Author Archives: Ben Drevlow

What Men Doo

What Men Doo

Fiction by

Maybe I was a little maníaco because I only thought about sex during our all-male camping trips in Puerto Peñasco every Easter vacation, beginning when I was twelve. Dad would load up his white work van with a bevy of motorcycles and minibikes and enough food, beer, and soda to last a bunch of fathers and sons an entire week.more

MEG TUITE

MEG TUITE

BULL Interview by

If anyone does any research, which can amount to turning on the news any day of the week, there’s no need to sensationalize the depth of violence rampant everywhere and daily. And nothing beats reality when it comes to the shit happening on this planet. It’s a never ending exploration in horror.more

Luckily, There’s a Fix

Luckily, There’s a Fix

Fiction by

Once upon a time, the mad world got even madder, and cheeseburgers started falling from the sky. more

Kelly Gray

Kelly Gray

BULL Interview by

I’ve been known to feign language or hearing issues, run to the bathroom, anything to avoid this question. Sometimes, I say things like, “I write stories about nature,” which makes me feel like I have betrayed myself because that is not entirely true. The worst is when I try to be honest, and halfway through I realize I sound off.more

Two Stories

Two Stories

Fiction by

I think of that line Carrie Fisher says in When Harry Met Sally, when her character (Marie) is trying to persuade her boyfriend to get rid of his wagon wheel coffee table: “Everyone thinks they have good taste and a sense of humor. But not everyone can possibly have good taste and a sense of humor.”more

Three Stories

Three Stories

Fiction by

They sat with their arms crossed like bows, a suicide squad with slashed mouths, forming a continuous-yet-jagged line along the seamed white walls. Each had a mic and the garish fluorescent light planed their skulls. She touched his arm, her man’s crisp Guanashina-suited arm, thin and shivering just a bit—and dug her nails in just a little.more

These Days

These Days

Essay by

Today my eyes are filled with drywall dust. The gypsum fire deterrent bonded by thin cardboard breaks easily with the prying crowbar. The new house gutted and needing more work than expected; holes in the sheathing from pests and soggy with water damage. I just wanted something to go our way, for once, Amy says.more

Two Stories

Two Stories

Fiction by

These days, your dad’s attention is on gas prices, grain prices, and something called inflation that the new President—who I voted for, damned straight I did—is working hard to get back under control. Your mom sits in her chair, rubs her feet that she always says are dog tired, and even though you think she doesn’t pay him any more mind than you do, she’s the one who nods and says Mm-hmm every so often.more

Slush

Slush

Fiction by

Walls of tin that someone convinced people were homes fade behind me, blurred by the fogged mirror and the frozen window I didn’t bother to scrape. It’s ice beneath me, not slush like it was this morning. My car isn’t equipped for it, especially in the pitch black, but it hasn’t been for the lastmore

Jesse Salvo

Jesse Salvo

BULL Interview by

One of the best parts of running a lit mag is that you get to talk to about a million different writers and (unlike most readings and AWP conventions), they actually want to talk to you and not run fleeing from the fat loud crazed man with the mohawk. Once upon a time I readmore