable Alice Roff. Here is a short excerpt:

Holiday pulled out the gun again.

“You really intend to shoot me. Go ahead.”

“I’ll put a body on the ferry if I have to. To keep the children coming.”

“You will back away, please, Sergeant Holiday.”

Cohen was in a crouch now and had both hands on the lantern. Holiday stepped five feet back.


Holiday backpedaled another five feet.


He saw Roff edging out of Cohen’s line of sight. He repocketed the Wembly.

“For God’s sake, don’t do it, Cohen.”

For a moment, Holiday thought the wind had taken his words. Then he saw Isaac Cohen smile. It was the same kind of smile you see from a man who just lost the last hand of the night at cards.

“Thank you for not lying. About finding a way to keep me here.”

The lamp tilted, paraffin running out on the ice. Cohen’s smile failed away as he started to let the lamp fall into the miniature yellow river.

The last thing Holiday saw was the constable making a championship sliding tackle of the lamp, kicking it away before the flame could ignite all the spilled and spreading fuel. The fast distancing away light blinked and went out.

The last thing Holiday heard was the sound. Like coarse paper being balled up, the ice breaking at last.


A collection of my short plays is now available from Heartland Plays:

My poem “The Weather Channel loves you, thundersnow” appeared as part of King County’s Poetry on Buses.