Delighted to report that we’ve added a ter­rific new Jennifer Pashley story “Hearts” to the Spring issue, along with four won­der­ful pieces by Diane Kirsten Martin. And last but not least, an intrigu­ing short non­fic­tion work by Tiff Holland.  Click ‘em at right or drop down the drop down menu above. Note that some­times that menu drops down, and some­times not, depend­ing on the “theme” being used. We change our “theme” some­times, just so you know. Hygiene, etc.

We’ve pub­lished the Spring 2013 issue tonight, clev­erly avoid­ing pub­lish­ing it on April 1. The issue includes work by Baron Wormser, Peter Shippy, Sidney Rifkin (aka ?), Paul Lisicky, Robert Lopez, Lydia Copeland Gwyn and more. All of the work is won­der­ful and thrilling, so you’ll want to read up right away. Also be aware we’ll be adding mate­r­ial to the issue as the days go by, so keep an eye out.

Sunsets & Silencers is a new print and dig­i­tal mag­a­zine of pos­si­ble inter­est to our faith­ful read­ers.  Take a look in your travels.

Gypsy Cante

Inside my mother’s closet it was cool and dim. Everything fell away: the sound of raised voices, clos­ing doors. I’d breathe in the musky scent of a pash­mina embroi­dered with vines and lilies, run my fin­gers over a beaded clutch the azure of the Himalayan sky—things my mother brought from India when she boarded the plane that long ago day in the 50s and flew to America. Read the rest of this entry »

Two Pieces

CORPSE

Neera hated the Triangle. She hated the Downward Dog, the Warrior II, and the Eagle. She hated the Lotus. She espe­cially hated the Lotus, and the way the teacher, Hans, kept talk­ing about posi­tion­ing the ass. The word ass came up so many times dur­ing the hour long class that her leg started shak­ing halfway through. She did not want to think of blond Hans’ ass, and what he did with it, any more than she wanted to think about the asses of the rest of the class.  Read the rest of this entry »

Four Shorts

Now I Am Doubled Over

Allow me to say a few words, he says, and then he says, peo­ple think back­wards. I say to the per­son next to me, I can’t believe we’ve allowed this to go on and the per­son next to me says, I don’t know what you mean. At this point I’m livid, I am beside myself. I think about start­ing a fire or set­ting off an explo­sive but I don’t because that’s not a nice thing to do on a Sunday morn­ing and I don’t have matches on me or kin­dling or any­thing that even resem­bles dyna­mite so I remain seated beside myself. And it feels espe­cially true because at this point it’s as if I’m both the one who said, I can’t believe we’ve allowed this to go on and the one who said, I don’t know what you mean.   Read the rest of this entry »

We’ve got­ten an early start with our Winter 2013 issue which you can find at the top of the col­umn to the right. We want to thank par­tic­u­larly Denise Duhamel, Cathryn Hankla, Bruce Smith, Nin Andrews, Teresa Svoboda and Randall Mann for their con­tri­bu­tions, solicited by one of our new Associate Editors, Diann Blakely, and anointed by our long time poetry edi­tors Angela Ball and Julia Johnson. Kim Adrian gra­ciously con­sented to do an inter­view which you’ll find, along with a lengthy essay on knit­ting, in the Kim Adrian Feature. And there’s a sec­ond piece of Kim’s as well. Mary Miller is an old friend and always a sure bet for first rate fic­tion, and we’d like to wel­come new­com­ers to New World Writing Susannah Luthi, Jessica Jewell, Caroll Sun Yang and Lynn Kilpatrick who have sup­plied some star­tling new work we’re very proud to pub­lish here. We will likely add more mate­r­ial to this issue, so even if you read it all now, be sure to check back in a cou­ple of weeks to see what’s new on the menu.

BlipMagazine has changed its name to New World Writing after the great lit­er­ary mag­a­zine of the 1950’s. They were, of course, think­ing of world writ­ing, whereas we are think­ing more of the (per­pet­u­ally) new world. We hes­i­tated in any case, as it is a grand old name and we are per­haps insuf­fi­ciently grand. Still, with some squint­ing, we are in the ball­park, or near the ball­park, or in a posi­tion from which we can sort of see the ball­park. Or so we hope and imagine.