Terry McMillan’s Introduction to Loving Donovan
To celebrate the release of Loving Donovan, the long-awaited reissue of Bernice L. McFadden’s classic novel, we’re pleased to share a new introduction written by Terry McMillan.
News & Features
“Boarding School Drop-Off” by Leslie Martini
On September 11th of this year, we drove our thirteen-year-old daughter to a boarding school for children with learning differences.
It was the second-worst day in memory. The first was when she was three months old and the pediatrician told me she had fragile X syndrome . . .
“Lady Luck” by Narween Otto
“Mum! What did you do with my curling iron?”
Trinh’s voice tumbles down the staircase. There is an uncomfortable silence at the table as Leah avoids the glances of her friends . . .
“if you leave a twenty and a crackhead alone in your room, it’s your own damn fault!” by Eshu Bandele
I started by speed walking, then high-stepping, then flat-out mad dashing. I knew that my increasing anger was irrational.
Really, if you leave twenty bucks and a crackhead alone in your room, it’s your own damn fault! . . .
Spotlight on the NYU Creative Writing Program
On Friday, February 13, the NYU Creative Writing Program will feature Akashic authors Nelson George (The Lost Treasures of R&B), Bernice L. McFadden (Loving Donovan), and Arthur Nersesian (The Fuck-Up) as part of their Reading Series. Today, Akashic is thrilled to spotlight the NYU Creative Writing program.
SALE: Black History Month Blowout!
43 of our e-books are only $2.99 each until the end of the month, wherever e-books are sold. Plus exclusive web sales, free e-book excerpts, and much more!
“Pierced” by Mina MacLeod
It cut through me like a knife. Not a sharp one—quick and hot and over immediately, no. That would have been too simple. Jacob’s first meltdown was more like a dull, rusted blade that sawed its way back and forth over my heart . . .
“Nightfiends” by Rob Hill
The riffraff of Tompkins Square wear wool jackets in the humid night, perhaps in defiance of the elements. The squirrels aren’t panhandling as usual. They’re preoccupied with something in the weeds behind a bench, what looks to your eye like a mangled piece of bread or a crumpled paper bag. A closer look reveals a human hand . . .