Hi, all. Jessica here. It’s the first Thursday of the month, which means we all get to share what we’ve been reading in lit mags!

Subscribe now

Valentine’s Day is supposed to be for lovers, but I always remember it as a day to make cards for everybody. When I was little, I used to play New Kids on the Block and make a Valentine for every person in my class, decorating paper doilies with stickers, cutting out hearts, and sending love in wide, messy circles of glue. When I grew a bit older, I had a reputation for being a big flirt, but really I think I was still doing the same thing, showing affection and wanting everyone to feel included. So this February, I thought I’d spread the love and talk about pieces written by members of our community that deserve all the attention they can get.

The first piece is “Tresses” by Donna Shanley, published in Crow and Cross Keys. It’s funny how you can come across someone on the internet and feel as if you have found a friend. Donna, you were there for me when I really needed it. This story gave me so much hope as a writer because it trusts its own strange fairy tale logic, and the magic moves with total confidence, never once asking permission to exist. I learned so much about craft from this piece, especially the way it expertly turns the familiar princess myth inside out while never losing narrative momentum. I’m genuinely thrilled it found the perfect home at Crow and Cross Keys, a lit mag that understands creepiness as an aesthetic, because this story is delightfully creepy, and exactly where it belongs.

The next piece I am highlighting is “The Mermaid Has Finally Had It” by Heather Pegas, published in another lit mag favorite, Does It Have Pockets? This may be my favorite title of all time, and on hard days, thinking of it makes me feel as if a little bit of magic has seeped into my day. I also love this line: “Mermaids! They always give too much.” It lands, for me, because that is the true power of fairy tales, of taking issues like aging, motherhood, absent partners, the filial duties that weigh on body and voice, and giving them a mythic shape that makes them visible and shared.

The next story I’m highlighting also has an irresistible title: “You Ok?” by Charlie Fish, published in Flash Fiction Magazine. Oh, this story gave me all the feels, and one of the things I love about flash fiction is how it invites rereading. This piece in particular opens up on the second pass, when you already know what is coming for this powerful, competent man at the beginning, someone who believes he understands the ocean and his place in it. I strongly suggest you read it first so that I don’t spoil it for you by talking about how it is a reversal of the rescue fantasy, and how the simple, titular question punctures the story the main character had been painting for himself.

Another piece I discovered through the Lit Mag News community is “Resistance” by Laura Nagle, published in The Sunlight Press. This story is about the unbearable intimacy of family, and it shattered me. What truly gets me is the dialogue in this story. The father speaks almost like a ventriloquist’s act, with his words leaping off the page so vividly that it feels as if the man himself is there talking, even though you know it’s impossible, and what you’re really witnessing is the writer’s skill. The word choice is also spell-binding in its preciseness, so much so that the story ending in mid-delusion feels devastating and exactly right, because anything after it would feel like a betrayal of the father and the son.

In our January’s Lit Mag Brag, we learned that Jon Fain recently published his short story, “The Exchange,” in Jonah Magazine. When talking about the piece, I found it particularly interesting that Jon Fain changed the time period, by substituting a Vietnam reference to an Iraq reference. I think that this change strengthens the story immensely, because it makes the story feel contemporary rather than historical, which helps the reader focus on the tragedy of ordinary recklessness. Because I discovered this story through Lit Mag Brag, it felt like I was reading it while in conversation with the author, and it made me want to know more about his process. Jon, I am especially intrigued by the ending, and how it resolves not through an event but through memory. I would love to know how that decision came about during the writing, and did you always know you would end on Scalzilli?

The next lit mag I am highlighting is The Mackinaw, which published Barbara Krasner’s poems in February of 2025. I am especially fond of the poems entitled Alphabet Vulgaris and Perseus in the Fourth Grade and the way they speak about the structures we build to hold pain when it would otherwise be too overwhelming. The first uses medical language combined with alphabet imagery to trace inherited illness, and remarkably it also has a genealogy report feel, as if we are in school listening to a presentation, only it is a presentation that would make you want to lean into and listen as closely as you possibly can.

I was never good at K-turns. I could refer to the S-curve, because my grandmother’s grandparents bore the name Seife, or soap. Soap, that slithery, slippery stuff, might have caused the horses to slide.

The second poem, “Perseus in the Fourth Grade” retells a Greek myth through the mind of a fourth grader who fears his teacher, transforming classroom humiliation into monsters and gods as a way to survive it. The fun of this poem is the way it’s told, almost downplaying the epic drama and treating it like hallway gossip, creating a deliciously casual sense of scale-breaking humor.

Lastly, the piece I am excited to talk about is “Liars” by Andrew Careaga, published in Frazzled Lit, a relatively new lit mag on Substack. Frazzled Lit creates a wonderfully satisfying reading experience, in part because the editors chose a pleasing, warm yellow background. I know I say this often when discussing nonfiction, but I was genuinely blown away by the honesty of Andrew Careaga’s essay, especially in light of its title. I first encountered the piece through Lit Mag Brag, where it was described as a writer’s origin story, which immediately drew me in. I am always eager to read writers’ origin stories, in part because they are not something you can simply ask for. They have to be offered, and only when a writer is ready to tell them. This essay feels like exactly that moment.

Careaga’s piece reads as a full confession, the kind that can only be written by someone confident in his voice, someone who has learned deeply from the writers who came before him and has arrived at a place of self-assuredness. Learning that he faked his way into journalism at the very earliest stages of his career development did not alienate me as a reader. Instead, it earned my trust. Rather than pulling back, I relaxed into the essay, certain that the writer was willing to show me everything. And is that not, ultimately, how we come to know people?

I’ve been keeping a running list of every work mentioned in this series, along with the recommendations shared in the comments. We’re on Part 2 of that list, which you can find here. You can still view Part 1 of the collection here.

What have you been reading lately?

Leave a comment

Share

Subscribe now

Hi, all. Jessica here. It’s the first Thursday of the month, which means we all get to share what we’ve been reading in lit mags! (And Happy New Year, everyone!)

Subscribe now

I have a secret way of getting through the holidays. I started typing people according to their Enneagram number.

The Enneagram is one of those personality systems, like the Myers-Briggs Indicator or the quizzes some of us used to take when reading Teen or Cosmo. What I love about the Enneagram is that it focuses on what motivates each type, expounding on their desires, fears, and worldviews.

I originally got into the Enneagram as a writer, because I was trying to understand characters who behave and are driven in ways that feel very different than me. But then I realized it was useful in real life. Especially with family members you have to be around for long stretches of time, and apparently it’s rude to just pop in your headphones and smile and nod.

It’s important to say here that I’m technically breaking the rules. You’re only supposed to identify your own type, not other people. But it helped me so much that I decided the good outweighs the bad. Especially if I just keep it to myself (so don’t tell anyone, ok?).

My favorite example is my brother-in-law. I’ve known him since college, and he’s always been that guy. Dude can get under your skin because he challenges everything. He can take the smallest, most benign statement and turn it into a contradiction or provocation.

When he found out my favorite movie genre was rom coms, he immediately launched into why romantic comedies are formulaic, unrealistic, and intellectually lazy. But then, years later, when I complained that I didn’t like rom coms anymore because they weren’t written the way Nora Ephron wrote them, he gave me a lecture about how nostalgia distorts our standards and how genre evolution is inevitable…essentially contradicting his original argument entirely.

When I learned the Enneagram types, I knew immediately that he was an Eight. The Challenger. And I understood my brother-in-law in a way I hadn’t before.

Eights are motivated by a need for honesty and engagement. Challenging you is how they show respect. It’s how they connect. It’s their way of saying, I take you seriously enough to push back.

Once I understood that, I started looking forward to his comments, because I saw them as invitations to deepen my way of thinking. His challenges force me to examine why I believe what I believe, to articulate my taste more clearly, and to think more rigorously than I otherwise would.

Case in point: after the Nora Ephron debate, I went on an obsessive Ephron spiral. I thought seriously about what made her work endure, and why it felt different from what came after. So he didn’t kill my love of rom coms, he encouraged it.

Since it’s New Year’s Day, I thought I’d try a little something different. In the spirit of Enneagram thinking, I decided it might be fun to choose this month’s literary magazines based on how certain journals seem to align with each of the nine types.

But I also just want to say that, even if you don’t care about the Enneagram stuff at all, this is still a list of excellent pieces that are absolutely worth reading. Consider the typology optional. Even the Eight.

Type One is The Reformer. People sometimes mislabel Type 1 as the Perfectionist, but it’s more accurate to say they are driven by a deep, internal sense of rightness. Type Ones have a conviction about how things ought to be, and an almost compulsive urge to bring the world a little closer to that ideal.

Anahid Nersessian’s essay published in The Yale Review this past December exemplifies this beautifully. The essay is titled: “When Does a Divorce Begin?” with the subtitle: “Most people think of it as a failure. For me, it was an achievement.” With this subtitle, Nersessian positions divorce as a corrective act—an achievement, and also helps the reader dismantle the harmful myth of divorce as failure. The admirable framework of this essay unfolds through a sequence of numbered vignettes, giving the piece a sense of intention and clarity rather than allowing it to crumble into a ranty emotional mess.

Type Two, The Helper, is oriented toward care and connection. The obvious choice, for me, is Rattle Poetry, a lit mag that is truly admirable for the way it builds real community. Rattle isn’t just a group of editors collecting submissions. It’s a place that sincerely cares about writers. When I submit to Rattle, I genuinely feel like my words are read with attention. When I read Rattle, I feel how deeply committed they are to fostering poets and ensuring poetry remains a living, vital force.

There are so many features to Rattle that I could go on and on about, but what I’d like to zero in on is their Poets Respond section, which publishes weekly poems written in response to a current public event from the past week. I am so grateful for the effort it takes to share a poem with such a tight turn-around, because that’s how we get gems like Alexandra Umlas’ “Teaching the Twenties in 12th Grade Humanities (or 6-7).” This poem captures the ludicrous meaninglessness of “6-7”. It just feels so alive. And perfectly timed. I would have still loved this poem had I read it much later on, after the 6-7 patter has been put to rest, but right now this poem is speaking to the present moment in all its ephemeral glory.

For Type 3, The Achiever, New Letters seems like the perfect fit, especially because Chill Subs put it first on its Best of 2025 list of lit mags that advance writers’ careers. I admit I hesitated reading New Letters, because it costs $6.95 to download an issue, and $18 for a print issue. That can feel a bit like gatekeeping and a barrier between quality work and readers, but I think that’s just my librarian mindset talking. (Also, Becky is providing a free pdf of this issue to paying subscribers to Lit Mag News. Email her if you are a paying subscriber and would like to receive it.)

Once I read this issue, I was completely floored. I especially adored that New Letters published Morgan Cross’ entire chapbook, “I Become Everygirl But a Coolgirl.” 17 poems all by Morgan Cross in one issue! Reading the full sequence felt like discovering a voice all at once, and now I think of Morgan Cross as a rockstar. One poem in particular, “Sirname,” will stay with me for a long time for how it pokes at how the patriarchy is embedded in our last names.

The idea of buying a lit mag becomes something different entirely with Folly Journal, my pick for Type Four. Folly is a magazine from New Zealand and they only sell print journals. Their Issue Number 3 is advertised as “the banned one,” which intrigues me immensely. Their website said that this issue “had a nationwide retailer hiding it behind the counter within two days of launch week.” I am burning to read this issue but buying it from the United States would cost me thirty-five dollars for the journal plus another thirty-five for shipping and handling. (If you’re in Wellington, you can pick it up at the Wellington Writer’s Studio without having to pay shipping and handling.)

If anyone out there has read it, I would love to know what you think. In my defense, I still think not reading Folly Journal just yet is perfect for Type Four, the Individualist. Fours are motivated by standing out, and by being distinct. They wouldn’t want to appear on a list with eight other lit mags. They would want to be a post all their own.

For Type 5, the Observer, a fitting piece is “The Ward Flowers,” by Timo Teräsahjo, published in one of my favorite nonfiction lit mags, Hippocampus. Teräsahjo’s essay invites the reader to notice a detail about an oncology ward people would often overlook. The narrator’s voice here feels so intimate and this piece took my breath away, because with such precise detail I feel like I was transported into the room.

What Type Six, the Loyalist, values the most is trust, safety, and solidarity. Ebony Tomatoes Collective, a journal that describes itself as a “black intersectional collective,” does that work, offering a space where the structures of the magazine itself are conscious of inequity and exclusion. Their website is a joy to feast your eyes upon, with color and artwork used so thoughtfully it invites lingering, unhurried attention.

One poem that felt as if it leaps off the screen is “OPRAH TRIED TO KILL ME” by k thompson (note when and where caps are used). I love this poem so much and I am so riled up about it, I am tempted to describe it in all caps. I keep returning to this line:

i refuse to let myself or

my people go extinct, and i will no longer

let anyone drive me to the brink

of an early expiration date.

I mean, damn.

Enneagram 7 is the The Enthusiast, and one lit mag that demonstrates this sense of delight and possibility is Astrolabe. This high concept, impeccably designed magazine is a joy to read, and it truly feels like something even a casual browser could savor if they stumbled upon it.

While part of the fun is just exploring and clicking on Astrolabe’s stellar collection, the poem I’m excited to point you towards is “Annelida” by Ash Howell. This is a poem that feels more than a poem– it is a story, an essay, an epic. There are multiple voices, multiple characters, and even Tom Hanks makes an appearance. A question is asked in the very beginning of the poem, and then is reintroduced with a subtle shift, from hypothetical to inevitable, and it feels loving but at the same time, dangerous.

Speaking of dangerous, next we have Type Eight, the Challenger. And for The Challenger, I am choosing The New Yorker. I can feel your objections forming already. Is this even a lit mag? Does it belong anywhere near the small, scrappy journals we love?

That tension is the point. The New Yorker sits at the far edge of the lit mag conversation, so established and powerful that it forces us to clarify our values around gatekeeping, prestige, and scale.

For those of you who are still with me out there, here is the New Yorker fiction piece that I am completely head over heels in love with: “Fairy Pools” by Patricia Lockwood. It’s an absorbing story about a family trip to Scotland, and reading it feels as if you have just fallen into an enchanted painting, with blue-green natural pools and bright orange Irn-Bru soda.

Lastly, there is Type Nine, the Peacemaker, who is after harmony and connection across difference, and is in danger of avoiding their own needs to keep the peace. If the poem “Smoke Break” by Philip Kenner, published in Swing Magazine, were a person, I believe it would be a Nine. This poem is loving without trying to correct, steadying itself inside contradictions, choosing presence over intervention. The narrator stands outside, again and again, bearing discomfort, fear, and resentment so their beloved can remain untouched, unpressured, unasked to change.

So, those are my picks. Thanks for letting me try a little something new this time. Just out of curiosity, is there anybody else out there interested in the Enneagrams?

As I’ve said in previous posts, please note that while I look forward to our Lit Mag Brags each month and seeing what and where everyone has been published, this is a resource for what we’re reading, not what we’ve written.

I’ve been keeping a running list of every work mentioned in this series, along with the recommendations shared in the comments. We’re on Part 2 of that list, which you can find here. You can still view Part 1 of the collection here.

Feel free to share and all works from lit mags, and I’ll add them to the list!

What lit mag gems have you read lately?

Leave a comment

Share

Subscribe now

Hi, all. Jessica here. It’s the first Thursday of the month, which means we all get to share what we’ve been reading in lit mags!

I’ve been keeping a running list of every work mentioned in this series, along with the recommendations shared in the comments. This month I created Part 2 of that list, which you can find here. Since each list has a 100-item limit, I had to start a fresh one, but you can still view Part 1 of the collection here.

Subscribe now

For about six months, I dated a rockabilly bass player who played in dimly lit bars almost every night. The bass player was cute and funny, but we didn’t have a lot in common. I was never into the bar scene, and I don’t like the kind of partnered dancing that rockabilly music requires. A hippie at heart, the only dancing I can get into is the free-flowing kind, much like those inflatable tube characters outside of storefronts.

Still, the relationship worked for a while. I’d stay over at his house and while he practiced his bass, I wrote my stories. Then he started asking me to come watch him play. He said it hurt his feelings that I didn’t. So I went, and immediately felt out of place. Dudeguys kept trying to get me to dance, forcing me into weird stepwork and telling me I had “a lot to learn.” I tried to bring a book, but the lighting was too low to read.

That was when I had a little lightbulb moment: everyone was on their phones. Which meant I could be on my phone. Which meant I could just read lit mags and drink my Pellegrino and have a fantastic night.

Reading lit mags in bars put me in this super amped, talkative state–especially when I hit on a story with some magic in it, like other people probably get from MDMA. I don’t drink all that much or partake in drugs, but I do get absolutely high off of fairy tales. Some people want DMT; I say give me some CMM (Carmen Maria Machado).

There are several ways to describe the kind of stories I gravitate towards most: magical realism, slipstream, fantasy, speculative, fairy tales, and plain weird. I adore every variation. What excites me is the imagination of these writers, and the way they can convince me of something wildly unreal. I don’t necessarily think imagination is the single most important human trait (although I would love it if someone wrote me a persuasive article arguing that it is.) But I do believe the coolest thing about humans is our inner projector, the ability to beam impossible worlds into each other’s minds using only words.

So, here’s a round-up of choice lit mags and magical stories, meant to be enjoyed by all, and also offered in hopes that they reach the right person when they need it most. Maybe that’s someone stranded in a bar, or being slightly traumatized at a family function and in need of an escape… an escape no drug could ever approximate.

Let’s start with Fairy Tale Review. This magazine has captivated me like no other. There are not too many lit mag editors I could recognize off the street, but Kate Bernheimer is as much a celebrity to me as is Beyoncé or Celine Dion. Fairy Tale Review went dark for two years, from 2023 to 2025, and as far as I know, they have never given an explanation. Part of me is burning to know the reason, but another part of me loves the not-knowing, as it leaves a space for my own little myths to rush in.

One of the stories that I have never forgotten is “The Old Women Who Were Skinned” by the masterful Carmen Maria Machado, which was published in Fairy Tale Review’s “Ochre” Issue in 2016. This story was reprinted in Lightspeed Magazine, and it is definitely worth the read (or reread!). This story is nothing short of astonishing, and every line is worth framing. It is at once brutal and tender, and sustains a steady refusal to explain itself, which deepens the pleasure of its fairy tale logic and pure what-the-fuck-just-happened delight.

In their most current issue, “Arsenic & Old Lace,” Fairy Tale Review features another powerhouse fairy tale writer, Sabrina Orah Mark, whose essay “Jewface” showcases Mark’s unmistakable voice and strange, dreamlike confidence. You can read an excerpt here on Mark’s Substack. This is one of my favorite lines, but the whole thing is such a gorgeous mindfuck in the best possible way:

It was around this time that I started dreaming about a goat, not like a woman who dreams about a goat but like a goat dreams about a goat.

Is this technically an essay? Is it a story? Is it a poem? That doesn’t matter, just keep going down the rabbit hole of Mark’s words and you will find yourself someplace soft you have never been, in a world of goats identifying as Jewish. I feel like if I went to a reading and heard Mark recite this, I would be hypnotized.

Because it’s close to Christmas, and so many of us are listing our wishes these days, I just want to say that I wish Fairy Tale Review would do more for emerging writers. I would love to hear more about their reviewing process so that it doesn’t feel so arbitrary, and even providing feedback for a fee would make the process feel more supportive.

Which brings me to another favorite lit mag, Split Lip. There are so many wonderful things to say about Split Lip. Firstly, their magazine features top-tier work and their website is incredibly reader-friendly. Each piece is paired with a vivid moving image that feels like an invitation into an irresistible world of reading. The editors and staff members have built a sense of community around this magazine by including special features on their blog, such as reflections from their contributing authors.

Although published in 2023, I truly think their blog’s FAQ page demystifies their editing and submission process and makes it clear that your work lands with real people who genuinely care.

One noteworthy story recently published by Split Lip is “Abatement” by Max Wheeler, about a man’s relationship with weeds. The story is told in the framework of a timeline countdown, which tightens the suspense. I found myself genuinely caring about Darryl, the main character, to the point that I found myself rooting for him to let the weeds stay wild, fully buying into the revolutionary act.

Also, I can’t resist adding that one of my favorite stories of all time, “Inner Child” by Zoe Flavin, which I featured in February’s post last year, was this year’s Split Lip nomination for the PEN/Robert J. Dau Short Story Prize! Congratulations Zoe! Well deserved.

This next story really did make feel high: “Why Don’t We Just Kill the Kid in the Omelas Hole” by Isabel J. Kim. I found this story through Strange Pilgrims, a Substack lit mag co-edited by Shannan Mann and Karan Kapoor that will make its official debut in January of next year (I can’t wait!). Because it lives on Substack, Strange Pilgrims already has a growing presence. In their post “An Anti-Algorithm Media Compendium for Literary Folks,” the editors called Isabel J. Kim’s story, “one of the best new short stories we’ve ever read, period.”

A reimagined tale takes a well-known myth, often fairy tales, and updates its core themes to comment on the world we live now. “Why Don’t We Just Kill the Kid in the Omelas Hole” does exactly that. It reimagines Ursula K. Le Guin’s 1973 short story, “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas,” keeping the central idea that a single child’s suffering upholds a utopian society. But Isabel J. Kim brings it into a modern world shaped by social media, where we have instant access to injustice, know far too much about suffering, and still rarely act on it.

I gravitate toward reimagined tales because they’re the kind of stories I love to write myself. Reading pieces like this give me hope, because if these stories are finding homes, then surely mine can too. And I’m totally biased here but I think this approach is incredibly effective, especially in this story, as a commentary on social conscience.

And damn, this story grips you from sentence one:

So they broke into the hole in the ground, and they killed the kid, and all the lights went out in Omelas: click, click, click.

There is something about Isabel J. Kim’s colloquial writing style that feels like a social media post itself, which pulls the reader in and makes the impossible storyline feel believable in a way that unsettles. By revealing the real world via bending it just far enough that you cannot look away, it exposes something we as the readers already knew but buried, with a clarity that leaves no room for denial. By the story’s end, we as the readers (notice I said “we” because I don’t want to be alone here!) are left sitting with a truth we might never have admitted to otherwise.

Isabel J. Kim’s story is published in Clarkesworld Magazine, a lit mag that exudes magic, as if it were a portal opening into some of the strongest fantasy and science fiction written today.

Another Clarkesworld story that captured me is “Trees at Night” by Ramiro Sanchez, translated from Spanish to English by Sue Burke. This marvel is hard to talk about without spoiling the unraveling story, but essentially it is about a librarian on a far-off planet and a child who one day asks unanswerable questions. As a children’s librarian, I found this story to be irresistibly provocative. It taps into a truth I see often: children carry mysteries adults can’t perceive anymore, not because those mysteries were solved, but because we’ve grown too practiced at avoiding them.

The last lit mag I am spotlighting this month is Bourbon Penn, and I really wish you could somehow order this one at a bar. I’m obsessed with the cover images. Each cover is a stunning, surreal painting that perfectly captures this lit mag’s inventive, weirdly playful spirit. Someday I’m going to print out every single one and create a gallery wall of them in my home. But what really keeps me coming back to reading this lit mag are the stories themselves. The pieces Bourbon Penn publishes invite writers (and readers!) to play, experiment, and reimagine what a story can be.

Margaret Roach’s “Wikipedia Entry for The Lake Taghkanic Flying Birdman” reads exactly like a Wikipedia page, complete with real Wikipedia hyperlinks sprinkled throughout (!), which is just a chef’s kiss to an already deliriously fun myth of a bird-like humanoid creature. Also, while it uses the Wikipedia framework, what I admire about this story is that it never lets that structure limit its beauty, as its writing is consistently gorgeous and poetic.

Another standout is Bree Wernick’s “Doctors HATE Her!! Local Woman is NOT Cursed.” Before diving into the story itself, let’s just appreciate that title. You don’t often come across a story title that doubles as clickbait, and this one lives up to it. The narrative reads like a Reddit subthread, and beyond the clever gimmick, it captures the very real horror that your child’s Legos just might be trying to kill you.

If you know me, you’ll be surprised by all these lit mags that keep you on your phone, because I usually print out my stories and try to avoid the screen as much as possible. But this story would be a shame to miss out on, and it was made for digital reading: Chelsea Sutton’s “Castle Time Golfland.” In her bio, Chelsea Sutton calls herself a “theater maker” which tracks when reading this story. Here is a darkly comic choose-your-own adventure that allows you to click through the story and experience it in multiple ways.

Centered around you as the main character working at a minigolf course, where the mysterious Hole 18 can reset your life and create endless loops of chance, Sutton’s piece explores the surreal ways ordinary spaces can hold power over time and memory. I also just love the idea of turning minigold mechanics into a metaphor for life’s small but consequential choices, where even tiny actions carry unexpected weight.

So, those are my picks. I’d love to hear what you all have been reading in lit mags lately, especially because I know there are so many amazing stories out there I have yet to consume.

Like last time, please note that, while I look forward to reading our Lit Mag Brags each month and seeing what and where everyone has been published, I’d like this to be a resource for what we’re reading, not what we’ve written.

I can’t wait to see what everyone suggests.

Leave a comment

Share

Subscribe now

Check out holiday subscription deals!

Hi, all. Jessica here. It’s the first Thursday of the month, which means we all get to share what we’ve been reading in lit mags!

As always, I’ve been keeping a list of all works mentioned in this series, including works shared in the comments section, which you can find right here.

Subscribe now

The first time I visited Portland, Oregon, the city felt instantly like home. My friends took me to a place called Muddy’s, which was actually an old house converted into a cozy café, and I adored it so much I declared it to be my favorite place of all time. Out front hung a sign with a St. Bernard on it, and I decided the place must have been named after the owner’s dog, although storyteller that I am, that might have just been something I made up. Muddy’s was always crowded, but you could pour yourself coffee from a collection of mismatched mugs and drink it while you waited for a table, a small ritual that made the place feel extra special to me.

Shortly after I moved to Portland, my friends brought me back to Muddy’s to celebrate. I remember thinking that now that I lived here, life would always feel like this, that even when we got busy, we would still come back to this place and enjoy each other’s company. Within a year, Muddy’s closed. One morning we showed up hungry and a little hungover, and the sign was gone. There was no note on the door, no sign at all. It was simply gone. Then two of my closest friends, the ones who made me feel like I was home in Portland, moved to Pennsylvania. We are still close friends, of course, but it’s different now.

While reading lit mags, I’m always searching for the right “home” for my stories and poems, a place where they might belong, find neighbors, and in a way put down roots. But lately, I’ve been thinking about impermanence, and with that in mind, maybe it’s better to start thinking of lit mags more like restaurants than homes. I’m always checking to see not only if submissions are open, but if the magazines are still open themselves, worried that they will disappear without warning or turn into Buellers (Becky’s nickname for lit mags that have gone MIA).

Maybe impermanence doesn’t have to feel like loss. Maybe thinking about lit mags just as places to visit long enough to read the menu, taste something extraordinary, share a real moment with others able to join, they become more precious having found them at all.

This month, I’m focusing on Creative Nonfiction. Especially during these uncertain times, I’m amazed by writers who can make sense of the chaos of daily life. As someone who writes mostly speculative fiction (seriously, even my journal is full of fairies and magical fish), I find it astonishing that anyone can revisit their life through writing, find meaning and implication, and still have the energy to keep stepping into the next moment.

The first piece that captures my awe for writers who can step out of the daily chaos to fully capture the greater implications of our helter-skelter present is a piece by Sean Cho A, recently published in The Rumpus. The piece is entitled: “Human Error is the Point: On Teaching College During the Rise of AI.” Lately, I have come across a deluge of articles and podcast episodes about AI, and they never make me feel good.

One NPR episode that I found particularly unsettling was about how teachers are using AI as well, to grade papers and even to provide feedback on student essays. That information did something squishy to my brain, as I imagined students using ChatGPT to write their papers, and teachers using Claude to grade those papers, and then a fairy casts a protection spell inside the empty library for that lone soul who chooses to nourish themselves with a paperback book.

“What AI can’t do,” writes Sean Cho A, “is feel the shape of silence after someone says something so honest we forget we’re here to learn.”

Cho A’s essay is written with the eye of a poet about a deeply human situation. In doing so, he gives permission not only to his students, but to his fellow teachers to be human, too. His essay is an incredibly important reminder that while AI might give faster or smarter answers, it can’t give us what makes us develop as humans. I think that’s the real work left to us all.

The next piece I’ve been thinking a lot about explores a different side of humanity. The essay is called “Demonic Force,” written by Mary Gaitskill, published by The Point in their “Examined Life” section. What a gift to make this essay free to access by all instead of keeping it behind a paywall of some sort, because it truly is a valuable and exquisitely crafted piece.

Gaitskill’s essay ruminates about humanity’s capacity for violence, focusing on two books that left a lasting impression on her: Empire of the Summer by S.C. Gwynne and The Basement: Meditations on a Human Sacrifice by Kate Millet. As Gaitskill delves into the darkest corners of human cruelty, what stands out is her desire to understand this tendency by examining her own history, her own rage, and her own loss of control. She even begins her essay with a quote from her mother: “Oh I understand how it happens. Bloodlust comes up and … you know … takes over.”

I admire this essay’s verity. She includes everything, no secrets, no omissions. She acknowledges that Empire of the Summer Moon has been criticized for exaggerating and romanticizing torture, which is something I admit would have been tough for me to mention without feeling the need to justify the entire article’s existence. Yet, Gaitskill’s frankness strengthens the essay as it leaves no stone unturned. Gaitskill also admits she only skimmed Kate Millet’s book because it was too gruesome. It struck me as fearless to present readers with a careful exploration of a particular subject even if you can’t bear to fully face it.

As a whole, this essay reveals not just Gaitskill’s thoughts on violence, but her willingness to connect to humanity, shadows and all…and even though it kept me up at night thinking about a person’s capacity for evil, I believe I will be a better writer having read it.

After reading through several essays about relationships that didn’t grab me, I realized that what often weakens a personal essay is the impulse to tell a significant historical situation in its entirety. When a writer tries to cover too much ground, I feel, we lose the intimacy. There’s no time for dialogue, or to truly meet the characters, and the result is too much exposition and not enough juicy specifics. “Ukiah” by Katie Duane is a gorgeous example of how a single, vividly rendered moment can illuminate the full complexity of a relationship.

“Ukiah” is published in The Journal, a lit mag with a professional, minimalist website and a soft, off-white background that makes for a pleasurable online reading experience. Duane’s essay focuses on a trip to California with her longtime friend and would-be lover, and in doing so reveals the entire emotional architecture of their seventeen-year connection. Through this one episode, Duane captures the ache of realizing that what feels like love to one person can be nothing more than nostalgia to another. I keep going back to this one part:

Coffee, despite Fin’s giving it up and thinking I should too, was still a big part of our time together. I brewed it every morning (he’d always take a few sips), and we visited a couple cafes in San Francisco, in Berkeley. I had wanted to stop in Ukiah at a roaster called Black Oak, but by the time we passed it, it had already closed.

These three sentences (especially the parenthetical information) speak volumes about this relationship, and had this essay been larger in scope, the reader would have missed out, which would have been a big loss.

Of course, the next piece I am about to talk about contradicts everything I just said about an essay being stronger when focused on just one moment in time. “A Transplanted Midwestern Chinese-Filipina’s Theories of Life” by Ann Guy, published in Hippocampus Magazine, beautifully proves that examining a life in every facet can also succeed.

Hippocampus Magazine is known for publishing outstanding works of creative nonfiction, and Guy’s essay is a brilliant example. Structured as a series of vignettes built around “theories” the author has developed in her lifetime (my personal favorite being the “Theory of What the Fuck”), the essay spans decades without ever feeling diffuse. Guy manages to create a full, multifaceted portrait of a life, and the ending is especially moving. After reflecting on her lived experience, she turns toward the future, reflecting on what she has to learn through her daughter. What could have felt like a clever gimmick instead becomes an evolving narrative, ending with the passing of a torch.

“Frankenstein’s Monster and the Things We Don’t Know,” by Finnegan Angelos is also a knock-out essay. It appears in Portland Review, alongside a very fitting photo by Marek Okon. Angelos’ piece begins with the collective “we” to explore the trans community’s relationship to surgery and identity. The narrator writes as part of the “we” who are trans, who hesitates at the threshold of bottom surgery, and who both craves and fears transformation. “I find myself in the habit of referencing us as a conglomerate,” Angelos writes. “I forget we’re not all sewn together with the same everything.”

The essay gradually shifts from “we” to an intimate “I,” as Angelos powerfully offers the reader his own questions and experiences about the body, gender, and identity. With this shift, the essay becomes not just an exploration of trans embodiment, but a study in how voice itself epitomizes transformation.

So, those are my picks. I can’t wait to hear what you all have been reading too.

As I’ve said in previous posts, please note that while I look forward to our Lit Mag Brags each month and seeing what and where everyone has been published, this is a resource for what we’re reading, not what we’ve written.

Feel free to share any and all works from lit mags, and I’ll add them to the list! I’m especially looking for lit mags that publish fairy tales and other speculative work, as that is what I’ll be focusing on next month.

What have you read lately?

Leave a comment

Share

Hi, all. Jessica here. It’s the first Thursday of the month, which means we all get to share what we’ve been reading in lit mags!

Subscribe now

As always, I’ve been keeping a list of all works mentioned in this series, including works shared in the comments section, which you can find right here.

My four-year-old daughter and I have a game we call “hyenas.” My daughter will say the word, “Mufasa,” and I erupt into ridiculous, shivery laughter, part fear, part delight. Then, channeling Whoopi Goldberg’s character from The Lion King, I’ll say: “Do it again.” And she’ll rattle off other scary things like, “Ghost!” “Creepy Carrots!” Each time, I dissolve into a quiver of laughter and chills.

At the library where I work, people started requesting scary stories and movies earlier than usual this year. I, too, have been seeking out words that capture that delicious mix of fear and delight. Maybe it’s because the world right now is serving the wrong kind of horror, the kind that leaves you numb and anxious, and my god, if this were a movie, I wouldn’t even stick around to see how it ends. I wouldn’t even give it a rating; I’d just pretend the whole bloated nightmare had never existed, and never could.

But the stories I’ve been reading deliver the good kind of fear, the delicious kind that floods your brain and leaves you both terrified and awfully exhilarated.

This month’s first lit mag I’m excited to talk about is Necksnap Magazine, a lit mag that is new on the scene. It’s tagline is “a home for horror lovers,” which rings true, as it feels generous in its mission to make the horror experience enjoyable for its readers. Even the landing page sets the tone, greeting you with an eerie image of a person dressed as a ghost with homemade eyeholes, with a cornfield backdrop.

One of the things I especially love is that the magazine’s issue is easily accessed online as a separate book. Instead of endlessly clicking through a website, you’re invited to sink into the whole issue as a cohesive reading experience. Necksnap’s debut is full of gems, but my favorite piece is Mike Romanelli’s “How to Win Jeopardy!” It’s clever and immersive, beginning as text written into the graphics, which adds to the game-show feel. There is so much to love about this story, but I don’t want to spoil any of it. I will say that it is written masterfully in the second person, and it builds with mounting intensity until it crescendos into something deliciously satisfying.

I also want to spotlight Daniel Dykiel’s poem, “Portrait of a Drowned Girl, Sixteen (after Lake Mungo 2008).” Above the poem was a note from the editors:

Although we did not call for poetry for this submission period, this submission was allowed (and subsequently accepted) as an expression of our interest in incorporating both poetry and film-related content into future issues of the magazine.

The poem is haunting, especially in its exploration of the mother-daughter dynamic, but what struck me most was the confidence behind its submission. Too often, I second-guess myself: maybe my story doesn’t fit their theme, or maybe it’s not what they’re looking for. But this poem is proof that if your work is strong enough, editors might see how it belongs.

Another beautifully haunting lit mag is Crow & Cross Keys. This lit mag is highly stylized and feels like wandering into a candlelit house, with elegant font and moody black-and-white photography; you can almost feel the shadows playing behind you (their About page even includes a “giant one-eyed cat made of shadows”).

The standout piece for me is “The Drowning Hour” by Rachael Severino. I think what is especially creepy about this story is that it doesn’t try too hard to scare. It takes the familiar setting of childhood summers and there is a lightness of voice, and then a casual mention of a cousin drowning. It’s written in lyrical prose and without dialogue breaks, the lake’s ghostly repetition seeps into the narration and pulls the reader under.

Although I love the aesthetics and online textual engagement of Crow & Cross Keys, I found myself wishing I could experience their published pieces in person as well. Undoubtedly, V.M. Reilly’s poem, “The Augur,” with its ritualistic cadence and layered imagery, would have been especially striking aloud. The poem is creepy in the most intriguing way, as it transforms the ordinary grime of a train station into ritual and sacrifice. The religious imagery, such as pigeons pecking at a sausage roll as “entrails on the altar” and smog inhaled like incense, make the everyday feel haunted, as if the city itself is a shrine.

What I love about Cul-de-Sac of Blood Lit Mag is that it has a distinct suburban-horror campiness without feeling too cluttered or overwhelming. Each piece is paired with a film still that perfectly mirrors its mood, yet the clean design, ample white space, and unadorned text keeps the focus on the writing itself.

One standout for me was “Suppertime” by Payton McCarty-Simas, which is accompanied by a winking Beverly Sutphin of Serial Mom (chef’s kiss). The story’s scope is small and finely detailed, taking the idea of a “slice-of-life” narrative to a whole new level. Every domestic detail, from a cracked headband to a sticky kitchen floor, pushes the reader a little further into unease. Lines like, “Glancing at her nails, she noticed red stains peeking out from under their frosty tips, blushing in the grooves of her fingers,” makes the reader feel complicit in her secrecy. Also the choice of the word, blushing, is especially telling. I also circled this line several times with my No. 2 pencil: “What a mess she’d made of her tidy kitchen.” The story genuinely steals your breath as we slip further into Elouise’s fractured mind, her memories surfacing as she cleans and presses vegetables into a Jell-O mold until the truth of what she’s done quivers into focus.

A poem that stayed with me from Cul-de-Sac of Blood is “Dream Warriors” by John Sara. This poem made me think of the comedian Maria Bamford, and if I knew her personally, I’d want to send it to her because I think she’d love it. In Bamford’s memoir Sure, I’ll Join Your Cult, she writes about the strange comfort of support groups, how their rituals mirror cult life, and that resonance is exactly what makes this poem so moving. It takes the language of trauma recovery, such as the scars, cigarettes, caffeine, sleeplessness, and layers it with the camp of a horror movie, until the support group itself becomes a band of dream fighters.

What struck me the most was the ending, where the group invites the Freddy Krueger-like boogeyman into their circle, asking him, too, to share what keeps him up at night. That reversal is so slyly funny, as it reframes the whole poem: healing here isn’t about vanquishing the monster, but folding him into the ritual of joining. I also loved reading the writer’s take on the poem, in which John Sara admits he usually writes fiction. Especially as someone rooted in fiction but bitten lately by the poetry bug, that detail renewed my belief that so much of writing is storytelling, whatever the form.

Apex Magazine is a lit mag I’ve had my eye on for a while, because it has such a great reputation for publishing quality works of fantastical fiction. Chill Subs categorizes their vibe as: “Top-tier stuff. Not Paris Review, but close enough.”

In issue 150, I was especially excited to see an essay by Lyndsie Manusos called “Haunt Me, Then.” In it, she writes about her own journey as a writer and revisits “The Bells,” an Apex story I’ve never forgotten, first published in February 2017. I had no idea that piece was her very first pro sale, and I rejoiced that the doomed Marionette wouldn’t let the author go, haunting her until she released it to the world.

Reading about the story behind the story was thrilling, and it’s uncanny how much her experience overlaps mine. Manusos writes about how grad school bruised her love for speculative fiction and, seriously, why does that always happen?! So many of us want to write and read weird shit! Revisiting “The Bells” now, I am awe-struck by it even more, especially the eerie, haunting song as the reader is forced to view the world as an enslaved, dancing Marionette. It’s the kind of story I’d love to teach, especially just to hear what students would make of those bells.

Dark Dead Things is a print journal, and it’s the kind of magazine you want to keep on your coffee table, inviting friends to look through its pages, stumble into its strangeness, and find a brief escape from the inescapable grossness of the world. I adore especially each issue’s letter from the editor, Mike Salinas, which are always brief and feel very personal and uniquely him. I mean to say, I don’t actually know Mike, but I feel like I do because of his letters.

In Issue Two of the lit mag, Kathleen Palm’s “When the Crows Speak,” gave me all the feels. It’s about a girl who can communicate with the dead through a terrifically creepy sort of medium, and what I find most astonishing by this story is how much ground it covers in such a short amount of time. The language is vivid and detailed, pulling you into the story with striking, visceral imagery. It reads like a true page-turner, and has a clear beginning, middle, and end, an impressive feat in short story form.

So, those are my picks. I can’t wait to hear what you all have been reading too. In November I’ll be featuring nonfiction essays, so I’d also love to hear your recommendations.

As I’ve said in previous posts, please note that while I look forward to our Lit Mag Brags each month and seeing what and where everyone has been published, this is a resource for what we’re reading, not what we’ve written.

Feel free to share any and all works from lit mags, and I’ll add them to the list!

What have you read lately?

Share

Leave a comment

Hi, all. Jessica here. It’s the first Thursday of the month, which means we all get to share what we’ve been reading in lit mags!

Subscribe now

As always, I’ve been keeping a list of all works mentioned in this series, including works shared in the comments section, which you can find right here.

Right around this time of year, I always miss college. I went to Hiram College, this small liberal arts school in Ohio, where I became smitten with a group of friends, and to this day, they remain some of my favorite people on the planet. We lived in the dorms all four years, and sometimes I can’t believe how we managed living in those shoebox-sized rooms stacked on top of each other. Other times, I ache to live like that again, surrounded by people, books, and conversations at all hours. It’s funny, isn’t it? Only four years, yet it stamped itself indelibly onto who I am.

A few months ago, I finally paid off my student loans, while my husband, also a Hiramite, is still paying his off (which is insane). The economics of higher education are patently unjust, and I don’t think the price tag is defensible, but I can’t deny what a transformative place it was.

I didn’t sleep much in college. There were always people to talk to, new books to read, lectures to absorb. My world cracked open: Mary Oliver, Nina Simone, Motherwell paintings, and so much more. It felt miraculous to have my entire “job” be centered around learning.

In honor of that spirit, this month I’m focusing on university-based literary journals. My list is just a sampling, far from exhaustive, so please add your favorites in the comments because I know I’ve overlooked many.

First on my list is The Coachella Review. This is a lit mag published by the University of California, Riverside-Palm Desert Low Residency MFA. I’ll admit it: I am heavily influenced by the names of lit mags. When I submit to journals, I often imagine how the title will sound to a non–lit mag reader. I imagine that saying, “My story was just accepted in The Coachella Review!” would land with excitement. The journal doesn’t have anything to do with the music festival, but the fact that it shares the same name adds to its familiarity and appeal.

One story that’s still lingering in my mind from Coachella is “Seahorse Kingdom” by Liz Schim. Revisiting this piece, I was surprised to see it was only a little over 3,000 words. Schim manages to pack in such depth without it ever feeling compressed or overstuffed. The narrative touches on student life, abortion, economic disparity, and the struggle to have real, difficult conversations beyond the “preaching to the choir” dynamic. And though this story grapples with such weighty subjects, it never loses sight of its narrative core. The main character, Cassie, feels fully realized, and the larger themes emerge organically through her experience, showing how such issues take shape in the life of a single individual.

Another lit mag with an exceptional name is The MacGuffin, which speaks to my English-major heart. The MacGuffin is put out by Schoolcraft College and publishes contemporary work that takes itself seriously as literature, prioritizing emotional depth and human experience over purely experimental forms.

One story I particularly admire is “The Pretender” by Craig M. Foster. This piece is a masterclass in inhabiting the inner lives of two distinct characters. Both men respond to the same situation in strikingly different ways, and yet the narrative never loses clarity. The shifts in perspective are seamless, allowing the reader to remain fully immersed while also appreciating the contrast between the two minds.

Ploughshares is a perennial favorite, and it feels like a journal that operates on a slightly higher frequency, literary with a capital L, probably because I discovered it as a college student. My English department at Hiram College made it easily accessible to students, and my one wish is that Ploughshares be made more widely available in public libraries… because right now, a print copy is a whopping $18.99. The digital copy is ten dollars cheaper, but still these top-notch pieces published in Ploughshares deserve a wider audience.

One standout piece is “Perfect Numbers” by the great Ramona Ausubel. It’s a ghost story, which delighted me. My writing has always gravitated toward the speculative and strange, and for a long time I worried that “weird” stories weren’t allowed in certain highbrow venues. And Ausubel really shows us how truly amazing a speculative story can be. Her story is so alive it seems to breathe on the page, which is ironic I know, given that one of the characters isn’t breathing at all. The protagonist, a middle school math teacher, is rendered so convincingly she feels like a friend of mine. Her profession does not feel incidental but instead shapes the fabric of the narrative.

Recently, from her Substack reminded me of a quote from one of my favorite books about writing, Lisa Cron’s Story Genius. Cron writes: “Each thing you add to your story is a drop of paint falling into clear water; it spreads through and colors everything.” “Perfect Numbers” by Ramona Ausubel embodies that principle, as every detail is a drop that ripples outward, tinting the whole story with a luminous hue.

I also want to mention that through a blog post on their website in 2015, Ploughshares introduced me to one of the stories I treasure the most: “Los Angeles” by Ling Ma. This story was published in Granta, and the way I found it reminded me of college in the best way: how many of the great gems of art and literature that have meant the most to me often came not from classes, but from the recommendations and obsessions of friends. Have you all read Ling Ma yet? I think you should stop whatever you are doing right now and read “Los Angeles” right away… and then go across the street and tell a neighbor to read it too. The conceit is wild, and the husband literally speaks in money signs. The story is both surreal and devastating as it delves into domestic violence in a way that rearranges your brain. Ling Ma uses magical realism with an incredible, awe-inspiring economy of words, all while maintaining a deadpan delivery. ($$!)

Next on my list is Grub Street Literary Magazine, Towson University’s student-run literary magazine. Honestly, it’s hard to condense everything I admire about Grub Street because the appeal is so abundant. What I especially love is that you can read the entire issue online, for free, in a digital format that mimics the turning of real pages. It feels tactile, almost ceremonial, and it changes the way I read. Instead of jumping directly to the fiction section (my usual habit), I turn through every page, encountering visual art and pieces I might otherwise have overlooked.

The Letter from the Editor in Grub Street’s Volume 68 by Morgan Middleton was especially meaningful to me. She writes about how a librarian first opened the door to fiction books for her, which, as a librarian myself, feels like the most resonant origin story imaginable. My secret belief is this: either you already have a Book that found you at the right moment, or you just need the right guide to place it in your hands. (I’ve often wished that librarians could match readers with just the right works from lit mags too.) I also loved that the editor acknowledged those whose work wasn’t accepted. That small gesture felt expansive, and shows an understanding that a literary magazine’s readership is made up not just of the writers who appear in print, but also the many who submitted and are quietly wondering, “why not me?”

One of Grub Street’s essays that has stayed with me is “Ubuntu” by Andi McIver. Told in vignettes about South Africa, together the piece forms a panoramic whole. The brilliance lies in its candor: the author doesn’t romanticize or evade difficulty. She writes openly about her complicated feelings with her father’s xenophobia, about the beauty and pain coexisting in the daily life of South Africa, and even about the irritation of hearing Americans echo the Mean Girls-style question: “How can you be white and be from Africa?” Her final answer to the question of what it’s like to live in South Africa is both elegant and profound: Ubuntu. South Africa, she insists, belongs to everyone; it is constituted by multiplicity.

Another unforgettable piece from Grub Street’s Volume 72 is a poem by Kath Gerobin, “How to Deal with a Brick.” A visually inventive shape poem, this piece deepens its meaning through form and blank space. At times the brick is a threat, and other times it serves as a foundation. This mutability makes the metaphor far richer than a simple opposition, and the poem itself meditates on communication and resilience, contrasting the impermeability of a brick with the porousness of a sponge. As the reader presses on, the brick also acquires a sense of endurance, and the capacity to endure storms, to build something lasting. By the end, the metaphor turns inside out, suggesting that even hardness contains vulnerability; even stone has pores.

So, those are my picks. I can’t wait to hear what you all have been reading too.

As I’ve said in previous posts, please note that while I look forward to our Lit Mag Brags each month and seeing what and where everyone has been published, this is a resource for what we’re reading, not what we’ve written.

Feel free to share and all works from lit mags, and I’ll add them to the list!

What have you read lately?

Leave a comment

Share

Hi, all. Jessica here. It’s the first Thursday of the month, which means we all get to share what we’ve been reading in lit mags!

As always, I’ve been keeping a list of all works mentioned in this series, including works shared in the comments section, which you can find right here.

July is my favorite month. It's strange and dreamy and full of unexpected encounters. Miranda July named herself after this month, and if I hadn't already changed my middle name to Dylan after Bob Dylan when I was fourteen, I might have considered changing my last name to July too. It’s my most creative month, the one where I actually finish reading entire novels and have the energy to see more people than I do the rest of the year combined.

Subscribe now

Here in Portland, the winter turns everyone into cozy hermits. We huddle in fleece, decline invitations, and when we do show up to a party, we bring nothing but a mild cold and a rambling story about a package that arrived and surprised us because we don’t remember ordering it.

But summer is different. It’s generous. There are parks, splash pads, street fairs, and other free things to do with my child. And I have the energy to actually go out and feel good doing it. I might wear a necklace. I might even wear eyeshadow. I show up to parties and run into people I haven’t seen since last summer. We swap stories. Someone got married. Someone got divorced. Someone quit their terrible job and decided to go all in as a writer. (I actually met this person, and I'm still totally jealous). I meet new people too. People who just moved to town, who still love Portland without irony, who still think the city's weirdness is fully intact because they haven't yet seen what I've seen. Maybe they never will.

So, in the spirit of July, part reunion, part discovery, I'm revisiting three lit mags I've featured in the past, alongside one new magazine that just recently launched into the world.

The first lit mag I'm excited to revisit is Joyland. I've admired this magazine for so long, but I saw it in a whole new light thanks to ’ Substack article, Moms Don't Have Time to Network (which I actually discovered via Lit Mag News!) This piece means to much to me, I can't even tell you.

Anna Rollins writes about how she makes it work as a mother and a writer, reading and investigating lit mags not in some cozy Brooklyn café but at home, on the couch, while her kids watch Paw Patrol. And I swear, I nearly cried.

Because so often, when I read writing advice, I have to squint and sift to make it fit my life. Just last week I went to a virtual writing retreat, and the facilitator talked about her process: how she wakes up and writes in bed first thing in the morning. And I was like, “Cool, cool…” because that’s so not how my mornings go. My husband was up half the night with our daughter, so when my alarm goes off, I slam it off fast so it doesn’t wake him, tiptoe out of the bedroom, and write on the couch, first brushing aside a layer of Frozen and Paw Patrol figurines. And I have to write as fast as possible, because if I breathe even for one second, I'll give in to the urge to clean and organize my extremely messy living room.

Or I’ll hear people talk about how important it is to write at the same time every day. Yep, consistency is great, but my daughter is four. And I love her. And sometimes I skip writing altogether because I just want to soak up her tiny voice and little hands and jump at the chance when she asks me to read her one more book. I know I’ll blink and she’ll be in college.

So reading Rollins' essay, where she frames writing while her kids watch TV as a form of professional networking was revolutionary for me. It gave me permission. It helped me see that writing during Paw Patrol isn’t shameful. It’s resourceful.

On top of all that, Rollins also write about Joyland in her article and gives actual, solid advice. She talks about Joyland's weird, regional flavor, and also analyzes the titles of the pieces published, taking note of how they are never too long, but rarely boring or generic. Looking at titles as a window into editorial taste is something I honestly never thought about before. But once she pointed it out, I couldn't not notice it.

Then I actually read “Finger Eleven,” Anna’s essay that ended up being published in Joyland, and it slammed me. It’s just… so awesome. When I think of weird writing, I admit I usually think of weird fiction. But here is Anna Rollins' piece, so wonderfully intriguing, deeply-rooted in place, so bold and specific. I want to tell you exactly what it's about, but I just enjoyed the slow, patient reveal of Finger Eleven, so I'm trying not to spoil anything here. I will say it's about West Virginia, and family, and mothers, and bodies, and contamination, and memory, and you definitely don't want to miss it.

The second lit mag I'm revisiting is Short Story, Long. Because it's hosted on Substack, each story is delivered directly to my email, showing up like a personal letter from a friend, complete with a heartfelt intro by editor .

The piece published by Short Story, Long that I continue to come back to is “You Are Still Allowed Your Dreams” by Abigail Oswald. I love it so much I've printed it out on two separate occasions so I could underline it and trace the architecture of its time jumps and also study the way Oswald builds atmosphere. It begins with a teenage girl discovering her doppelganger online and evolves into a meditation on the strange mirrors we find in each other, and seeing an imagined life play out. Her doppelganger is an actress, and the experience of reading someone's account of watching their double onscreen is surreal, like an M.C. Esher drawing in the way it folds perception in on itself, like a mirror reflecting another mirror, heads watching heads.

Another story recently published by Short Story, Long I adore is “Man Next Door” by Jennifer Savran Kelly. This is just a fun, compulsively readable piece. One of the characters is introduced as "Paul with a P," which nails that slightly cringey dad humor. It reminded me of the Goosebumps book, Night of the Living Dummy, except here, the possible possessed object is an inflatable white suburban dad. I found myself holding my breath as I read, caught between suspense and absurdity. Being afraid of an inflatable dad seems laughable, or is it?

The story walks that tightrope beautifully, and the surrounding details keep it grounded, giving just the right amount of unhinged without the reader feeling detached from the main character. After reading Jennifer Savran Kelly's interview, I learned that the author has written about this inflatable dad more than once, and I am so here for her next installment.

When I first wrote about Does It Have Pockets, many of you from the Lit Mag News community responded warmly, sharing how wonderful your experience had been, both reading the magazine and being published in it. And for that reason alone, this is the lit mag that I continue to read time after they time.

Does It Have Pockets just came out with a new issue this month, August 2025, and it does not disappoint. One standout piece is Roy Perkins' flash fiction story, “The Cost of Saving the World.” It hits hard in just a few lines, because the phrasing is brutally honest about what is going on with our oceans and the state of the world. Which is why this line gutted me: "how easily the world can pretend everything is fine." Throughout the story, a father turns to an online forum called Grieving Dads, but there are no real answers. Instead, this story seems to suggest, maybe the best we can do is offer heroic delusions.

This issue also features two poems by Ren Wilding, “Resistance” and “On January 20, 2025, I Thought of My Own Grave.” Two poems about the fierce will to survive with dignity in a world that threatens to erase or harm marginalized bodies. Resistance speaks through animal metaphors to express a longing for both safety and courage in the face of systemic threat, while “On January 20, 2025, I Thought of My Own Grave” imagines a defiant, loving legacy for trans lives under attack. Both of these poems are emotionally raw, clear-eyed and brave. They are poems of grief, and also hold space for a future shaped by chosen love and unapologetic selfhood.

Finally, the last lit mag I’m highlighting this month is Gently Mad, which released its first issue in December 2024. This magazine feels very new, especially because I couldn't find it in Chill Subs, which I admit made me pause, but there are so many things done right about this lit mag that I just had to include it.

I was especially delighted to discover its "Gently Map," a feature that pinpoints where in the world their artists and authors come from, demonstrating the publication’s pride in its richly international community of contributors.

I love that Gently Mad mimics the experience of reading a physical print magazine, complete with the soft sound of pages turning, which makes each issue feel tactile and alive. The inclusion of artwork adds even more texture to the reading experience, and one of my favorite pieces is a drawing by Miriam Dokotliver where a woman asks, “How long is this poem?” And it's as if the characters are breaking the fourth wall, echoing a reader's experience.

Dokotliver also created another stunning piece of a woman partially covering her eyes, which directly faces the poem “The Wet Corners of My Veins” by Denis Robillard. In Robillard's poem, you can hear the water in rivers, between stones, and even in the speaker's veins, acting as a carrier of history and song. It feels both mythic and intimate, and the lush language captures that desire to let yourself be sung to by what has been lost, but never really gone.

So, those are my picks. I can’t wait to hear what you all have been reading too.

As I’ve said in previous posts, please note that while I look forward to our Lit Mag Brags each month and seeing what and where everyone has been published, this is a resource for what we’re reading, not what we’ve written.

Feel free to share and all works from lit mags, and I’ll add them to the list!

What have you read lately?

Leave a comment

Share

Hi, all. Jessica here. It’s the first Thursday of the month, which means we all get to share what we’ve been reading in lit mags!

Subscribe now

As always, I’ve been keeping a list of all works mentioned in this series, including works shared in the comments section, which you can find right here.

A few days ago, I went to a party hosted by Buckman Journal to celebrate the release of their new book, Odd Guide to the Flowers of Portland, a gorgeous poetic field guide created by the Buckman staff that reimagines flowers through playful descriptions and artistic interpretations. I had read an excerpt of the book in Buckman’s January 2025 issue, “Preserve & Decay,” and loved every sentence.

One thing I really appreciated about the party was how welcoming it felt for introverts. Along the walls were vases of flowers, each paired with paper and pens, inviting guests to name the flora (my personal favorite was “fairy dress” for a stalk of cup-shaped green blooms). It was an overall exciting event that was a reminder of how much room there still is to experiment within the lit mag world.

One magazine that inspires the spirit of experimentation is Brink Literary, which focuses on works that blend writing with visual and multimedia elements. Their website feels like an invitation to explore new territory, especially thanks to the animation advertising their video essays. I’ve never considered video essays as a literary genre until this journal. The video essay “I Caught Fire for This by Sophia Paquette” particularly floored me. There’s no sound, but the text appears and disappears across the screen and somehow, through color, size, and timing, you hear the words anyhow. And the story is just so surprisingly good, I hope you all go watch it right now.

A poem published by Brink that made me feel fizzy with excitement is “Psilocybin Journey Notes” 10/27/22 by Subhaga Crystal Bacon. (What a name!) I have a love-hate relationship with drug writing, because the risk is producing a stinky pile of clumsy cliches about magic mushrooms. But this poem is a gem.

At first glance, it looks heavily redacted, with huge blocks of black swallowing up the text. This alone creates an interesting, effective poem. But if you highlight the blacked-out sections (like I did on a whim) hidden lines reveal themselves. It’s like two poems layered inside each other: the first, sprawling and diaristic, captures the kaleidoscopic chaos of a mushroom trip, and the second, revealed through erasure, pares that chaos down to its stark emotional bones:

Skull face with screw teeth.
myself as a toddler trapped

It evokes that unsettling, reflective headspace for being on mushrooms, where time warps, memories resurface, trauma brushes against the edges of your mind, and there is this desperate, beautiful attempt to peel everything back and get at the truth beneath it all.

Here is the description of Streetcake on Chill Subs, a UK lit mag that has been around for almost twenty years and champions experimental, visual and outsider writing:

we want to be excited by your

writing, turned

on,

amazed by your images, Eyes darting

---------------- all

over the

page /

trying to

keep =

​up, shocked, (shivering) with / uncertainty, smacked

over the

head by

the the the the

craziness of it-

if that sounds like you, then please submit!

I think any magazine that takes the time to turn their description into a poem is exactly the weird, chaotic place I want to send my work.

In their issue 95, published in March 2025, Grzegorz Wróblewski bestows an asemic piece that is incredibly intriguing. Asemic writing (I newly learned) is a form of mark-making that looks like language but isn’t actually decipherable, existing somewhere between poetry and abstract art. Wróblewski’s piece feels like a tangle of urgent, gestural lines, with some of the word-like images circled for emphasis, and red smears that eerily resemble blood. The effect is strangely intimate, and I kept conjuring up stories about a dying man’s last confession. It’s the kind of piece that allows you to make the meaning yourself.

Another lit mag that is doing something different in the best way is After Dinner Conversation. This time of year, I prefer reading print magazines outside in the sunshine, and I love that this journal’s text is the perfect-sized text (much larger than The New Yorker). But even better, After Dinner Conversation is also digital and can be accessed for free through many public libraries via Libby and Hoopla. I am especially drawn to After Dinner Conversation’s unique cover design. Each cover presents a series of thought-provoking questions that correspond to their stories, which serves an open invitation to engage and respond even before reading the works.

Would you revive a dead loved one?

Should horrible crimes be given horrible punishments?

At first, I mistakenly thought After Dinner Conversation published primarily nonfiction. But it is a philosophy and ethics short story magazine; each story poses a moral or philosophical dilemma, and honestly this blew my mind a little that the medium is all fiction.

One story that has stayed with me is “The Apath” by A.J. Parker, featured in issue 57 in March 2025. The corresponding question on the cover is: What if you could buy your emotions? That premise piqued my curiosity, and the story absolutely delivered and also provides even more questions and ponderings:

Who buys the bad emotions? That was the public debate, at first. The answer was simple. The ones who couldn’t afford any better.

A.J. Parker’s speculative, futuristic story where even the stars are artificial is a profound commentary on human experience and emotional privilege. I am in awe of how the author weaves philosophy into a short story without getting bogged down with too much heavy-handedness. The story provides sensory details, like the scuffs in the floorboard, and allows the deeper questions to emerge naturally through our main character, Finn, who is somehow so likeable despite being emotionally removed.

At the end of each piece, After Dinner Conversation provides discussion questions to prompt deeper engagement, and for those interested, they host an online discussion group through Meetup. It’s an exceptional model for how fiction can inspire critical thinking and community dialogue beyond the page.

A similar spirit of connection and community defines beestung, a lit mag that describes itself as a “micro-magazine” devoted to work by trans, nonbinary, gender queer, two-spirit writers that is “sweet and stings.” As you read through the stories and poems published in beestung, the lovely honeyed yellow background hums beneath the words, like sunlight filtering through paper.

A story published in beestung I am in awe of is “There Must Be Good Honest Sins” by Kit McGuire, because what a title, right? A nod to the contradictions and inevitable desires that haunt queer lives. The story’s structure is fluid and untamed, and dysphoria surfaces in the narrator’s fractured relationship to mirrors, her body’s involuntary responses, and the ever-present poltergeist that trails her through the night. My favorite moments in this story are the blunt, declarative statements like: She’s hot. Poltergeist or not. It shows the narrator’s defiant self-image with no apology, even as she’s literally being haunted. The result is a story as unshakeable as the ghost that follows her home.

Lastly, I’ve been spending a lot of time reading Rattle, a lit mag that has so much to offer. I truly feel like it promotes poetry as an accessible form of art, especially because it reminds readers that poetry shouldn’t require a degree to be taken in by it. Just one of the ways they build community is through their Poets Respond series, publishing poems within the past week about current events as a way for poets to join the cultural conversation in real time.

A poem I personally found moving and essential in helping me get through a shocking, mind-numbing event is “The Library’s Roof is a Meadow” by Pamela Lucina Moss.

Every Sunday, their livestreamed podcast, Rattlecast, features the week’s Poets Respond reading their work, offering an even more intimate way to connect with the poem and the person behind it. What’s more, selected poets receive $100, making it so that their poems are not only celebrated, but valued.

Another thing I love about Rattle (there is so much to love!) is their Random Poem generator, a simple but brilliant feature that lets you discover a poem from their archives with just one click. It pulls work from any year of publication, offering a constant shuffle through their history and keeps even poems published over fifteen years ago alive, relevant, and read.

My favorite standout feature of Rattle is their Critique of the Week, where editors publicly workshop poems on YouTube and Facebook, offering honest, detailed feedback that demystifies what they look for in submissions. As it says on their website, “It’s hard to find honest feedback about work, but knowing how your poems are actually landing is more useful than any other advice a poet can get.” I wish more literary magazines would offer this kind of transparent critique (like Fairy Tale Review!) because it gives writers a window into the editorial process and the magazine’s particular tastes.

So, those are my picks. I can’t wait to hear what you all have been reading too.

As I’ve said in previous posts, please note that while I look forward to our Lit Mag Brags each month and seeing what and where everyone has been published, this is a resource for what we’re reading, not what we’ve written.

Feel free to share and all works from lit mags, and I’ll add them to the list!

What have you read lately?

Share

Leave a comment

Hi, all. Jessica here. It’s the first Thursday of the month, which means we all get to share what we’ve been reading in lit mags!

Subscribe now

As always, I’ve been keeping a list of all works mentioned in this series, including works shared in the comments section, which you can find right here.

So, not too long ago, I started doing The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. This is a twelve-week self-guided program that helps people focus on creativity by doing various activities, including writing assignments, journaling longhand every morning, and going on solo adventures meant to spark inspiration and playfulness. It’s a surprising amount of work, enough that when people ask me what I’ve been up to, it’s the first thing that springs to mind.

I admit I was a little embarrassed to talk about it at first, especially because some of what Cameron says is very woo- woo, but then I discovered that most people I talk to about it either know of someone who did “the program” or have tried it themselves. I found out from The Internet People’s podcast that even Doechii has done it. Considering that Julia Cameron’s book first came out in the 90s, it makes sense, and I’m actually really curious to hear if any of you folks have tried it as well.

During week 4 of The Artist’s Way, one of the assignments was a “reading deprivation,” a challenge to refrain from reading entirely in order to quiet external influences. I found this fascinating, especially from an almost archaeological perspective, because Julia Cameron was writing in a pre-internet age. Her intended audience wasn’t constantly bombarded by emails, texts, social media sirens, or the endless digital blah blah blahs. When she talks about cutting out the noise, it strikes me as both prescient and paradoxical, because by today’s standards, the noise she was asking people to eliminate was a whisper compared to the roar we live in now.

Well, that week, I did not deprive myself of reading. I considered it, and I did hold back from using my phone quite a bit, but I did not cut out reading books and lit mags. In fact, I read more lit mags that week than I did any other week in May. I even woke up at 2 in the morning one night because I wanted to read “shame/she/sea” by Ariana Matondo one more time. Yes, I know that sounds crazy but this poem really is delicious and I wanted to experience these lines one more time:

i beg her to spare my kind;
to remove all our abyssal and abysmal. 
to take the a’s
out of shame. the m’s too.

Which made me think about why I read lit mags in the first place.

Do I read lit mags because I’m supposed to? Out of a sense of obligation? Because I want to be published and feel the need to keep tabs on what is being published these days? Or do I read lit mags for pleasure, because I want to be stunned by our world, and savor what today’s writers (and lit mag editors!) have cooked up?

In 2016, Elizabeth Gilbert had a short podcast series to expand on the ideas in her book Big Magic. In one of her episodes, titled “Sexy Dirty Nasty Wicked,” Gilbert encourages an art teacher to have an affair with her art. The kind of affair where you sneak away in the middle of the day just to be with it. Where even the most mundane tasks become charged with excitement, like how even when you drink a glass of ice water and you think about how your secret lover could also be drinking a glass of ice water, it feels like an electrifying event.

And I’m sure this isn’t what Julia Cameron intended when she challenged people to abstain from reading for a few days, but it did really help me read for pleasure. To sink my teeth in and make what I was feasting my eyes on count. Even after the week was up, that shift stayed with me. I saw lit mags as a pleasure in the most romantic sense; it was a chance to discover what writers were obsessed with, what they were chasing, and how they were trying to seduce the reader.

Okay, so I may have lost a few of you by bringing up Julia Cameron and then immediately pivoting to Elizabeth Gilbert. Fair. As a palette cleanser, let’s talk about The Offing. I love the name of this lit mag. The definition of “offing” can be found right on the lit mag’s homepage (“the most distant part of the sea seen from the shore”), but I also love it as a double entendre. The promise of work that throws the reader off, because the works are surprising and untethered from what you thought you knew.

I first discovered Isaac Pickell’s poem, “Fuck my lecture on craft, your people are dying” when it appeared in The Offing on May 21st of this year, and the title alone stopped me cold. The poem was raw, urgent, and the last two lines really struck me:

When I die, I’ll keep writing about flowers. I don’t know
what else to offer you.

Later, I realized it was written in response to Noor Hindi’s “Fuck Your Lecture on Craft, My People Are Dying,” a poem I hadn’t heard of until encountering Pickell’s. I was remiss not to have known it. Hindi’s poem is a vital and necessary read, and has been widely shared. Discovering it second felt like arriving late to a conversation, thinking I knew what was being said, and then realizing the conversation was actually… (I almost turned this into a metaphor but stopped myself just in time). Hindi’s poem is fierce and unflinching. Pickell’s is vulnerable, overwhelmed by his own complicity. Read together, they form a call and response about power, witness, and the limitations of art.

There’s so much more to unpack (like in each poem the role of the moon!), but that’s probably a whole essay on its own, so I’ll leave it there for now.

The poem I mentioned earlier, “shame/she/sea” by Ariana Maton appears in issue 9 of Honey Literary. More than a lit mag, Honey Literary is a 501(c)(3) literary arts organization built by women of color. It describes itself as a space for BIPOC women, non-binary and trans people, disabled writers, and LGBTQIAP2+ creatives of color, and says they are looking to publish “agitators, righteous disruptors, weirdos, and wild ones.”

What I love about Honey Literary is that despite its rich offerings, the website is sleek and inviting, letting the reader focus on the work. Each issue has pieces from evocative categories: Ariana Maton’s poem, for instance is in the sex/kink/and the erotic category. There is also hybrid, animals, interviews, food and beverage, Valentines, and Sticky Fingers, where the “Hive” interviews authors about their latest and upcoming releases.

Another poem from Honey Literary that blew me away is “Abecedarian Mango” by Fatima-Ayan Malika Hirsi, which is in the food and beverage category. I first encountered the word abecedarian through this poem, and there are also examples of other abecedarian poems thoughtfully included by the poet to offer an understanding of the form and it’s potential.

Now, I can’t stop saying it: a-b-c-darian. It’s usually a poem where each line or stanza begins with a successive letter of the alphabet. In Fatima-Ayan Malika Hirsi’s poem, she builds a layered, alphabetical exploration of mangos while guiding the reader through her memories and identities. I love every letter of this poem, but here is one that really stuck with me:

Q is for question who the fuck knows why some of us get mangoes in our lives and some of us don’t?

Maybe sometimes even God likes to be surprised

While I was on my cheater’s version of a reading deprivation, I kept my phone in my pocket as much as I could and imagined what an event would look like if Honey Literary hosted live events, especially in my current place of residence. I imagined they would offer tiny little honey pots with grooved wands so that we could all sample the bees’ bounty, our lips sticky and sweet, while listening to the contributors spout their liquid gold. (Maybe they could even have honey from around the world and offer miele!)

The next lit mag I want to gush about is The Threepenny Review. I have a soft spot for this one, especially because it’s printed like an old-fashioned newspaper. There’s something deeply nostalgic and grounding about the way it feels in my hands, how it sounds as I turn the pages, the way I fold it back like I’m settling in with the Sunday paper.

My favorite section is Table Talk, which reminds me of The New Yorker’s Talk of the Town. This section is made up of short literary musings that feel like the beginning of a good conversation with friends. In the Spring 20025 issue, Clifford Thompson wrote a piece about Facebook that struck such a chord with me I almost wrote him a letter in response. (I’ve been meaning to delete my Facebook account for years, but somehow… I just never get around to it.)

This issue of Threepenny also has a poem that I can’t stop thinking about called “Emotional Realism” by Maria Martin. I was struck by how clearly this poem felt tailored for this particular magazine, which has an affinity for realistic poems that offer readers a brief, intimate glimpse into another person’s life. Maria Martin’s poem, though brief, masterfully conveys a sweeping sense of time. It folds in on itself, with an ending that circles back to the beginning in a way that deepens as well as redefines the initial moment.

Next up: n+1, which I picked up at Broadway Books here in Portland. It’s been on my radar ever since The Cut wrote a piece about n+1’s Ultra gala to celebrate the lit mag’s 20th anniversary.

The name n+1 (you know you were wondering) comes from the algebraic expression to suggest that no matter what exists, there’s always something vital to be added. N+1’s issue 49 has a piece called “Planet Puppet” by Mina Tavakoli about a ventriloquist convention that completely stole the show for me. Tavakoli’s language was so precise, so atmospheric, that I genuinely felt like I was in the room, surrounded by puppets and the vaguely cult-like “vents.”

And finally, a piece published in Fourth Genre called “False Alarm” by Jennifer Murvin. I’d categorize it as a “graphic story,” although Fourth Genre calls it “multimedia.” The distinction only matters because I love encountering work like this, but they are surprisingly hard to find, due to the lack of a consistent search term. That’s probably just the librarian in me talking, always wanting to neatly catalog the uncategorizable.

Especially as a mother, this piece gripped me by the throat. It uses a refrain that begins with when, and the panels forgo traditional sentence structure, letting the rhythm build in a way that mimics the pulse of anxiety. You can feel the spiraling, the racing thoughts, the mental clutter of panic. It captures the emotional whiplash of caregiving, the suppressed rage aimed sideways at a partner, and the overwhelming helplessness that a parent has to claw their way out of so that both you and your child don’t drown. It’s a reminder of how form can mirror feeling, how the artwork, though masterful in its technique, is simple and raw, perfectly capturing the stark, black-and-white intensity of anxiety in the face of uncertainty. The structure itself becomes the story’s heartbeat, echoing the emotional rhythm of the experience it conveys.

So, those are my picks. I can’t wait to hear what you all have been reading too.

As I’ve said in previous posts, please note that while I look forward to our Lit Mag Brags each month and seeing what and where everyone has been published, this is a resource for what we’re reading, not what we’ve written.

Feel free to share any and all works from lit mags, and I’ll add them to the list!

What have you read lately?

Leave a comment

Share

Subscribe now

As always, I’ve been keeping a list of all works mentioned in this series, including works shared in the comments section, which you can find right here.

This month, I’m focusing on flash fiction. Spring has sprung in my part of the world, and the flowers are begging to be adored and my dog is telling me it’s time to go to the park. In Portland, springtime rain is met with bouts of sunshine, and if you’re outside at the right time, you’ll catch a rainbow. That translates to me being antsy. If it was allowed, I’d wear a shirt at work that says, I’d rather be outside.

This year more than ever, I’m gripped by this weird sense of urgency, like I need to get outside and hug the trees and breathe in the fresh air before it’s too late (anybody else? Just me?). So it feels like the perfect time of year for flash. In my head I’m shouting, hurry, hurry, hurry! And flash is right there with me. It’s already built for speed, as if the author and I are moving in sync.

Whenever I think of flash, the first person I think of is Tommy Dean, someone who truly understands and champions the form. Full disclosure: I first met Tommy Dean when I was seeking feedback on my writing, and I was so floored by his generosity of insight. Tommy Dean is the Editor of both Fractured Lit and Unchartered Magazine, and not only is he a masterful writer, he can also be found giving interviews and advocating for the recognition of flash fiction not just as a “short short story” but as a distinct literary genre.

On the Otherppl podcast’s Craftwork series, host Brad Listi interviews Tommy Dean, and I greatly value this episode, which provides a wealth of information all about writing in this form.

There is so much I could highlight from this interview, but here are my two favorite takeaways: Firstly, Dean touches upon the idea that writing flash gives permission to take creative risks. Unlike a novel, which could take 5 years to finish (or for me even longer!) and carries the heavy weight of reader expectations, flash is a form where the stakes are lower, so you’re freer to experiment and fail.

That leads into my second, closely related favorite takeaway: Dean’s celebration of play within the form. Approaching flash fiction not as a rigid exercise in minimalism, but as an opportunity to experiment, with structure, voice, language, and metaphor. This also shifted my perspective as a reader, because now when I read flash, I’m looking for moments of inventiveness, surprise, and experimentation. And I love that I can enjoy that fully, even when I’m in a rush.

One lit mag I discovered through Tommy Dean’s work is Your Impossible Voice, through his piece “City. Night. Bursting.” Chill Subs says it best, when describing the vibe of this journal: “Weird / outsider / wtf even is it.” I never know what I’m going to read, but I have come to expect pieces from here that are intimate, disorienting, and boldly experimental.

There is something so strange about the title of Tommy Dean’s piece: City. Night. Bursting. It’s unusual for there to be periods in a title, and it somehow makes it all sound jerky, as if someone is holding back, restraining themselves against something bursting inside of them. What is that something? Is it evil? Then there is the way this piece begins: “Look, I know I shouldn’t be looking, but the city heat has me out on the streets…” It’s so masterful how a word like “look,” a colloquialism we have all heard often, or a simple period is infused with an ominous charge. There is something feral yet half-swallowed about the language of this story. I was awed by the craft…but grateful it was short, because the narrator is so unsettling, I was glad I didn’t have to stay with him for very long.

Another piece published in Your Impossible Voice, a fire of her own by Pegah Ouji, is a masterclass in layered storytelling. In such a short amount of time, this piece weaves together the innocent bewilderment of youth, the political, and the mythic into a single breathless narrative. What strikes me the most is the way fire moves throughout the story, touching bark, the burning of the Roosaris, the lollipops, and finally…well, if you are reading this before you read this incredible piece, I don’t want to spoil the ending, because it perfectly encapsulates the story’s undeniable call for justice.

My favorite story of the month is “Dalmations” by Natalie Warther, published in Flash Frog. I was smitten with the main character after reading the opening lines: “He had six Dalmatians, all names starting with the letter “L.” Lulu, Leon, Leonard, Lupe, Lukas, and Little. I asked why “L” and he said he liked the shape the letter made–two lines coming together.” I love this man. Not just because he is a devoted dog owner, but as someone who sees letters with affection and tenderness.

I had never considered the letter L as anything more than a letter, but now I see the shape of it, the poetry of it, and it makes me think of “Dalmations.” Warther’s piece, stripped of all its fat, absolutely devasted me, as it circled around the very real problem of taking care of beloved dogs while also bringing a newborn baby into the world. It’s a perfect example of Flash Frog’s gift for publishing flash fiction that feels small and sharp, and earth-shattering.

Flash Frog’s interface is high quality and professional, and there’s a real sense of joy. Their description reads: “We like our stories like we like our dart frogs: small, brightly colored, and deadly to the touch.” The journal’s blue border, the charming frog on a typewriter logo (which you can get as a sticker for free!), and the cohesive aesthetic all reflect the editors’ infectious enthusiasm. That joy carries into the stories themselves, as each one is paired with original artwork that enhances the reading experience. Every piece feels chosen, nurtured, and thoughtful presented…and then of course the flash eviscerates you in the best way.

One more thing to note for all you scary story lovers out there: every October, Flash Frog transforms into Flash Frogtober, devoting the entire month to ghost stories under 1,000 words.

Okay, I have confession to make… and this coming from a person who is a big fan of Alice Says Go Fuck Yourself... I do not like the name of the lit mag SmokeLong Quarterly. I know! I’m the worst! Especially because it’s an amazing lit mag that’s been around for over 20 years, has free submission periods, and it pays writers handsomely for their work.

According to their website, “the term ‘smoke-long’ comes anecdotally from the Chinese, who noted that reading a piece of flash takes about the same length of time as smoking a cigarette.” It goes on to say: “SmokeLong Quarterly does not encourage smoking.” To be clear: I do NOT want this lit mag to change its name; I emphatically do not want that. I just wanted to be real with you folks. I haven’t had a cigarette since college but every time I hear the name, I just really want to bum one, take familiar drag, and read some good words through the smoke, like I’m 22 again and health and redemption are still possible. But anyway, let me not digress…

The piece I can’t stop thinking about from Smokelong Quarterly is “Grocery Store Mama” by Shayla Frandsen, which won The SmokeLong Quarterly Award for Flash Fiction (The Smokey) in 2024, and deservedly so. From the first sentence, this story hooked me and I felt as if I knew the Nana. I genuinely believed there was going to be a tiger in this story. That’s what makes it so powerful: it weaponizes the tightness of flash fiction.

Why else would the writer waste so many words about tigers if a tiger wasn’t going to appear? Every sentence by Frandsen is humming with tension, priming you for an attack, although you’re not sure if the attack will help or hurt. I read on with the creeping sense that something awful is about to happen, and then the real turn hits. It’s not what I expected at all. It’s quieter, sharper, and far more human than the setup lets on. The twist isn’t just clever, it’s gutting. Especially the last line.

I very much appreciated the interview SmokeLong Quarterly offered by Shayla Frandsen on her winning story. I especially admired her insight on how atmosphere can be more powerful than exposition. She explains that by evoking the store’s decaying surroundings—the rats, the spoiled food, the bleakness—she could let those details imply deeper truths without naming them outright.

So those are my picks, now it’s your turn! What lit mags have you been reading lately?

Like last time, please note that, while I look forward to reading our Lit Mag Brags each month and seeing what and where everyone has been published, I’d like this to be a resource for what we’re reading, not what we’ve written.

I can’t wait to see what everyone suggests.

Leave a comment

Share

Hi, all. Jessica here. It’s the first Thursday of the month, which means we all get to share what we’ve been reading in lit mags!

Subscribe now

As always, I’ve been keeping a list of all works mentioned in this series, including works shared in the comments section, which you can find right here.

This month, I’m focusing on poetry. I keep thinking about Robin Williams’ character, John Keating, in Dead Poets Society, telling his students to rip out the introductory pages of their poetry books. “We don’t read poetry because it’s cute,” says the English teacher. “We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. Medicine, law, business, engineering…these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.”

I am not usually someone who enjoys remakes. Even though I am a big fan of Tim Burton, I have never seen his version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, because Gene Wilder is seriously the GOAT and why mess with perfection? But. Even though Dead Poets Society is a masterpiece, I sincerely believe that we need a modern day reimagining that reflects what we are facing right now (which is a lot!) and inspires us to connect by writing and reading poetry. What we’re facing today isn’t just the pressures of conformity and getting stuck in the grind, it’s the risk of losing our humanity to automation, algorithms, and AI crap. And maybe the only way to change that is by having a teacher put a hand over our eyes so we can step away from our screens and look inward to find our verse.

Speaking of stepping away from screens, the first lit mag I’m excited to talk about is print magazine . I actually discovered it at the library where I work because if you send in a request, the editors will mail you a bunch of copies to distribute as you please. How neat is that? There is something about this lit mag that is effortlessly cool.

Adam Voith, Editor, Publisher, and Founder of Little Engines, feels like that friend you had in high school that paid a lot of attention to good music, so that every time you stepped into his car, you knew you were going to listen to something interesting and worth your time. The magazine is lightweight, printed on newspaper stock and the art and stories have so much heart and yet they feel punk rock at the same time. Some issues come with stickers, while others include thick cardstock prints of featured artwork, ready to hang on your wall.

Their latest issue, No. 10, includes a poem called “Could’ve or Should’ve.” It’s about grief and memory. It is written like a letter, addressed to someone and signed off at the end, except the names have been redacted. My brain did little flips as I read it. The poem explores the act of burying, literally in the garden, and metaphorically in the narrator’s mind. The narrator is forgetting this person, yet they are not forgotten because they are the subject of the poem. But then, without their name, they are forgotten after all. It is actually a short poem, but there is so much feeling in it, so many contradictions. A sense of playfulness, but also aggression. A sense of letting go, a sense of holding on. The poem balances between light and heavy, making it both tender and unsettling at once.

And then I did a little shriek. In the library. The poet was Justin Vernon. Of Bon Iver.

Maybe you have never heard of Bon Iver, but for a time, they were my entire personality. Once, while searching for a roommate on Craigslist, the only thing I wrote in my introduction was this: Hi, my name is Jess, and my favorite band at the moment is Bon Iver. That was all they needed to know.

Did Justin Vernon go through the regular submission process? Did Adam Voith solicit him? I want to know the details. At the same time, I don’t. I love imagining Vernon composing a submission email like the rest of us, feeling a little pukey after hitting send, a little proud that he actually did it, wondering what kind of response he will get, and trying to shrug off the possibility of rejection while keeping a sliver of hope alive.

One poet who always feels like a rockstar to me is Todd Dillard. I had to leave Twitter when it got x’d, and he’s one of the reasons I miss it, because that’s how I always found out when he had published a new poem. So, I went to his website to see what he’d been up to and was delighted to find him in Waxwing. His poem “No Rush” really hit me hard, especially, especially, especially the ending. I am tempted to include the last few lines here, but the whole thing fits so beautifully together I didn’t want to break it apart. The poem reminded me why I love his work: Dillard has this incredible ability to pull readers in completely, in a way that feels both vulnerable and universal at the same time.

There is something about Waxwing that makes poetry feel like an open-armed invitation. Chill Subs categorizes it as “top-tiered stuff. Not Paris Review but ok.” Its website is clean and professional-looking, and easy to navigate. I first discovered the journal when I was obsessed with another rockstar writer, Ross Gay, author of The Book of Delights. He published Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude in Waxwing, a poem that has everything in it, including some of the sexiest lines of poetry I have ever read. It is a long poem (which he even acknowledges toward the end) that brims with joy and generosity, even thanking the reader for sticking with him:

"…you, again you, for hanging tight, dear friend.
I know I can be long-winded sometimes."

You know what I love about sexy poetry? It jolts me awake, snapping me back into the present. It reminds me that I have an animal body. I’m not just a grown-up person with responsibilities, covering myself every morning for work, layering on clothes like dropping down the blackout curtains. A bra to hide my nipples. An undershirt to smooth over the softness of my belly. To keep my pants up, a belt. Then off to work, where I make lists, try not to stress about layoffs, schedule appointments, attempt to budget, and eat something responsible when what I really want is a Pop-Tart.

As much as I love print magazines for pulling me away from screens, sometimes I appreciate the immediacy of finding a sexy poem online. It looks so innocuous…just words on a screen. Of course, words are safe at work. It’s just a poem, right? Except my grip tightens around my phone as I take in the lines. But maybe people will think I am just reading some terrifying news article about the state of the world. Right? Except I’m also blushing.

The next magazine I want to talk about is Blush. It describes itself as promoting “decadent, forward-thinking texts authored from the bleeding edge,” and decadent is the perfect word—sensual without being reductive.

One poet I discovered through Blush is Rachel Rabbit White (do you think she chose Rabbit because of the vibrator? Or is that just me?). Rachel Rabbit White, a self-identified sex worker, writes about sex in a way that is bold, uninhibited, and just makes the reader feel alive.

In her poem Swan, she writes:

We say never apart
but they part
I take your legs
and find work
as an atmosphere model

An atmosphere model?! That just completely took over my brain as if Rachel Rabbit White wrote with a paintbrush. Also, I never considered swan a sexy word, but now I can’t stop thinking about how your mouth has to shape itself around it. And oh my gatos, isn’t it fun to just say Swan, as loud as you can, and just have that be everything you need to do, if only for just a long second?

The next lit mag I’m spotlighting is The Adroit Journal, a lit mag where new voices and established names co-exist in a way that feels like a true reflection of what’s happening in poetry today.

One poem I particularly love is a sonnet by Diane Seuss, “I Should Have Been in Cinema. I Should Have Been in Paint,” which is accompanied by a recording of Seuss reading the poem. I’m drawn to its magical, childlike quality, but what captivates me is how Seuss truly makes me feel like she took me somewhere, and at the end we are both shimmering. Also, this line is just a banger: I am big but this feeling is bigger, the silo whispered.

Another knock-out poem from Adroit Journal is from Issue Twenty-Six called, “There Is So Much Pressure in a White Dress” by Melissa Lozada-Oliva. I love how the poem delivers lines that make “poetic sense,” in that they don’t follow logic, yet you understand them on a visceral level. Like this line:

I listened to ‘Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now’ & it got stuck

in the zipper. I hopped up & down & it didn’t come off.

The poem takes something as simple as a white dress, universally understood as off-limits except when you wear it to your own wedding, and pushes it to the edge, turning it into a symbol of defiance, and a letting go of all the ways and just saying fuck it. But instead of offering freedom, the dress is too tight, too constricting—you can sense that tension right from the title. It plays with societal expectations, the weight of tradition, and how, even when you try to let go and enjoy yourself, you still can’t escape the discomfort.

The Citron Review has been around since 2009, but it’s a new-to-me lit mag that I am thoroughly enjoying, especially because its website features colorful fruit that make me inexplicably happy even during these strange, turbulent times.

One poem I am excited to share is “Little Fires in the Body” by Melissa Eleftherion. Maybe it was because of the The Citron Review’s fruit imagery, but I couldn’t help but feel like this poem was like eating something delicious, especially because of the way the words formed in my mouth as I read them out loud.

Lastly, Epiphany consistently puts out thought-provoking and beautifully crafted work.

Although I could only access Epiphany online, this literary magazine is available in both digital and print formats. One poem that stood out to me was “Hold-Out Kitchen” by Turi Sioson, which I found particularly compelling for its spatial arrangement on the page. There’s a passage I keep returning to:

backlash. find me

holding your hand
under tables with green fire

What captivates me most is the gap before find me; it’s a pause that feels weighty, almost like a held breath. Some poems seem destined to be performed, while the intimacy of others is on the page, where the connection between writer and reader is quiet, yet electric. Dare I say its romantic in the way this poem invites the reader into its space. The speaker asks to be found, and once they are, they’re already holding your hand. And then there is the surprising moment of a green fire, a burning that defies the ordinary.

I am excited to hear about what you’ve been reading in lit mags lately. Have you been reading poetry lately too?

Like last time, please note that, while I look forward to reading our Lit Mag Brags each month and seeing what and where everyone has been published, I’d like this to be a resource for what we’re reading, not what we’ve written.

I can’t wait to see what everyone suggests.

Leave a comment

Share

A quick announcement from Becky: I’ve updated the Save the Dates page with the times and days for all sessions and interviews. A few errors were also corrected. Please have a look and save those dates!

Hi, all. Jessica here. It’s the first Thursday of the month, which means we all get to share what we’ve been reading in lit mags!

Subscribe now

As always, I’ve been keeping a list of all works mentioned in this series, including works shared in the comments section, which you can find right here.

This month, for these unsettlingly “oh my god what now” times, all my picks are absurd. You could call them many things: speculative fiction, slipstream, magical realism, weird… but at their core, they all blur the line between reality and the extraordinary. My favorite thing about this kind of writing is that moment when something odd happens, something that at first glance just seems like nonsense, and suddenly my mind goes quiet. The sense of doom, the worry, the constant hum of alarm all fade away as I focus on making sense of the impossible. It’s a moment of pure discovery, like biting into a donut when you weren’t expecting jelly in the middle. Something that once felt rigid and unyielding in my brain becomes fluid, as a brand-new thought takes shape, stretching and shifting until it fits into place.

The first story that I read that made me feel this way was actually suggested in one of the comments of last month’s post: “Everything they taught us about horticulture is a lie” by S Maxfield, published in issue #27 of Black Fox Literary Magazine. The story begins with magic as a metaphor for the intoxicating rush of first love, then flirts with the idea of enchantment by providing little details like a stuffed bear named Abracadabra. And then, magic unmistakably appears in a breathtaking moment that completely hijacked my brain and heart in such a way that it felt like spring during the coldest day of the year.

Black Fox Literary Magazine is a delight to read online. Its layout feels like reading an actual book, and I especially appreciate the page-turning sound effects. For those who prefer to print out their favorite pieces (like me), the magazine makes it easy to download a PDF and select just the pages you want to hold in your hands. Then you can underline and circle lines like this one from S Maxfield: “Stephanie Hannaham smiles and a thousand peonies bloom.”

Another magazine that I have been enjoying immensely is Weird Lit. A relatively new publication with just three issues at the time of this post, it already gets so much right. From its clear sense of identity to the way each piece is introduced by the editors, it never feels like a random collection of writing. I also appreciate that each of the editors took the time to include unique bios worth reading about themselves, making them feel like real people rather than distant gatekeepers handing out rejections.

There hasn’t been a single story in this magazine that I haven’t loved, but the one I feel most compelled to spotlight is “My Giraffe” by Lexi Franciszkowicz. What I adore about this story is how utterly bizarre and unrelatable it is—a narrator with a pet giraffe that can do things no giraffe should be able to do—yet somehow, through the precision of its details, I found myself thinking, same girl, same. And then there’s the ending… deliberately disorienting in a way that makes my brain buzz as I try to puzzle it out. Absurdist fiction can sometimes feel like the author is getting away with something, bending reality just for the hell of it. But here, there’s a real emotional arc, and that’s what makes it work so brilliantly.

The next lit mag I am excited to highlight is Baffling. On their submissions page, the editors of Baffling describe their vision:

We are looking for speculative stories that explore science fiction, fantasy, and horror with a queer bent. We want queer stories and we want trans stories and we want aro/ace stories. We want indefinable stories. We welcome weird, slipstream, and interstitial writing.

I love that Baffling is embracing the full spectrum of queerness within speculative fiction, allowing imagination to roam free in the realms of magic and the beautifully strange. There’s something deeply comforting about a space where queerness and limitless creativity coexist so effortlessly.

The latest issue of Baffling, Issue 18, revolves around the theme of sex, and the stories are, indeed, intoxicatingly sexy. So much so that after reading one in particular, I admit I wanted a cigarette, although I haven’t smoked since college and settled for lighting a candle instead. The story I am talking about is “The Glass Wife” by K-Ming Chang. This story is a fever dream of intimacy and transformation, where a woman made of glass becomes both lover and mirror, and it’s sensual and tactile in a way I never imagined possible.

The next lit mag on my list, Del Sol Review, has a distinctly contemporary feel, yet I always feel a sense of nostalgia when I read through it because I have been looking at it for so many years. Established in 1998, Del Sol Review has consistently impressed me with its wealth of content, all presented in a clean, uncluttered layout that never feels overwhelming.

One of my favorite poems, “I Was a Pinecone Once” by Beth Woodcome, comes from their issue #7, originally published in 2001. It reads like a quiet meditation on nature, the kind of poem that makes you exhale a little deeper. I could easily dissect it line by line, but honestly, it’s best experienced as a whole, because each part flows so seamlessly into the next.

More recently, Del Sol Review published a poem centered on drug use—normally not my favorite subject. Too often, it feels like a shortcut, a way for writers to introduce surrealism without fully committing, as if they’re afraid to let the strangeness stand on its own. I admit I bristle at stories and poems where the fun, absurd language is explained away by drugs because I’ve had people assume my own weird stories must be based on or inspired by drug use, which I find more than frustrating, because it feels like taking the magical away from the magical realism, like trying to shove limitless, expansive play into too-tight shoes.

But this poem is different. “Octopuses Rolling on Molly” by Kathleen Hellen is an exceptional gift for the mind. And, it isn’t magical realism at all. The statement preceding the poem states: Gül Dölen, Ph.D., assistant professor at Johns Hopkins University, says when octopuses are on MDMA, it’s like watching “an eight-armed hug.” That single fact unlocked something in me—because honestly, I had never once considered octopuses doing MDMA. And yet, here we are.

Speaking of literary journals with a long history (or perhaps I should say herstory in this case), one of my favorites this month was CALYX. Since its inception, CALYX has been committed to publishing a diverse range of feminist voices, explicitly affirming its dedication to being a trans-inclusive feminist journal.

I was lucky enough to get my hands on a print edition, the Volume 34:3 Summer/Fall 2024 issue, and I took my time savoring each page, beginning with the artwork in the center. One piece that especially captivated me was Tiffany Dugan’s “A Moment,” a collage with colored pencil and watercolor. Each time I looked at it, I saw something new. The colors reminded me of Matisse’s blue and orange paintings, and the interplay between bold, sweeping shapes and delicate, flower-like details gave it a fleeting, ephemeral quality, just as its title suggests.

A poem from CALYX that especially made me pause was “The Dead Consider the Living” by Nicole Olweean. Even the title feels off—shouldn’t it be the other way around? Throughout the poem, our usual perspective is inverted, as we consider the world from the dead’s point of view rather than the living’s, which feels impossible and strangely hypnotic. This image in particular is a stunner:

They do not consider honey
alive or dead, but both: the only thing on earth
 glowing with afterlife.

I kept returning to it, struck by its beauty and mystery. How does the narrator know this? As I try to make sense of it, even now, the honey itself seems to glow brilliantly in my mind.

Lastly, I didn’t think I was going to be able to include any nonfiction in this month’s post, but then I came across the current issue of NewMyths.com, #69. And I stumbled upon Peter Jekel’s “Journey Into Darkness,” which recounts the demotion of Pluto from a planet to a dwarf planet. I’ve always been intrigued by the story of Pluto, and I love that the author delves into how Pluto captured the minds of science fiction writers, from imagined origin stories to predictions about its moons and characteristics from Edmond Hamilton, which ended up being accurate before their actual discovery. Now, with its demotion and mythical inspirations, Pluto feels less like a celestial body and more like an absurd dreamscape.

I can’t wait to hear about what you’ve been reading in lit mags lately. Share everything that’s caught your eye, but just putting it out there: I’d love to focus on poetry next month, and I’d really appreciate it if you all let me know which poems from lit mags you’ve discovered.

Like last time, please note that, while I look forward to reading our Lit Mag Brags each month and seeing what and where everyone has been published, I’d like this to be a resource for what we’re reading, not what we’ve written.

I can’t wait to see what everyone suggests.

Leave a comment

Share

Hi, all. Jessica here. It’s the first Thursday of the month, which means we all get to share what we’ve been reading in lit mags!

As always, I’ve been keeping a list of all works mentioned in this series, including works shared in the comments section, which you can find right here.

Subscribe now

Although I usually have a theme for my findings, this month I’m all over the place. I was in the mood for poems, short stories, and sometimes it was all I could do to just stare at a piece of artwork and breathe. Sometimes I just wanted to shut the world off and dive into print magazines, and other times I wanted fantasy to help me forget everything. Sometimes I needed something invigorating to remind me of the beauty humanity has to offer, and other times I sought out writing that reinforced resistance, and strength in numbers.

The first lit mag I’m excited to talk about is Fruitslice, a queer-run quarterly publication that is a true feast for the eyes and a gift for the beaten-down soul. Every single page of each issue is a work of art, including the table of contents. I could talk about each issue, page by page, especially because each issue has happy little surprises like crossword puzzles and cat pictures, but the one I’d love to direct you to is “Oil Paintings of Mushrooms” by Donald Patten, featured in Fruitslice’s 5^th issue, which came out January 7th of this year.

“The subject of these oil paintings are illustrative depictions of a mushroom that has a cute smiling face,” says Donald Patten. “I explore my identity by making art that expresses joy.” I was smitten by these adorable mushroom characters, but what really made me pause was this idea of exploring one’s identity through something that brings joy. Oftentimes, it feels like the opposite, or at least for me. Sometimes I can’t help but obsess over the things that give me intense feelings of sadness, as if my identity is more deeply rooted in what haunts me than in what makes me happy.

Patten’s mushrooms radiate an uncomplicated delight that feels almost foreign to me, but it’s a language I feel a longing to speak. What does it mean to define yourself through joy rather than sorrow? And is it possible to do that even now? The mushrooms give me a little hope.

The next lit mag on my list is Electric Literature. Even more than a lit mag, Electric Literature has always struck me as a castle of sorts—it feels like wandering into a giant fortress with art everywhere you look, even in the corners, and you end up getting lost just trying to find the bathroom.

They recently interviewed the creators of Chill Subs in November. I especially enjoyed the part of the interview where Co-Founder Benjamin Davis talks about his list “14 Top-Tier Magazines That Want To Watch You Crawl Out of a Rhino’s Butthole,” one of my favorite submission lists to date because it lessens the pressure (and therefore the urge to procrastinate) I always feel when I’m tackling the submission process.

There is so much content on Electric Literature, but I’m just going to concentrate on their lit mag publication, The Commuter. One poem that particularly stuck with me is “I Hope My Funeral’s A Fucking Mess” by Kaia Ball. This poem is such a winner. It’s one of those poems where you are laughing as you read it, but also biting your lip, worried that you are tempting fate by laughing at such a thing as Death, because it’s so evident that the narrator is so talented and sometimes life isn’t fair, and I almost didn’t want to know that the narrator wants to hear Bill Withers when they die, because now there it is: evidence of Death, but proof of life at the same time.

I also want to note the beauty of their bio: “Kaia Ball crafts fiction with a scientist’s attention, nonfiction with an artist’s panache, and poetry like a love story to life itself.” I know most of us were told to keep our bios boring and straightforward, but after reading this, I wonder if I should rethink that.

Another knockout story published in The Commuter is “Mrs. Morrison Proofreads Her Obituary” by Taisiya Kogan, a story with an incredibly inventive format. It’s a flash fiction story presented as an obituary about Mrs. Amelia Morrison with lines struck through, presumably by Mrs. Morrison herself. The reader can’t help wondering, when was this obituary written? Who has possession of it? Was it ever published in this altered state? I love how the original version and its revision stand side by side, revealing who Mrs. Morrison truly was versus who she was expected to be. The humor is sharp, especially in moments like the line, “Mrs. and Mr. Morrison worked hard to keep their romance alive,” where Mr. Morrison is crossed out. But the final line transforms this piece from a clever, darkly funny piece into something far more poignant, making Mrs. Morrison’s last words all the more powerful.

A lit mag that has captured my heart is ANMLY, which began as Anomalous Press in 2010. One thing that I greatly appreciate about ANMLY’s lit mag is that its website’s background color is a soothing, pale lavender, aiding in the reader’s enjoyment and welcoming multiple reads of each published work.

A piece I really want everyone to read, because I’d love to discuss it in finer detail, is Ching-In Chen’s “After So Many Days Fled From Scattering Mold.” Written in response to Houston’s 2016 Tax Day Flood and later Hurricane Harvey, this piece blends environmental catastrophe with personal and collective loss, evoking instability of home, time, and identity. The author writes that they used “the language of terrible Google translations of my dad’s Facebook statuses,” which provides the effect of a shifting narrative that resists easy interpretation, much like the chaos of floodwaters themselves.

Then there’s the lit mag F(r)iction, a print magazine that is such an enjoyable experience on a sensory level, in that the pages are glossy and smooth to the touch, and there is stunning artwork and color on almost every page. I picked up their Bodies issue from Winter 2023 and was excited to see that one of my favorite short story writers, Carmen Maria Machado, is featured in this issue. Also in this issue is Max Medeiros’ Pearl Growers. This fantastical story is about people who are born with pearls growing in their skin. The pearls make them valuable, which in turn makes them prisoners, essentially slaves to a duke who covets the pearls. The story is absorbing and terrifying, and felt like a moving picture in words.

Another print magazine I read was Moss, which I’m hesitant to include because it exclusively publishes Pacific Northwest writers, but the nonfiction piece “The Shirt” by Erica Berry is too good not to mention. Berry’s piece is about a linen shirt she wore on every first date after a breakup, but it’s so much more than that. She uses this one piece of clothing to examine a particular period in her life, circling back to when she bought it while with her ex-lover. It’s about the hope of starting a new relationship, but also of a past relationship gone wrong, and the baggage you carry when you start dating again, even when it appears as if you have nothing on your back but a light-weight shirt.

Five South is a lit mag I discovered from Becky’s post about those affected by the LA fires. I was incredibly moved by the editor Kristen Simental’s audio note that she recorded about the fires and how we could help. Many of you are probably familiar with Simental’s message, but her words about Five South bear repeating:

One of the things I love most about Five South…is that we’re a port in a storm. So, we started Five South in 2020 during the lockdowns of the pandemic because I felt like people needed a place to go where they weren’t dealing with the crap and the junk and the stress [and that] they needed a bright spot. They needed stable ground. And so Five South aims to be that stable ground for people. That’s what we’re here for. We want to be the place that you can go where things are nice, words are beautiful, and people give a shit about you.

Simental’s words hit home for me because they crystalize exactly what I’m looking for in a lit mag, especially amidst all the world’s chaos. After spending time reading Five South’s published pieces, I am floored by the incredible talent that this lit mag has to offer.

One piece that exemplifies Five South’s commitment to brilliant writing is “Night Elf Bildungsroman” by S.C. Svendsgaard, an essay about a girl who drops out of college and essentially drops out of life for a stretch to play World of Warcraft. I laughed out loud when she wrote, “Women do this too.”

I’ve never played World of Warcraft, but I’ve known a few boys (one of whom I lived with) who were obsessed. The author gives a firsthand account of her experience, of how she was able to leave her life behind and just exist through her Night Elf character. What makes Svendsgaard’s essay so compelling is her ability to write with striking openness and clarity about a difficult period in her life. She doesn’t shy away from raw honesty, offering readers an unfiltered view of her experience, allowing them to inhabit her world just as she once inhabited her Night Elf character.

Finally, one of my favorite pieces this month was “Inner Child” by Zoe Flavin, published by Split Lip. I love reading Split Lip, especially because each published piece comes with a fun GIF, turning every work into a mini celebration. Zoe Flavin’s story, “Inner Child,” made my head feel fuzzy as I was reading it, and I mean that in the best way. It’s a story that is surprising, creative, and creepy, and yet it also feels healing. And it contains one of the strangest sex scenes I’ve ever read, one that will stay with me for a long time. I want to say more, but I don’t want to spoil anything–so let me just say, this is a must-read.

I’d love to hear what you all have been reading in lit mags lately. Did you find yourself reading methodically, or did your reading life feel as chaotic as mine?

Like last time, please note that, while I look forward to reading our Lit Mag Brags each month and seeing what and where everyone has been published, I’d like this to be a resource for what we’re reading, not what we’ve written.

I can’t wait to see what everyone suggests.

Leave a comment

Share

Welcome to another installment of our monthly Lit Mag Spotlight.

This is where, on the first Thursday of each month, we share what we’ve been reading in lit mags. I’ve been keeping a list of all works mentioned in this series, including works shared in the comments section, which you can find right here.

Subscribe now

This month, I am focusing on print journals. People-pleaser that I am, I sincerely hope that is okay with everyone! Between the holiday hullabaloo and highly addictive, time-draining lure of doomsday scrolling, I needed a break. So I made the conscious effort to be offline as much as possible, an act which especially seemed cozy to me because I was able to read curled up in my armchair, candle lit, festive blanket draped over my legs. (Of course, I couldn’t disconnect from the internet completely—I still kept up with Substack, especially Lit Mag News!)

I know for that some of you, your submissions criteria is that a journal has to be online, which makes a lot of sense. Online journals are more easily accessible, and they are easier to share. It’s just a fact that the stories I’ve written that were published online were read by my friends and family way more than the stories I’ve had published in print. Part of me believes that I’d rather be read than be published in a journal that has prestige (although, you know, another part of me wouldn’t turn down a chance to get published in those high-ranking lit mags!)

Now that I’ve spent time reading more lit mags in print, however, I’m discovering all the positives. Here is something that brought me great joy: discovering what lit mags are available locally. Are lit mags available in your neighborhood? I encourage you all to venture out and see if you can find any, and I would love to hear your responses.

I live in Portland, Oregon, and even though most of my friends are pretty well-read (I actually just got back from an afternoon Book Swap party), everyone I talk to reads primarily books, which is actually the reason why I sought out the Lit Mag News community in the first place. Imagine my delight when I looked around and started noticing all the lit mags available in coffee shops, bookstores, and even libraries when I really started paying attention.

The first lit mag I came across in the wild was at a coffee shop called Oui Presse (this place has delicious soup by the way). At the back of the café are magazines to purchase, and one of those magazines was Granta, issue 169, the China issue. I admit I haven’t read Granta in a long time. Chill Subs describes their vibe as “bother but like, don’t.” The journal was quite expensive (20 bucks!) but I was so excited to find a lit mag at a café that I bought it right away and started reading it that night. And I was completely blown away.

As you might have guessed, this issue features the writing of contemporary China. Each voice comes from the same place, yet the collective voices reflect a wide range of experiences and viewpoints. One nonfiction essay that truly captivated me was “Adrift in the South” by Xiao Hai and translated by Tony Hao (good news! This one is online too.) The essay is about Xiao Hai’s experience working in big-city factories at the tender age of fifteen.

The writing completely sucked me in—it was full of hooks and descriptive passages that brought every detail to life. I could feel the shock and exhaustion of being so young and enduring such incredibly long hours, but also the fleeting moments of joy and feeling propped up by friends when you need it the most. It was one those rare pieces that had me physically holding my face, completely absorbed in the story. I couldn’t help but feel deeply for this young kid, whose obvious talent for writing stood in stark contrast to the years spent toiling in the factory. There is one line that especially stands out in my mind: “It was a time when, driven by my youthful spirit, I was ready to make some noise – and I wanted to hear that noise echo through the rest of my life.” Reading this essay made me feel lucky to have stumbled upon this journal.

Here is another journal experience I feel lucky to have stumbled upon: McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern. Specifically, issue 64: The Audio issue. This one, my dear friends, is the shit. Of all the literary magazines I’ve written about, this is the one I urge you to seek out most. The Quarterly Concern stands out because it doesn’t follow a fixed format, giving its creators the freedom to experiment in ways that are inventive and incredibly fun.

I was obsessed with Issue 17—released back in 2005—which arrived packaged to look like it came straight from the mailbox. Then I found issue 64, which was made in 2022, on the bottom shelf at Powell’s. This issue is a collaboration with Radiotopia, where every piece inside the box has an audio component—except for one standout work that explores the challenges and limitations of making projects like this accessible.

My husband, who doesn’t usually care much about lit mags (no shade—it’s just not his thing), got really excited about this one too. He even helped me assemble the scroll apparatus for one of the stories, “Douteflower” by Karinne Keithley Syers, illustrated by Wesley Allsbrook. You feed the scroll through a small cardboard box, and every time you hear a chime in the audio, you move the scroll forward. Pure storytelling magic, and so beautifully designed.

I honestly can’t believe more people aren’t talking about this. It’s been out there in the world for two years before I knew anything about it! This issue deserves a billboard. People should be talking about it at the grocery store. When you go to check out, the cashier should ask you: Did you find everything you were looking for? And, have you checked out Timothy McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern Issue 64? Each piece is an audiovisual storytelling masterpiece and it will fill your heart with joy.

Another lit mag in print that I really loved reading this month is Bennington Review. In issue thirteen, with the theme of Family Gathering, I read a character-driven short story that has stayed with me: “The Fragrant Conscious World” by Rachel Lyon. Its ending left me torn—I wanted more, yet I completely understood why it had to conclude the way it did. It was abrupt, but undeniably perfect, capturing a realism that refused to force a happy ending.

Here is another plus about lit mags in print: I re-read several of the poems multiple times. Usually, when a piece from a lit mag is quite lengthy, I print it out. I am conflicted about this—I know it wastes a lot of paper, but I feel like I can’t get to the heart of the story if I am not holding the paper in my hands. But it’s rare that I print out poems, because they are usually less than a page.

In a print magazine, everything is right there, for me to peruse again and again. In Bennington Review, I kept coming back to this one poem by Jennifer Hasegawa called “The Fisher-Price of Love.” Not to sound too woo-woo, but the book kept opening to that page, as if I was meant to keep reading it. Let me just share with you the first few lines:

Depending on culture
or random location
someone might say something
comforting or touch you
in a way that denotes
that you have nothing
to worry about. 

The more I read these words, the more deeply it resonated with me. The poem also has two beautiful, thought-provoking questions that quietly echoed in my mind. Questions that brought on nostalgia, and that bittersweet ache of childhood that would have hit differently had I not returned to the poem again and again.

The last journal I’ll mention this month is a repeat: Lady Churchill’s Rosebud Wristlet. I talked about an earlier issue of this lit mag in one of my other posts, but I just received issue 49, the most current issue, and I love it so much I just have to share.

The story that grabbed me was a longer one—clocking in at just under 40 pages, called “Pomegranate Hearts” by Dora Holland. I read it all in one sitting, coming up for air at the story’s last line as if waking up from a dream. The story is a mesmeric, fantastical tale that intertwines the tale of a necromancer with the myth of Persephone and the pomegranate. Its sweeping length allows it to be many things at once, and at the heart of the story is a young woman who has come back from the dead in her wedding gown.

I thought about this story after reading ’s Substack post, Death by Literary Journal, which bemoans lit mags that refuse to publish anything but conventional and uninspiring work. I really enjoyed Blake’s post, but I did find myself wishing he knew about Lady Churchill’s Rosebud Wristlet, which to me serves as an antidote to the stagnation and monotony he critiques.

On the title page, the reader is informed that LCRW can now be read as an e-book via weightlessbooks.com. Also on the title page is this statement: Memorization not expected but applauded.

So, those are my picks. I’d love to hear what you all have been reading lately, and how you feel about lit mags in print.

Like last time, please note that, while I look forward to reading our Lit Mag Brags each month and seeing what and where everyone has been published, I’d like this to be a resource for what we’re reading, not what we’ve written.

I can’t wait to see what everyone suggests.

Leave a comment

Share

Here is another series installment that happens every first Thursday of the month, where we share what we’ve been reading in lit mags. I have been keeping a list of all the poems, essays, and stories we have mentioned collectively on Bibliocommons, and it’s really something amazing. This list has become an ever-growing bouquet of brilliance, and I’m delighted to add to it this month with your input.

Subscribe now

As I started reflecting on the lit mags I have been reading, I kept thinking about Becky’s recent post about our community. Most of the journals I’ve been reading and exploring as of late are discoveries I found right here at Lit Mag News. There’s something undeniably invigorating about the way our regular connections transform reading into a shared experience, especially when I need it most.

Parenthood, for me, especially during the busy month of December, is chock full of “have-tos” and social gatherings and oh my gatos, how does anybody show up on time with a toddler?! My brain is overloaded with all this pine-scented to-dos and the sad chaos of the times and my poor dog needs a really good walk. Scrolling on my phone or poring over words printed out feels like an escape, though I do feel a twinge of guilt knowing there’s so much on my plate.

But now, when I immerse myself in the world of lit mags, it doesn’t feel like a solitary act. When I come across a gorgeous poem or a zing of brilliance in a piece of flash fiction, I don’t have to keep it to myself—I know I have a community to share it with. This sense of connection with like-minded humans from all over the globe that share my passion with writing and the written word has made all the difference.

One lit mag that I have been greatly enjoying is Does It Have Pockets. Many of you are probably familiar with this one, especially because it has been discussed in our comment section, and one of the “slush pile” readers attended a Lit Mag News Q & A, an interview that I greatly appreciated especially because it humanizes the process of submitting your work. One of the reasons I especially love this magazine is that there is so much evidence of care, right from the fun of the title that dares to ask a question and does not require a question mark, leaving it open-ended, like a pocket.

The website is visually stunning, featuring artwork paired with each piece in a soothing and harmonious way. Each story is neatly framed within an aligned box, while the complementary colors of the images create a balanced aesthetic that keeps the brain engaged without feeling overwhelmed. It is much appreciated that each piece is presented in white text with a brown background, which helps with readability. (Side note: I am currently writing this on Word using a dark blue page color and white text—it has really helped my eye fatigue. If you find yourself with an eye twitch after staring at your screen for too long, you should definitely give this a try.)

I also love knowing that this journal welcomes the “uncategorizable,” because this adds to the excitement of opening each of their pieces, never sure what will be found but reassured that it was thoughtfully selected.

I am captivated by two pieces of flash fiction by KM Baysal. The first, “Pink Camellias (Longing),” is breathtaking—its imagery of flowers growing on a body is vivid and mesmeric, and it beautifully captures the emotional journey of a couple. I was also delighted when I figured out the title’s meaning, which at first glance seemed obscure.

The second piece, “Aftermath,” is about the aftermath of a tornado that hit a small town during prom night. It’s a little over 600 words, and I’m in awe of how much depth Baysal conveys in so few words, especially how it explores secrets and the emotional weight of objects, leaving an impact as profound as reading an entire novel.

Another journal that I learned through the Lit Mag News community is Gone Lawn. I read lit mags for the pure pleasure of knowing what’s out there, but as a writer, I must admit that I am forever looking for places that would make good homes for my own work. Because of this, I am always trying to figure out the particular “flavor” of a magazine, and I appreciate a journal that has a clear understanding of what they’d like to publish.

From what I can tell, Gone Lawn publishes words in the speculative, magical realism vibe pertaining to our connections with the natural world. In their description, the editors write that they are “partial to odd garden animals,” an evocative phrase that I have tucked away in the creative folds of my story-generating mind. Here is one thing to note: although they do not provide a word limit, everything I have read in their issues is relatively short, giving that feeling of taking a gander at a neighbor’s intriguingly peculiar garden sculpture as you drive by.

Although short, three prose poems by Jo Gatford published in the latest issue of Gone Lawn (issue 57, Hunter’s Moon—the next one comes out December 15th!), packs a punch that is both huge and profound. Gatford’s first poem, “Something Serpentile,” is truly an experience when read out loud, because as your mouth forms the hissing sound of the repeated “s” alliteration, the reader embodies a serpentine transformation, much like the girl in the poem as she sheds skins of inhibition and dives into the primal depths of her being.

“Hypoarousal” made me feel everything all at once, aware of my body and my breath and my solitude and my connections, especially because it begins with commands, pulling me in, making me culpable. This poem invokes the heaviness of existence through metaphors of roadkill and fish, where water becomes both a place of vulnerability and solace.

Lastly, “I talk to god at the planetarium” (note the lowercase of the title), begins with an m dash, which feels both disorientating and immediate, as if catching the narrator in mid-reverie. This poem intertwines the vastness of the cosmos with the intimate, sensory experiences of art such as listening to Don Mclean’s Vincent.

I could talk about each and every one of the word-things published in Gone Lawn, but I’ll just talk about one more author’s work. I love the two pieces by Onyekachi Iloh profoundly, especially because they make sense as if by dream logic instead of adhering to the constraints of conventional reality. Word-things is Gone Lawn’s word for the genre that they publish, and I think that is perfect because I think Onyekachi Iloh’s work is uncategorizable.

Honestly, I just re-read Iloh’s “A Quest to Heal” and I’m finding it hard to describe it in a one-sided conversation because it feels alive, as if it’s meant to be experienced in a bookstore with warm lighting, shared in a moment of mutual wonder. This piece invites a kind of collective dreaming, challenging the reader to see the world through personified objects and consider our place within that perspective.

“Nocturne” also creates an incredibly surreal narrative, starting out as a piece about musicians but then personifying the musician’s instruments, which is something that blew my mind in the best way, especially because I know that there are people out there who would protest: You can’t do that! It defies plausibility! Ah, but you can, you can, and with that confidence you can produce something truly sublime.

One piece that was shared in the comments of another of my posts was published in Flash Fiction Online. It is called “Within the Dead Whale” by Spencer Nitkey and I wanted to include it here to make sure everyone has a chance to read it.

Out of all the pieces I have read this year, this one might be my favorite. This story is a masterclass on writing a story about something that happens while at the same time using the story to grapple with a theme. This story brilliantly balances two contrasting elements: the brief, immediate experience of children and their parents discovering a beached whale, and the drawn-out, melancholic weight of divorce, both during the unraveling and its aftermath. The vivid imagery makes the story come alive, unfolding so clearly in my mind that in my memory I felt as I had witnessed it firsthand.

Another piece shared in the comments that has stayed with me is from Bloodletter Magazine. Bloodletter Magazine describes itself as a “feminist magazine showcasing personal and analytical perspectives of the horrific by women, trans, and non-binary writers,” which alludes to a commitment to the type of writing I truly believe our world needs right now. Bloodletter has a website that is incredibly pleasing to the eye, with a subtle touch of animation (love the blood spatters over the published pieces!) and a gratifying adhesive color palate.

The Bloodletter story that was recommended is called “Keep Your Hunger Close” by Lia Mulcahy. Even though I greatly enjoy their website, I ended up printing out the story because I wanted to sink into it and enjoy the mounting suspense. It is such a doozy of a story! And it so perfectly fits into the genre of feminist horror—as it grapples with the very real horrors of doctors mistreating their vulnerable patients, the story takes a sharp turn into camp in a surreal and exaggerated way. I want to write more about it, but the turn is so fun I just don’t want to give anything away.

The final magazine I’ll share this month is Hippocampus Magazine, a magazine I sought out because it publishes incredible creative nonfiction. As you might have noticed, I do not normally gravitate towards CNF, but I think that this speaks to the power of this community, in that I feel encouraged to venture further afield in the world of lit mags. I would also love to hear from you all about what journals you read for essays and creative nonfiction, because I am eager to read more.

While exploring Hippocampus, one thing I was struck by is the way it provides a space for community as well. Not only does it publish cnf, it also hosts readings, teaches workshops, and provides a space for writers to learn from each other by writing about craft and the every day reading life. This adds to the personal nature of creative nonfiction, helping us to feel a part of a larger, supportive writing community where vulnerability and shared experience can spark growth and inspiration.

One essay published in Hippocampus that I am still thinking about is “Don’t Ignore the Ashes” by Alison Colwell. Here is a piece about community, or lack thereof, as it reflects on the concept of bystanders and those who look away from violence and suffering. It contrasts personal experiences of abuse with fairy tales, using these comparisons to ask uncomfortable questions about the role of those who witness but do not intervene, like why the hell did Cinderella’s dad stand by and let her daughter sleep in ashes in his own home? The writing is raw and emotional, illustrating the narrator’s sense of isolation and the emotional weight of unacknowledged pain. It explores the themes of silence, and by sharing her story, she brings her truths to the surface, ensuring that her voice is heard and her experiences are no longer ignored.

So, now it’s your turn! I very much look forward to reading what lit mags you’ve been reading, and the pieces that have captured your attention, especially during this busy time.

As always, please note that, while I look forward to reading our Lit Mag Brags each month and seeing what and where everyone has been published, I’d like this to be a resource for what we’re reading, not what we’ve written.

Cheers, friends. Here’s to stories that connect us and the people who help us find them.

Leave a comment

Share

Hello, Lit Mag News readers, here is the latest edition to the monthly series where we share essays, poems, and stories we’ve been reading in lit mags. I’ve been keeping a list of all of the recommendations from my posts and from the comments, which you can find right here. I’ll update this Bibliocommons list on an ongoing basis with all of the works suggested from this month, so we can be sure to keep track of what we’ve been reading and recommending.

There is a lit mag that I love, and I think is especially keen for November, especially because it just came out with a new issue. It’s called, Alice Says Go Fuck Yourself. I first heard about it via Lit Mag’s News Post 34 Brand New Literary Magazines! and that title has stuck in my head ever since.

Subscribe now

I can’t be the only one that feels more than a little angsty in November. November, in my mind, is synonymous with novel-writing because of National Novel Writing Month, which is usually truncated to the adorable NaNoWriMo, a challenge based around completing a 50,000 word novel by the end of the month. In the past, I have tried this challenge, and I have failed each year. I just think that November is the worst time of year, especially because I live in the Northern Hemisphere where the days are too short and getting shorter.

And then of course there is Thanksgiving looming at the end of the month, which for me means two days spent traveling on an airplane with a toddler. When we arrive, there is all the family I am supposed to be engaging with, especially because I have come all this way to see them. I try really hard to focus on topics that make for pleasant conversation, and also it makes me sad to talk about all the writing I have yet to publish, and everyone is tired of my plea that we have frozen pizza on Thanksgiving, even though I continue to say that the traditional Thanksgiving spread is archaic when considering gender roles, not to mention the holiday’s problematic myth… and in the midst of all that, I’m supposed to be writing like mad on my novel?! Alice Says Go Fuck Yourself.

First published just 2 years ago in 2022, Alice Says Go Fuck Yourself is a beautiful, anti-establishment breath of fresh air. Are they allowed to have a title like that? Well, they do. And if they are gutsy enough to have a title like that, are they gutsy enough to publish now that they have people’s attention? Their seventh issue was based around “Badass Mamas,” and I truly loved their note from the editors:

We dedicate this issue to all the badass moms, everywhere. We especially dedicate this issue to the moms who are facing illness, poverty, abuse, harm, violence, oppression, degradation, war, loss of their children, abduction of their children, murder of their children, or genocide — or any combination of these things — and are still doing their best to mother.

I think this quote demonstrates the heart of this magazine, and the readings in here are well worth your time and attention. My favorite part about this issue is the poetic quiz at the very end. Being a child of the 90s, I grew up taking quizzes in Seventeen Magazine, dutifully writing down the letters of each of my answers and counting up to see what kind of fashion style suited me best, or what my perfect, afterschool hobby should be. This lit mag’s quiz takes it to the next level by gifting you with choices that are bizarre and lovely and satisfying, as you puzzle out Which Kind of Badass Mom Are You?

The lit mag’s season 8 just dropped October 20, and let me tell you it is a thing of beauty. The theme is Ethan Hawke, and right there on the cover it invokes Ethan Hawke’s Ted Talk Give Yourself Permission to Be Creative, about how expressing yourself, even playing the fool, has power because it goes against the machine of capitalism. It seems like a jokey thing to do to devote a whole issue to just an actor, but I think it goes so perfectly with their can-they-do-this, is-this-allowed vibe.

One of the most memorable pieces from this issue for me is a poem called The Knives of No Movement by DS Maolalaí, a poem that perfectly captures the dreariness and heaviness of a morning commute, which is something I can relate to so strongly (especially the line: “in dry countries this/ is a beautiful season, but it never dries out/ around here.” And I’m not sure if I was supposed to but in my head I heard it being read in the voice of Ethan Hawke himself, and the way he emphasizes words in just the right way.

Share

Here’s another lit mag with an in-your-face title: Bullshit Lit. Would you ever submit to a lit mag called Bullshit? I like to think of myself as edgy, but it’s hard enough as it is to get my friends and co-workers to read my stuff. But the title of their lit mag piqued my curiosity, and I found their online presence to be delightful and incredibly reader-friendly, because of the way the text appears as you scroll down.

One poem in particular I recommend is canonization by Chloe Wheeler (note: Bullshit Lit does not capitalize their poems). This poem hooked me by the first line: “oops! I lost my silver hoop,” because not only does it begin with an evocative interjection, it is so pleasing to recite out loud due to the way the first and last word echo each other. A hedgehog also darts in and out of this San Sebastián poem, first as a heart, then as a man. 

Taco Bell Quarterly may not have any swear words in its title, but there’s no denying the boldness of evoking a fast-food franchise while asking to be taken seriously. Out of all the magazines I have listed in this post this month, I am most interested in hearing an interview from M.M. Carrigan, the “Editor Grande Supreme,” about the origin of this lit mag and the wild submissions they have received over the years. Also, have they ever gotten a cease-and-desist letter?

I am surprised about the poem I am recommending from this lit mag: EVERYONE I HAVE EVER KISSED THINKS ABOUT ME ALL OF THE TIME AND IS IN LOVE WITH ME by Hilary Kaufman, because I usually, as a rule, do not like works written in ALL CAPS because it brings back too many bad memories of people shouting on chat boards and AOL Instant messenger pop-ups. But I love this poem. The voice begins evocatively with a sense of vulnerability, like a prayer to the universe, and escalates into an assertion of self-worth and power, but then takes a dark turn with the relentless repetition of “I SWALLOW EVERYONE.” I also find it interesting that, although this poem in all-caps appears to be shouting, it feels like a poem meant to be read, especially the way it cuts off in mid-line, which is more effective on the page than in person (or perhaps someone like Ethan Hawke could pull it off?)

Another lit mag with a gutsy title is The Disappointed Housewife. The editor, Kevin Brennan, describes it as a place for “high-risk writing,” which I also think would make for a worthy lit mag title. A poem from Disappointed Housewife that stuck with me is It was the time I could and couldn’t (a villanelle) by Samantha Moe.

A villanelle, which you might already know, is a form that emphasizes repetition and structure, which adds to this poem’s theme of feeling trapped in cycles. In a villanelle, two lines (the first and third) are repeated alternately at the end of each stanza, then brought together in the final couplet. Here, the lines “You know how this goes” and “I’ll disappoint you again” echo in a haunting, circular pattern, underscoring the inevitability and recurrence of the speaker’s feelings, compounded by the line “All I have left for you are repetitions.”

What stood out to me the most was how perfectly this poem complements the magazine, as if this piece found its true home. Often times, when I read lit mags, I wonder what the “flavor” of this particular lit mag is, and why they chose one piece over another. But I truly get the feeling that Disappointed Housewife knows exactly who they are, and what they want to publish.

Lastly, a lit mag I’m excited to talk about is The Bitchin’ Kitsch, which also just came out with its Autumn 2024 issue. The B’K, as the magazine calls itself, prioritizes “traditionally marginalized creators,” and one thing I appreciate about this magazine is that it includes trigger warnings. Spotlight on this issue’s incredible nonfiction piece, “What to Expect When You’re Expecting Someone Else’s Baby” by Amy Bleu.

In this fluidly written essay, the author is intimate, creating a sense of friendship through her candid reflections. Bleu’s essay grapples with the complexities surrounding perceptions of giving up a baby, emphasizing the struggle of communicating true experiences amidst the clamor of others’ expectations and the persistent false narratives that give way when asking the wrong questions. I found the details of a surrogate mother giving birth to be incredibly engrossing, but I also had to read it over a second time to fully make room in my brain for the honest and valid emotional journey that Bleu recounts.

So, those are my picks. I can’t wait to hear what you all have been reading too. 

As I’ve said in previous posts, please note that while I look forward to our Lit Mag Brags each month and seeing what and where everyone has been published, this is a resource for what we’re reading, not where we’ve written. 

Feel free to share any and all works from lit mags, and I’ll add them to the list! 

What have you read lately?

Leave a comment

Share

Happy October! This post is part of a monthly series where we share the essays, poems, and stories we’ve been reading in lit mags. I’ve been curating a list of all the recommendations from the comments, which you can find right here. I’ll update this Bibliocommons list on an ongoing basis with all of the works suggested from this month, so we can be sure to keep track of what we’ve been reading and recommending.

This month, I’m focusing on horror and spooky lit. Out of all the things that remind me that it’s fast approaching Halloween, it’s the dry sound of crunching leaves that gets me the most. I’m not one of those people who dreads the end of summer. Actually, I love summer—I live in Portland, Oregon, and soaking up that warm summer sun while taking long walks with my family is one of my favorite pastimes. But while the sun is still hanging on for now, I can feel the shift coming. And when it does, I’ll be ready to cozy up and dive into something that will freak me out.

Talking about scary stories is tricky—it’s like trying to explain why a joke is funny, and sometimes, it’s not that the story is terrifying while you’re reading it. Instead, the unsettling images creep in afterward, lingering in your mind when you least expect them. That’s what happened to me when I read the story “Break the Skin if You Have To” by Emma Osborne, Cadwell Turnbull, and Jess Essey, published in Nightmare’s December 2022 issue.

I found this story after reading Cadwell Turnbull’s story in Jordon Peele’s anthology Out There Screaming. The December 2022 issue of Nightmare’s cover was this image of hands grabbing, and it stuck with me as I made my way through the story.

I’m not going to spoil anything, but the story’s main character talks a lot about cleaning her house. That doesn’t sound scary, right? But I, too, am always telling myself what I need to clean. As the days get colder, my motivation to tackle the to-do list fades, and I start opting for the comfort of blankets instead. Yet, the mental list of cleaning “shoulds” only gets louder. And whenever I would remind myself of all the things I need to clean, my brain would latch onto this story, and the unsettling images that followed. So, if you’re into stories that leave you with that creeping feeling long after you’ve finished, this one is worth checking out.

Speaking of Jordan Peele, there’s this scene in the movie Us with rabbits. It’s in the underground facility, the Tethered’s World, in a long, sterile windowless hallway with a bunch of rabbits roaming free. Before this movie, I’d never considered rabbits to be frightening, but the image of them as detached, indifferent, and eerily unsettling has stayed with me ever since. When I came across another piece in Nightmare’s July 2022 issue, this one nonfiction, I was reminded of how truly unsettling rabbits can be. This piece is called “Bunnies,” and is written by Dante Luiz, who you can tell is also an artist because of the way the story unfolds vividly like a painting. In this story, a seemingly innocent childhood memory of visiting a friend’s house to see her “bunny farm” provides the reader with a haunting experience.

Another magazine that publishes primarily horror is Nocturne Magazine. On Chill Subs, Nocturne describes itself as “that creepy neighbor you’re curious about,” which I think perfectly captures what this lit mag publishes. I really enjoy the interface of this journal, which is online for easy access, and each issue is an actual book that you can download onto your e-reader. A poem that I found especially unsettling is “Facsimile” by Marisca Pichette from Nocturne Magazine’s Issue 3. It’s a poem that begs to be read out loud, preferably in a darkened room lit only by candles, and is about something being created and then is left their own devices, without interference or guidance. It’s a different type of spooky, which lies in existential dread and fears of abandonment.

As a parent of a young child, I usually avoid stories about bad things happening to kids. But then I stumbled upon a story called “The Abandoned” by Jack Klausner in The Dark Magazine, and I was hooked by the end of the first paragraph. The story starts with a child finding a seemingly ordinary box, and there was something about that setup I found so intriguing. It’s such a simple premise, but as the spooky elements started accumulating, I was completely drawn in and I had to read it all the way through.

Another one that stuck with me comes from Weird Horror, in their most recent fall 2024 issue. The story is called “It Knows What’s Under Your Skin” by Jason Fernandes, and even that title just gives me the heebie-jeebies because what is “It”? The story is written in the second person, the “you” form. That can feel forced in horror sometimes, but this story was so skillfully written. The way it draws you in, as if you are the main character, is both unsettling and impressive. And the ending leaves you waiting for a fright that’s certain to come but only in your imagination, which, in some ways, is the scariest part.

The last spooky story I’ll mention is “The Listing” by Jac Jemc. I discovered this story on a Substack lit mag, . This lit mag was created by Aaron Burch, masterful author as well as the Founding Editor of Hobart. publishes longer stories, between 2k-8K words, which I very much appreciate. I wasn’t looking for a scary story when I started reading Jemc’s “The Listing.” It didn’t even seem particularly terrifying at first—it’s about a real estate agent trying to sell a haunted house. But the writing was so well done that it became genuinely chilling. There’s a scene involving a pool and a dress that has never left me. It’s not about jump scares or gore. It’s the kind of horror that sticks with you, lingering in the back of your mind when you least expect it.

So, those are my picks. I’d love to hear what scary reads from lit mags you have unearthed.

Like last time, please note that, while I look forward to reading our Lit Mag Brags each month and seeing what and where everyone has been published, I’d like this to be a resource for what we’re reading, not what we’ve written.

Feel free to also include any and all works you’ve read lately that is any genre, and I’ll add them to the list. I can’t wait to see what everyone suggests.

Leave a comment

Share

Hi, Lit Mag News readers. Jessica Miele here.

I’m thrilled to kick off a new series that will happen on the first Thursday of every month, where we share what we’ve been reading in lit mags. The idea for this series was spawned from Becky’s post Who Reads Lit Mags? from last month. I loved hearing about not only what people were reading, but how they discovered the lit mags they were reading, and I wanted to know more.

At the end of the week, I’ll update this post with a list using Bibliocommons, a tool that allows you to curate books, stories, and URL links. This way, everyone can easily find the stories, poems, essays, hybrid works, etc. mentioned in the comments without having to scroll through all of the replies.

Three lit mags I’ve been reading are: Lady Churchill’s Rosebud Wristlet, Joyland, and The Ekphrastic Review.

Lady Churchill’s Rosebud Wristlet (LCRW) is an old favorite of mine. I’ve been a subscriber for years, and I always look forward to reading the latest issue when it lands in my mailbox. I just received word from co-Founder Gavin Grant that a new issue is currently being shipped out, and it should arrive any day. Created by the brilliant Kelly Link and Gavin Grant, there are so many terms to describe the essays, poems, and stories found in LCRW: fantasy, science fiction, speculative, magical realism, slipstream... I used to just affectionately refer to it as “weird” fiction but you know using that word has become a bit tricky these days! One thing I find interesting about this lit mag is that the length of their accepted pieces vary widely. One issue will feature predominately short poems, while their November 2020 issue was almost entirely devoted to Sarah Langan’s dystopian novella, You Have the Perfect Mask. This is primarily a print issue, whose covers are stunning. Check out the cover of November 2020’s issue:

Another magazine I have a big crush on is Joyland, and I’m sure I’m not alone. I am always on the lookout for lit mags with fairy tale elements, because that is the mode I usually write in. I first stumbled upon Joyland through Steph Grossman's Likeness. The quality of the work Joyland publishes always has me going back for more. Another of my favorite stories on there is The Girl With Flies Coming out of Her Eyes by Sally Wen Mao—finishing that story is like that feeling you get when you burp after eating a deliciously satisfying meal.

The Ekphrastic Review has become my go-to read during lunch breaks. I actually learned about this magazine through our Lit Mag News community, and I’m so glad I did. Ekphrastic writing—where stories and poems are inspired by works of art—was new to me, but I was quickly smitten by the concept. The magazine’s bimonthly challenges are a highlight for me, particularly the recent one inspired by Under the Sea by Glyn Philpot. Each piece stands beautifully on its own (like Caitlin Proutt’s poem Sea Change), but reading them together as a collection really brings out the different facets of the same painting to create a truly enriching experience.

So, that’s what I’ve been reading, but there is so much out there and I’d really love to hear what you all have been up to reading-wise. Please note that, while I look forward to reading our Lit Mag Brags each month and seeing what and where everyone has been published, I’d like this to be a resource for what we’re reading, not what we’ve written.

If you’re reading this after the week is up, feel free to continue sharing. But just a heads-up: if you want your recommendations to be included in the Bibliocommons list, please comment by Thursday, September 12th, when I will be curating this month’s selections.

I can’t wait to see what everyone suggests and to build a more well-rounded reading list together.

Leave a comment

Share

Lit Mag News

Uncurated: The Case for a New Term of Art

Welcome to our weekly column offering perspectives on lit mag publishing, with contributions from readers, writers and editors around the world…

Read more

3 years ago · 59 likes · 103 comments · Timothy Green

To add more literary magazines to the list, just comment below with a link to their guidelines.

Rattle

One Art

Heliosparrow

Lavender Review

Meniscus

Avant Apalachia

MacQueen’s Quinterly

Steel Jackdaw

Acorn

Open Shutter Press

Only Poems

Cacti Fur

New Verse Review

Share

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

As the new year begins, I thought it would be a good time to look at some of the brand new literary magazines that have entered the fray.

Exploring new lit mags can give readers a sense of shifts and trends in independent publishing. Taco Bell Quarterly, for instance, launched in 2020 and describes itself as “a reaction against everything. The gatekeepers. The taste-makers. The hipsters. Health food. Artists Who Wear Cute Scarves.”

Also in 2020, newly launched Wrongdoing announced: “This publication loves artistic merit more than it loves credentials; we want the best you've got, or whatever's still resisting rejection.”

The formation of magazines like this may be testament to a new ethos in literary publishing. Stuffiness and formality are out. Accessibility and playfulness are in.

Among the new lit mags launched in 2022, you will find a fair share of similarly anti-elitist sentiment. (I had a good laugh at the name of one magazine, Alice Says Go Fuck Yourself. Imagine putting that one on your NEA application!)

You will also find magazines with interesting and unexpected themes. One new journal is inspired by martial arts. Another is dedicated entirely to pro-wrestling. Yet another accompanies every story with photographs of a writer’s workspace.

Three of the lit mags on this list have also launched on the Substack platform. It will be interesting to see how this model works for editors and whether this trend continues to grow.

As for those of you considering whether to submit your work to these venues, certainly new lit mags offer advantages. The competition is smaller. Response time is likely quicker than more well-known magazines deluged with submissions. New editors might be more likely to eagerly promote your work. And you might build long-lasting relationships with these editors.

Of course, when considering a new publication, writers should exercise caution. Of the 73 new lit mags I listed in 2020, fourteen have already closed. One more, Wrongdoing, has stopped taking magazine submissions. (They have switched to publishing chapbooks only.)

If you’re not sure about submitting to newer magazines, Submitit Founder Erik Harper Klass has some great advice here:

Lit Mag News

How to Evaluate the Smaller Literary Journals

Welcome to our weekly column exploring the ins and outs of lit mag publishing, written by readers, writers and editors from around the world. By Erik Harper Klass Many writers understand the importance of submitting stories and essays to smaller, newer, and (ostensibly) more accessible literary journals. If you’re only submitting to the “top” journals (the Grantas and Paris Reviews and New England Reviews…

Read more

4 years ago · 5 likes · 7 comments · Erik Harper Klass

Then again, if the past year has shown us anything, it’s that large and/or long-standing lit mags can also be vulnerable to ceasing publication. (Briar Cliff Review, Confrontation, Ruminate and Saint Ann’s Review are but a few that have recently announced closing or going on hiatus.) Meanwhile, magazines like Astra and Bookforum, both backed by profitable corporations, folded last month.

So, as with anything—love, war, literary magazine publishing—one thing we know for sure is that there are no guarantees.

In the meantime, we can certainly light a cigar and offer some hearty claps on the back in honor of these sweet newborn lit mags, freshly come into this world.

128 LIT “is a print and online literature and art magazine based in New York City that has an international focus. This is a re-orienting place that unlearns, confronts, and disrupts euro-centric narratives and aesthetics. 128 LIT is committed to publishing poetry, translation, fiction, essays, hybrid works, and art that startle and move. We want the pages to happen to the reader and viewer.”

After…. “Relatively few artworks can claim to be wholly original: to have been conceived of without reference to any other work of art. Indeed, a great many artworks are the result of inspiration taken from someone else’s art – or from the ‘art’ perceived in natural forms.

Such art, commonly termed ekphrastic, describes, commentates on, draws from, branches off of, enters into conversation with, illuminates or acknowledges another’s work. It’s this you’ll find here on After... in the form of poetry which connects itself to creations by other artists.”

Alice Says Go Fuck Yourself. “This magazine is a safe space for hot messes and outliers. If someone doesn’t feel confident that their work is worthy of high literature—or if they don’t give a fuck about high literature—but they have a rant, a sarcastic tale, a satire, or an innocent Beatrix-Potter-style reminiscence regarding their beloved succulents, we will read it and perhaps we really want it. Perhaps we didn’t know what we needed until we read exactly this.”

Alternative Milk Magazine “is an independent biannual online art and literary magazine.”

Bivouac Magazine “is a new literary journal publishing poetry, prose, and creative nonfiction. We are based on the NH seacoast.”

bloodbathhate. “We are looking for writing, poetry, and art that feels like a car crash. We want stories that have been waiting to be told. Writing by people who wear too much eyeliner and listen to the Cure. We want gritty, anemic poetry and art that your bitchy art teacher wouldn’t hang up. We want grudges and bite marks and grandiose visions. Anything visceral is appreciated.”

Body Fluids. “disconcerting literature. something gross. something weird. uncalled for. unwelcome.”

The Bureau Dispatch “is an ode to the writer’s bureau; an ongoing collection of stories accompanied by photographs of writers at their places of work.”

Cherub. “Howdy! Welcome to Cherub, a multi-genre quarterly literary magazine. Send us your poetry, fiction, flash fiction, nonfiction, and whatever else you’ve been dreaming up—we’re looking for the weird and the wonderful. “

Clinch “began in San Francisco, 2021, when founding editor Grant Young envisioned a publication for literature on the martial arts. He wrote that the magazine would showcase ‘the lessons learned from Jiu Jitsu…or a poem on Cory Sandhagen’s flying knees.’ The founder and editors have since expanded Clinch’s interests to writings that move as a martial artist would: by waiting for the right time to redistribute its driving force.”

Copihue Poetry. “Founded by two immigrants in Chile, Copihue Poetry is a biannual literary magazine named for the national flower of our chosen home. We seek to publish exciting new work that moves beyond the imaginary borders of language, state, and culture. As a multilingual journal, we present poetry written in English, poetry written in Spanish, and poetry translated into English alongside the original language.”

Eggplant Tears is “[a]n online publication for exploring transmasculinity and creating community for trans men, butch lesbians, drag kings, and all non-binary and intersex people who identify with masculinity.”

The Four Faced Liar publishes fiction, nonfiction, flash fiction, poetry and visual art.

Fulminare Review. “Welcome to Fulminare Review, a magazine dedicated to that which lies above us; the sky. In a world so dominated by what lies below, we have chosen instead to look up. We believe that writing is, as Virgil stated in the Aeneid, the way for which one journeys to the stars. Consequently, our motto, sic itur ad astra, means exactly that. Whether your art be of hardship and doubt or of joy and jubilation, we wish to see it. Show us the sorrowful tale of a lonesome dragonfly, a wounded bird, a person born with invisible wings. Make us feel the lilt of the Earth and the moon as we dance around the sun. Take us away to the heavens of old myths and folklore. It’s all fair game.”

The Heimat Review. “At Heimat Review, our mission is to provide a home for poetry and prose. We believe that language - narratives, questions, and reflections - offers a vibrant way to explore where we come from, where we are, and where we hope to be.”  

Hex Literary “publishes very short speculative texts on a weekly-ish basis. We like it weird.”

The Hooghly Review. “Founded by Tejaswinee as a passion project in July 2022 from the city of Chandannagar on the banks of the Hooghly river in West Bengal, India, and co-edited by Ankit Raj Ojha, The Hooghly Review is a digital non-profit and free-access magazine of literature & arts with the aim to shine a light on emerging and underrated writers, storytellers, poets, artists, and other creatives across the globe.”

HOWL “is a platform for Irish writing from home and abroad.”

Minyan Magazine “is an online quarterly literary magazine run by Liz Marlow. Our mission is to publish the finest poetry and flash fiction by Jewish writers and their allies. The magazine's name, Minyan, refers to a group of ten adults needed for a worship service in Judaism. Each issue of Minyan will contain the work from ten writers.”

Mootpoint Magazine “is a literary journal that publishes fiction and poetry and maybe some other kinds of stuff soon.”

Needle Poetry “is a print and online journal. We want to explore and showcase experimental work that plays with sound, language and form. We want sharp, piercing writing that leaves the reader inspired and full of questions. We want work that explores identity, history, relationships (romantic, platonic, environmental), science, the arts, biology and anything else your writerly mind would like to set on paper.”

One Wild Ride “is a new, limited-run literary journal sharing stories about caring for our aging parents and those who raised us.”

Powder Out Press “is a literary magazine that is debuting at the end of Quarter One, 2023. We are looking for stories, creative essays, poetry, and art focusing on the world of Professional Wrestling.”

The Primer. “Curating the unique, the experimental, and the original, The Primer is your textbook of the oddly beautiful. Here, you’ll find existential questions pondered with aesthetic delight, and encounter unusual angles subtended from diverse fields. Gathering inquisitive, and open-minded creatives together, we are building a community of curious thinkers who sensitively attend to the nuances of the world around them, and we invite you to join us in this contemplation – and celebration – of the strangely beautiful experience that we call life.”

Pulsebeat Poetry Journal “features poems with a strong musical element—a definite rhythm and accompanying melody usually generated by similarity of sounds.”

Seaside Gothic “is a magazine from the edge of the sea where the frontier of civilisation meets the wild of the water. We live beside the seaside and write amidst the changing of the tide on paper warped by the salt in the air and wet from the spray of the sea. From this divide we look for writing that expresses the sense of border living that is shared between the coast and the ocean, where language is pushed to the horizon and words take on new form as they find their home where the sea meets the sky.”

Soft Star Magazine “is an online publication featuring stories of science fiction, futurism, and speculative fiction with a healthy dose of optimism. No dystopias here; Soft Star stands for curiosity, openness, and the inherent magic of the unknown.”

SugarSugarSalt Magazine. “Our mission is to spotlight amazing CNF pieces that readers may have missed the first time around, as well as to eventually publish new work from the genre’s best writers, both established and emerging.”

Suspended Magazine “is meant for the stories that are complete, yet seem unfinished. The endings hang and dangle off the final page like a pendulum seeking answers. We want your poems or short fiction stories that are suspended in this regard, have suspenseful endings, or are ambiguous in nature at any or every turn. Send us your visual art that makes onlookers question its meaning.”

Through Lines Magazine “is a digital magazine that drives against the current of faceless news, information, and hostile interactions. Each issue will feature a different theme, such as an emotion, an object, a color, or a person, and create a space where people from communities at odds can engage in storytelling through writing, art, photography, and even recipes.”

Verum Literary Press. “‘Verum’ means ‘true’ in Latin, which echoes what this magazine was made for and dedicated to; the truth. Through publishing poetry, short stories, and art, from those who are often disregarded, we aim to create a space that cultivates original and honest artistry. We are interested in the gaps formed between what we want to say and what we do. The intricates and striking tenderness of just exactly who we are.”

Word West Revue “is a home for western-y writing and art and a whole lot more. a place to reimagine ‘the west’ and ‘westerns’ from new angles, overlooked perspectives, in both analogue + digital. we’re into subversion and surprise. we're into road trips and weird americana, ufos and cosmic country—from the mountains to the deserts to the beaches to the plains. go west-ish.”

Wyngraf “was founded to promote and encourage fantasy stories that focus on the little things: friends, family, home, travel. Our authors create worlds that readers get lost in… and dream of someday visiting.”

Yum! Lit publishes poetry, prose, art, video and music.

All of the above journals were founded in 2022, or shortly before. Information is taken directly from their websites.

Know of more baby lit mags? Tell us!

Do you have experiences of your own publishing in newer journals? Please share.

Leave a comment

Share

Subscribe now