Note from the editor

There’s no “About” page for Frank Gallagher. He’s human. He bleeds, drinks, writes, messes up, disappears, and comes back wiser or drunker — depends on the day. You can’t really sue him for that. Honest Fiction, on the other hand, is something you can sue. It’s an LLC — legally recognized, financially fragile, and emotionally unavailable. It doesn’t cry at night, but it can publish when Frank can’t. It can outlive him. In a world ruled by paperwork and passwords, that counts for something. We tell the truth through lies. That’s what fiction is. Honest Fiction exists to smuggle reality through the gates of storytelling. What we write might be made up, but the feelings are real. The pain, the rage, the love, the absurdity — all of it. This is literature for people who are tired of pretending. For people who know that just because something didn’t happen, doesn’t mean it’s not true. Welcome to Honest Fiction. Where the stories are fake, but the punch in the gut is real.