I can't tell you how excited I am about our upcoming Ridiculously Short Fiction Contest. Submissions are already streaming in and although the Alibi's dedicated supreme council of fiction judges hasn't yet tackled the pile, I'm personally convinced there are dozens of gems hidden inside that mountain of creativity. The deadline is Friday, June 11, at 5 p.m., so there still might be time to get your ultra-short fictional masterpieces into the Alibi. Stories must be no longer than 100 words (including title, if any). Three entries maximum per person. Send all stories to 2118 Central SE, PMB #151, Albuquerque, NM 87106-4004 or e-mail them to steve@alibi.com (no attachments). Winners, as always, will be showered with prizes and glory. Best of luck to everyone. We will print the winners and honorable mentions in the June 24 issue of the Alibi.

From Above: Images of a Storied Land at the Albuquerque Museum

A lot of people get freaked out by flying. For whatever reason, I'm not one of them. My fearlessness has little to do with any innate courage. The main reason flying doesn't terrify me is because it doesn't seem either real or possible. I still find it hard to believe that a big hunk of metal can lift off the ground under its own power. Aside from a few bumps—what they call "turbulence" in the trade—spending a couple hours in an airplane is like spending a couple hours in a cramped apartment watching an aerial view of clouds and mountains on a tiny oval-screened television.

"Black Mesa Landscape, New Mexico/Out Back of Marie’s II" by Georgia O’Keeffe

Georgia O'Keeffe Museum

Some of O'Keeffe's very best paintings depict dramatic aspects of the New Mexico landscape. The terrain of our state, of course, is what initially drew O'Keeffe to the Southwest. In this high desert, she found the divine inspiration needed to become one of the most celebrated artists of the 20th century. The first exhibit to ever focus on this aspect of her work opens this weekend at the Georgia O'Keeffe Museum in Santa Fe. A Sense of Place will run through Sept. 12. (505) 946-1000.

Manuela Carrasco

Rodey Theatre

Outside of Spain, there are very few places in the world that enjoy the quality of flamenco performances we regularly witness here in Albuquerque. One of the best chances to see brilliant flamenco performers is during the annual Festival Flamenco Internacional de Albuquerque. The 18th installment of the festival runs from June 11 through June 18 and features such extraordinary flamenco artists as Manuela Carrasco, Joaquin Amador and Israel Galván. Most of the performances will occur in UNM's Rodey Theatre. You can purchase tickets by calling (800) 905-3315 or by logging onto www.tickets.com. For details, log onto www.feelflamenco.com.

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"I write and have done so primarily for personal pleasure," Franz Wright once told an interviewer. This private motivation is especially evident in Wright's 16^th collection, Walking to Martha's Vineyard, winner of the 2004 Pulitzer Prize for poetry. Like the work of his American forefathers, Ralph Waldo Emerson and Wallace Stevens, Wright's poems sound like a man talking to himself, wrestling with the big issues: faith, love, death and the beyond. We lean in close, inhale their potent fragrance of intimacy and are hooked.

As an aspiring screenwriter and director, I subscribe to Weekly Variety. A recent issue featured an article about problems screenwriters face in Hollywood these days. Underpaid and overworked, they often submit rewrite after rewrite of a script before it gets picked up, and then have to complete more rewrites without getting paid any more money. In fact, right now the Writer's Guild is protesting this process, trying to get more money and more rights for its members. And more money. In other words, screenwriters, as many of you may know, are the lowest of the low in Hollywood. Sure, they can win an Oscar and a few other awards, but they usually don't become Hollywood insiders.

In his first new short story collection since the mid '80s, Doctorow offers up five stories that puncture the bright, bloated balloon of the American dream. From the White House to a tiny Midwest town to a cult commune in Kansas, Doctorow burrows his way through the heart of the nation, delivering fine tales in the process.