Reverse-Gentrification of the Literary World

Akashic Books

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Category: Mondays Are Murder

Mondays Are Murder: Original Noir Fiction to Get Your Week off to a Dark Start

Launched in 2004 with Brooklyn Noir, our award-winning city-based Noir Series now has over 60 volumes in print, with many more to come. Each volume is overseen by an editor with intimate knowledge of the title city; each story is brand new from a local author, and each is set within a distinct neighborhood or location.

While we’ve been thrilled to publish the original works of over 800 authors in the series, we still long for more. And while we are constantly seeking homegrown editors with native knowledge of national and international cities not yet visited by the series, we’re eager to dig deeper.

Mondays Are Murder allows us to offer a glimpse of cities not yet seen, neighborhoods or hidden corners not yet explored in previous volumes, and, we hope, writers not yet exposed to our company. Contributions to the Akashic Noir Series are bound by mood: our authors are challenged to capture the sometimes intangible moods of “noir” and of “place”. The stories run the gamut from darkly-toned literary glimpses to straight-up crime fiction, while similarly capturing the unique aura of the story’s location.

Our web model for the series has one further dimension: A 750-word limit. Sound like murder? It is. But so are Mondays.

“The The Cortez” by Brett Finlayson

Tupelo was sipping a Mickey’s in El Cortez when Mac and Porter came in from Fremont—a double endorsement for capital punishment as far as Tupelo was concerned, and the reason he had a glass eye . . .

“Drive In, Bleed Out” by Scott Selden

Branches scratched at my face as I pushed through the brush, and a warm trail of blood crept down my cheek. Curses sounded from not too far behind me, as did the thuds of heavy boots running through the woods. The bay of a hunting dog echoed, twisting around the trunks. Bad news. Can’t hide from a good hunting dog. I ran, trying to navigate the roots and uneven ground of the damp forest, the satchel over my shoulder slamming into my back with every step. The warm smells of earth and blood clogged my nose. I considered dropping the bag, but only until I felt the weight of the pistol in my pocket . . .

“Shelley and Harvey” by Caroline Bock

Shelley was the one who married Harvey right out of college, whose parents went into debt for the wedding, saying it was worth it—that he was worth it, they should have said . . .

“Death Leaves the Seat Up” by Bill Landauer

“I want to let you both know, Mr. and Mrs. Evighet, that what happens in this office remains here, okay? You can say anything. Think of this as a sanctuary. Mrs. Evighet—may I call you Rebecca?”

“Becky.”

“And Mr. Evighet, I’m a little unclear on your first—”

“THE YAWNING INFINITE IS MY PLAYGROUND, THE SEAS BUT A DROP IN THE FOREVER THAT IS—”

“Bob, you promised! . . .”