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	<description>beautiful, complex, daring</description>
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		<title>Paul Williams</title>
		<link>http://subtlefiction.wordpress.com/2012/09/10/paul-williams/</link>
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		<pubDate>Sun, 09 Sep 2012 21:00:41 +0000</pubDate>
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				<category><![CDATA[Paul Williams]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://subtlefiction.wordpress.com/?p=643</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[The Art of Losing Everything He heard it first, a curious rushing noise. Stopped to listen. Then he saw it-but still couldn&#8217;t quite make out what it was, or believe what it was. Then it hit. He ran for his Ute, fumbled with the keys, but before he could open the door, a wall of [...]<img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=subtlefiction.wordpress.com&#038;blog=21385221&#038;post=643&#038;subd=subtlefiction&#038;ref=&#038;feed=1" width="1" height="1" />]]></description>
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		<title>Irena Pasvinter</title>
		<link>http://subtlefiction.wordpress.com/2012/09/03/irena-pasvinter/</link>
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		<pubDate>Sun, 02 Sep 2012 21:00:30 +0000</pubDate>
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				<category><![CDATA[Irena Pasvinter]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://subtlefiction.wordpress.com/?p=639</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Everything Is Fair I have many favorite writers. Most of them are dead, but some are still here. Each time my favorite author publishes a new book it’s like a holiday. When I learned that Julia Peters was coming to sign her new novel in a book shop just an hour drive from my neck [...]<img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=subtlefiction.wordpress.com&#038;blog=21385221&#038;post=639&#038;subd=subtlefiction&#038;ref=&#038;feed=1" width="1" height="1" />]]></description>
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		<title>Candy Caradoc</title>
		<link>http://subtlefiction.wordpress.com/2012/08/27/candy-caradoc/</link>
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		<pubDate>Sun, 26 Aug 2012 21:00:12 +0000</pubDate>
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				<category><![CDATA[Candy Caradoc]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://subtlefiction.wordpress.com/?p=635</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[In-Between Places Alice convinced Paul to go for a walk with her, along the white, gravel trail that they had never ventured upon, even though it was only a ten minute walk from their flat. It wasn’t particularly strange that they had never walked there. The trail was adjacent to the main road that they [...]<img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=subtlefiction.wordpress.com&#038;blog=21385221&#038;post=635&#038;subd=subtlefiction&#038;ref=&#038;feed=1" width="1" height="1" />]]></description>
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		<title>Rick Hartwell</title>
		<link>http://subtlefiction.wordpress.com/2012/08/20/rick-hartwell-2/</link>
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		<pubDate>Sun, 19 Aug 2012 21:00:44 +0000</pubDate>
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				<category><![CDATA[Rick Hartwell]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://subtlefiction.wordpress.com/?p=622</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[The Hospice The slate-grey sheet of morning lies like a pallor of sickness over my day, stifling the dawn. It broods on the horizon without substance, not fog, nor mist, and not yet the palest of blue as sky, tuning up for later day. This is the dawn of innumerable childhood days, beginningless, endless. It [...]<img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=subtlefiction.wordpress.com&#038;blog=21385221&#038;post=622&#038;subd=subtlefiction&#038;ref=&#038;feed=1" width="1" height="1" />]]></description>
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		<title>Cezarija Abartis</title>
		<link>http://subtlefiction.wordpress.com/2012/08/13/cezarija-abartis/</link>
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		<pubDate>Sun, 12 Aug 2012 21:00:07 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>subtlefiction</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Cezarija Abartis]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://subtlefiction.wordpress.com/?p=618</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[The Key The key that the panhandler gave her was elaborately worked–shiny brass with a bow of three interlinked circles that meant something. The circles flowed confidently, solidly. Molly hefted the key in her palm and put it in her jeans pocket. “Be true to yourself; be happy; be curious; be compassionate.” How to be [...]<img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=subtlefiction.wordpress.com&#038;blog=21385221&#038;post=618&#038;subd=subtlefiction&#038;ref=&#038;feed=1" width="1" height="1" />]]></description>
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		<title>Ha Kiet Chau</title>
		<link>http://subtlefiction.wordpress.com/2012/08/06/ha-kiet-chau/</link>
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		<pubDate>Sun, 05 Aug 2012 21:00:51 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>subtlefiction</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Ha Kiet Chau]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://subtlefiction.wordpress.com/?p=613</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[On a Brooklyn Terrace That night, my father and I stood on top of the world on our little Brooklyn terrace. He wasn’t smoking his usual fat, brown, Cuban cigar. Instead, he was chewing trident gum. He leaned over the rail whistling, as we counted the stars, little nuggets of gold on a bed of [...]<img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=subtlefiction.wordpress.com&#038;blog=21385221&#038;post=613&#038;subd=subtlefiction&#038;ref=&#038;feed=1" width="1" height="1" />]]></description>
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		<title>Monic Ductan</title>
		<link>http://subtlefiction.wordpress.com/2012/07/30/monic-ductan/</link>
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		<pubDate>Sun, 29 Jul 2012 21:00:08 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>subtlefiction</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Monic Ductan]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://subtlefiction.wordpress.com/?p=606</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[An Abandonment When I was four years old, my mother drove me to my grandparents’ house on Christmas Eve, and then she left in the middle of the night and never came back. According to my grandparents, my mother was living alone with me in a trailer in South Georgia. My father left us when [...]<img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=subtlefiction.wordpress.com&#038;blog=21385221&#038;post=606&#038;subd=subtlefiction&#038;ref=&#038;feed=1" width="1" height="1" />]]></description>
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		<title>Nicholas Thurkettle</title>
		<link>http://subtlefiction.wordpress.com/2012/07/23/nicholas-thurkettle/</link>
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		<pubDate>Sun, 22 Jul 2012 21:00:36 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>subtlefiction</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Nicholas Thurkettle]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://subtlefiction.wordpress.com/?p=602</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[The Staring Man It was 2:30 in the a.m. when the naked people ran through the lobby. Maurice was so astonished that they were past the front desk before he could even register it happening. Six of them – all men. One of them waved an unshucked ear of corn. He had no time at [...]<img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=subtlefiction.wordpress.com&#038;blog=21385221&#038;post=602&#038;subd=subtlefiction&#038;ref=&#038;feed=1" width="1" height="1" />]]></description>
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		<title>JM Whalen</title>
		<link>http://subtlefiction.wordpress.com/2012/07/16/jm-whalen/</link>
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		<pubDate>Sun, 15 Jul 2012 21:00:08 +0000</pubDate>
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				<category><![CDATA[JM Whalen]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://subtlefiction.wordpress.com/?p=598</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Fort Stark, New Hampshire Boy on a Hill Noah stands overlooking a 19th-century naval base that has never been used in battle. The color of the aging concrete varies along the expansive walls. The highest structure, fenced and signed, is as white as the sky behind it. Closer to the center of the fort the [...]<img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=subtlefiction.wordpress.com&#038;blog=21385221&#038;post=598&#038;subd=subtlefiction&#038;ref=&#038;feed=1" width="1" height="1" />]]></description>
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		<title>Theodore D. Obourn</title>
		<link>http://subtlefiction.wordpress.com/2012/07/09/theodore-d-obourn/</link>
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		<pubDate>Sun, 08 Jul 2012 21:00:37 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>subtlefiction</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Theodore D. Obourn]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://subtlefiction.wordpress.com/?p=593</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Another Fat Lady in a Sweatshirt Death sometimes leaves his gifts unannounced. I was reminded of this recently when I stopped at McDonough Park on my way home from my brother&#8217;s funeral. I don&#8217;t know what possessed me. I rarely went to his games when he was alive. Never cared much for baseball. Too slow. [...]<img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=subtlefiction.wordpress.com&#038;blog=21385221&#038;post=593&#038;subd=subtlefiction&#038;ref=&#038;feed=1" width="1" height="1" />]]></description>
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