Author Archives: Ben Drevlow

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

Pain

Pain

Essay by

It’s 2006 or 2007. George W. Bush is our president. I am eight or nine years old. Uncle Dave, my mother’s younger brother by a handful of years, is my official introduction to pain, because Dave is in a great deal of pain. Some accomplishments. He’s not drinking anymore. He’s not wetting the bed anymore.more

Tombstone Blues

Tombstone Blues

Fiction by

I got it but my sister did not. Did something konk out from a fever I got? I’ve never known for sure, just that one day when I was eight and my grandparents and cousins were all over to our house for my uncle’s famous Taco Nights I got really really thirsty, I even thoughtmore

Ponytail Pools

Ponytail Pools

Fiction by

The detective with the Mario Brothers’ mustache stared blankly at me and that manly caterpillar on his face rose and fell as he moved gum in his mouth from side to side. It was mesmerizing and made me stare at his mouth when he spoke like I was watching one of those dubbed Kurosawa films.more