• New Submission Guidelines 

    Because we are return­ing to quar­ter­ly pub­li­ca­tion, sub­mis­sions will only be accept­ed in the first two weeks of October, January, April, and July, Submissions dat­ed before and after these dates will be unread and discarded.

  • A Quarterly Again

    New World Writing is becom­ing a quar­ter­ly again effec­tive imme­di­ate­ly. We will be issued in January, April, July, and October and will accept sub­mis­sions only in the first two weeks of these months. Work received out­side –more

  • Mileva Anastasiadou ~ Fake Plastic Everything

    The rich shrink can’t help him­self when he’s depressed, can’t self-med­icate with pills and stuff, he needs a ther­a­pist to help him out, to sell his house and clean his mess.

    You should buy that house, my ther­a­pist says and I trust him, it’s –more

  • Ruth A. Rouff ~ Anne Boleyn Speaks

    In today’s par­lance, with which I
    am quite famil­iar, having
    been a wraith for nigh on five
    hun­dred years, one might say I had
    “dri­ve.” In that I was ahead of
    my time, always “lean­ing in”
    always push­ing –more

  • Sandra Arnold ~ I’ll Get Back to You

    Sign here, Sandra. It includes every­thing we agreed on before you left New Zealand.” Hussein, the CEO, slid the con­tract across his desk.

    Thanks. I’ll have it back to you tomorrow.”

    Tomorrow? Don’t you trust me?”

    I glanced at the print-out –more

  • George Singleton ~ Bobbleheads

    Instead of relax­ing, or mea­sur­ing my breaths, or con­cen­trat­ing on low­er­ing my heart­beat, or think­ing about a pos­si­ble APB, I sat in the hot springs, near-December, plot­ting how to ruin the lives of a group of high school kids. I can­not say that I’m not proud of it. Who cares? Overall, it might be good for them to learn how they can’t ruin a stranger’s life, a per­son who want­ed only to cap­ture them smil­ing, wear­ing clothes they’d prob­a­bly not wear for anoth­er year unless they hap­pened to be church­go­ers. And I would bet that—because of their lies, their ratio­nal­iza­tion that mak­ing shit up about me would be what Jesus wanted—they attend­ed not only on Sundays, but Wednesday nights, as is the norm down here.

                “You find­ing every­thing all right, Gerald?” Vivian asked. She got in the water across from me and stretched her legs out until our toes near­ly touched. I wished that I remem­bered her from two-to-three decades –more

  • Mik Grantham ~ At the End of the World

    I first came here in late August. Not used to the heat. I sat alone in an air-con­di­tioned bar drink­ing High Life, hop­ing to make a new friend, hop­ing some­one would catch my eye. I flirt­ed with a stranger. Little crin­kles formed around his eyes –more

  • Pup

  • Rekha Valliappan ~ Elephant Sutra

    Nature’s great mas­ter­piece, an elephant—the only harm­less great thing.
                       –John Donne

    Hanging on the wall in our spare bed­room is one of the few pieces of art I own. It was bought dur­ing a bad time in my life. My boyfriend –more

  • Aalto

  • Meg Pokrass ~ Sandtrap

    Too Much Heat

    The dog was hot. She could see this because she felt it her­self. Even out­side of the cot­tage, hot and sticky, a guest in her body, want­i­ng to leave. Not near­ly as uncom­fort­able as the dog, with so much fur. Today there were gnats in the air, tast­ing –more

  • John Salter ~ The American’s Tale

    Woman from Bulgaria, whose name I for­got right away: I was lying about lov­ing the gudul­ka. Truth is, I’d nev­er heard a gudul­ka, at least that I was aware of. But you were so far from home I could tell you would appre­ci­ate some mea­sure of val­i­da­tion. –more

  • Dale Cottingham ~ Three Poems

    As Walking In Fog

    As walk­ing in a fog, I am lost.
    I see only what’s right in front of me,
    lay­ing down one foot then another,
    hop­ing the ground will hold
    as I sift feel­ings, rethink
    what I said at the meeting
    or lat­er on the cell

  • Jianqing Zheng ~ 5 Poems


    Fifty years ago I was dis­patched to a remote vil­lage for reed­u­ca­tion. After jump­ing off a truck at a dis­tri­b­u­tion cen­ter, I car­ried my belong­ings on my back and fol­lowed a dirt track wind­ing mile after mile to my des­ti­na­tion. When I got there, the –more

  • Jacqueline Doyle ~ The Blue-Haired Woman on the Polish Freighter

    Here’s what I’ll call the begin­ning of the sto­ry. We were sit­ting at the captain’s table. Not as impor­tant as that sounds, since this was a Polish freighter trav­el­ing from Hamburg to New York, not a lux­u­ry lin­er, with maybe six­teen pri­vate guests –more