Category Archives: Memoir

The Summerset Review – “Souvenirs”

I’ve only recently resumed submitting stories for publication, and I am as proud as can be that my short story, “Souvenirs,” has been published in the Fall 2024 Issue of The Summerset Review. The story is about a cab ride not dissimilar to one I took nearly a decade ago, and I was struck by the story the cab driver told me. I spent years considering how I might tell the story, and this was what I came up with.

From the Summerset Review homepage:

The Summerset Review is a literary journal released quarterly on the 15th of March, June, September, and December on the Internet, and periodically in print form. Founded in 2002, the journal is exclusively devoted to the review and publication of unsolicited fiction, nonfiction, and poetry.

Staff Bios

Joseph Levens has had fiction and nonfiction appear in The Gettysburg Review, Florida Review (Editors’ Award for Fiction), New Orleans Review, AGNI, Sou’wester, Meridian, Other Voices, The Literary Review, Zone 3, The Good Men Project, and many other places. He lives on Long Island and currently teaches Creative Writing at Stony Brook University. www.josephlevens.com

Erin Murphy is the author or editor of eleven books, including Human Resources (forthcoming from Salmon Poetry of Ireland) and Assisted Living (Brick Road Poetry Prize, 2018), a collection of demi-sonnets, a form she devised. Her most recent co-edited anthology, Bodies of Truth: Personal Narratives on Illness, Disability, and Medicine (University of Nebraska Press, 2019), won the Foreword INDIES Gold Medal Book of the Year Award. Her awards include the Dorothy Sargent Rosenberg Poetry Prize, the Foley Poetry Award, the National Writers’ Union Poetry Award judged by Donald Hall, a Best of the Net award judged by Patricia Smith, and The Normal School Poetry Prize judged by Nick Flynn. She is Professor of English and Creative Writing at Penn State Altoona. www.erin-murphy.com

History of the Journal

The Summerset Review started as an online literary quarterly in 2002, publishing exclusively fiction and nonfiction. With a staff of three volunteers, the magazine faithfully produced its issues on time, reviewing unsolicited submissions year-round, the great majority of which were made electronically and sent through email from hopeful writers ranging from high school students to authors with many published books to their names.

Since 2002, the journal has taken on poetry, book reviews and art essays on occasion, and produced a few print issues collecting a sampling of work that previously appeared online. Remaining ad-free and accessible at zero cost to readers, the publication has released all quarterly issues on time over its twenty-year history. Editorial staff members are proud to say that they respond to all submissions within four months, do not solicit authors, and do not navigate a slush pile.

The Summerset Review has read at The New York Public Library, national conferences, colleges, and other places, including events sponsored by the Council of Literary Magazines and Presses (CLMP), the New York State Council on the Arts (NYSCA), the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA), the National Council of Teachers of English (NCTE), and the Association of Literary Scholars and Critics (ALSC). Print issues of the magazine are frequently donated to book fairs across the country, with all proceeds going to charitable causes in the respective areas.

Work originally published in The Summerset Review has been reprinted in the Pushcart Prize, the Best American series, the PEN America Award series, the Best of the Net anthology, notable collections such as the Iowa Short Fiction Award, and a great many books published by our contributors.

Mission Statement

We think of ourselves as simply people who like to read good contemporary literature, who want to share the best of our experiences with others. The highest form of retribution for our efforts is a lasting impact on a few sensitive readers of our journal—people we don’t know, people we will never meet. We received an email from a reader once, who said a story in our current issue (at the time) changed her life. Assuming this change was for the better, what more could we ask for?

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‎September ‎29, ‎2021 – Meditation on Joseph Campbell’s Essays

I’ve been reading Joseph Campbell’s writing on myth and on ritual. He has a specific view of the role of religion, myth, and ritual in the lives and beliefs of contemporary civilization, and points to science as the source of a contemporary crisis, in that science has dispelled literalist interpretations of biblical legend (and other religious narrative):

“And in this there is serious danger. For not only has it always been the way of multitudes to interpret their own symbols literally, but such literally read symbolic forms have always been – and still are, in fact – the supports of their civilizations, the supports of their moral orders, their cohesion, vitality, and creative powers. With the loss of them there follows uncertainty, and with uncertainty, disequilibrium, since life, as both Nietzsche and Ibsen knew, requires life-supporting illusions; and where these have been dispelled, there is nothing secure to hold on to, no moral law, nothing firm.”

I can see that crisis as it plays out in the US (and perhaps all Judeo-Christian traditions). Literalism tends to coincide with fundamentalism, because to continue to understand the Bible, and biblical texts, in a literalist sense, one must diverge from a fact-based, “scientific” understanding of humanity and of history all the more rigorously. This not only polarizes humanity, but it further activates the isolationist notions of supremacy that are born of literalist understandings of religious texts: “Now the peoples of all the great civilizations everywhere have been prone to interpret their own symbolic figures literally, and so to regard themselves as favored in a special way, in direct contact with the absolute.”

Furthermore, Campbell sees a crisis in those who lack faith. He possesses a more traditional view of society and culture, and saw the counterculture springing up around him during the sixties as an example of the loss of foundational belief systems. He was also critical of the new age (my term) tendency to adopt piecemeal bits of eastern religions and philosophies divorced from their cultural context:

“With our old mythologically founded taboos unsettled by our own modern sciences, there is everywhere in the civilized world a rapidly rising incidence of vice and crime, mental disorders, suicides and dope addictions, shattered homes, impudent children, violence, murder, and despair.”

Though I’m not certain if these ailments of mankind didn’t exist with equally alarming regularity before the contemporary moment, and though I don’t qualify each of them as a societal loss, I do generally agree with Campbell that today’s secular world is marked by a sense of despair and helplessness. I also agree that this helplessness is in part rooted in the loss of faith-based belief systems that have traditionally provided a recipe and justification for decency and kindness (at least within one’s own community). They have also provided a meaning or a justification for such behaviors, in that human decency and just participation within a given social order may be rewarded in a religious sense. This reward or promise, in its basest form, is a pleasurable existence in some heavenly afterlife. In more heady interpretations of religion, redemption comes in the form of transcendence.

So that is the current predicament: between “the cries of preachers for repentance, conversion, and return to the old religion,” and their challenges to “the modern educator with respect to his own faith and ultimate loyalty,” and, on the other hand, the perceived nihilism of the secular world, themselves suffering from the loss of guiding principles.

And this is where, at least in Campbell’s earlier lectures, he loses focus on the potentiality for a new guiding myth. He limply suggests that it may be found in psychology, with its exploration of the unknown that resides within each of us. If psychology were to investigate the history of myth and ritual, identify the causes and sources of human faith in these systems, and relate that to unconscious needs or desires, then perhaps we could reconstitute a mythos of the individual, a mythos that accommodates personal identity (essential, as it turns out, for better or for worse, in Western traditions).

The primary mistake that I see in this reasoning, and this is not to discount Campbell, because his lectures are masterpieces, and I can see the foundation for much of the contemporary understanding of culture and religion embedded in his philosophies. But I don’t believe that he was able enough to identify the mythological systems already functioning in western society, beliefs and rituals that, while they may not have liturgical foundation, are taken as guiding principles, and are also products of our contemporary moment. I also think that this is a result of a common assumption that we make about science, which is that it exists outside of ideology or ideological determinations – that it is objective.

On the other hand, Campbell sees myths as inherently subjective, reflective of the contexts in which they are believed and practiced. He theorized that the foundational function of myth was to explain the unknown, and, in particular, to make sense of death. Furthermore, there was necessity for individuals to participate within a society, which subsequently required shared rules and beliefs. And finally, at a broader level, the natural context, the environment itself, provided the symbolic material for myth. An example that he uses often is ritual sacrifice within primitive farming communities. A specifically agricultural understanding off the cyclically of birth, life, death, and rebirth led these societies to enact ritual sacrifice in something like emulation of these natural processes.

So the formation of myth and ritual are narrative traditions used to explain natural phenomena and to understand humankind’s role within the natural universe. Yet, the arrival of science appears, at first glance, to be in conflict with these traditions. Campbell believes that: “as a result of the continuing open-hearted and open-minded quest of a few brave men for the bounds of boundless truth, there has been a self-consistent continuity of productive growth.” So, early on at least, Campbell believes that scientific investigation has led to a new and essential understanding of the world, but one that diverged from mythological narrative historically believed to be true.

The old texts comfort us with horizons. They tell us that a loving, kind, and just father is out there, looking down upon us, ready to receive us, and ever with our own dear lives on his mind. According to our sciences, on the other hand nobody knows what is out there, or if there is any “out there” at all. All that can be said is that there appears to be a prodigious display of phenomena, which our senses and their instruments translate to our minds according to the nature of our minds.

It seems that myths and religious narratives, especially in a literalist tradition, are believed to be true by the faithful – to the exclusion of all contradictory thought. And that, with the advent of a revolutionized understanding of the world, with advanced instruments of measurement and observation, the ground or base of understanding is more “sophisticated” or at least different from, say, primitive agricultural societies. Thus, we have a newer context in which our own mythologies are generated.

This being the case, and according to Campbell’s logic, if one believes that there might be a contemporary belief system or matrix of narratives that constitute our current mythology, it would have to be born of this new context which has proved older understandings of the world obsolete. All faith-based belief systems, and particularly those which practice literalist interpretations of liturgy, believe in the truth of that which they are faithful to. And in certain ways, absolute belief makes it impossible for the believer to interrogate their own system. We become blind to the faults of those things we accept as fact. Campbell writes: “For the really great and essential fact about the scientific revelation – the most wonderful and most challenging fact – is that science does not and cannot pretend to be “true” in any absolute sense.” Contemporary secularism has created a sort of dichotomy between science and religion, but, despite Campbell’s more nuanced understanding of science, we have come to take “science” as synonymous with fact.

Before proposing that psychology, and psychological understandings of myth, might be a means to salvaging our dying mythos, Campbell writes:

“In moral disequilibrium, we must now ask whether it is not possible to arrive scientifically at such an understanding of the life-supporting nature of myths that, in criticizing their archaic features, we do not misrepresent and disqualify their necessity – throwing out, so to say, the baby (whole generations of babies) with the bath water.”

And what I would argue is that we are still living in a time of ritual and mythology. Those living within the myth are unable to see it as such. It is naturalized in society as “the way” rather than an object of study, and for that reason, we cannot exactly turn to the old myths for guidance. They are already perceived as such, despite that many elements of those myths and rituals are still evident in current practices (dates of the resurrection coinciding with harvests and such).

That said, perhaps we are still living under the sway of a new narrative, something that provides meaning and guidance, is a reflection of our contemporary society and our physical surroundings, and is taken to explain the world in such a way that accounts for available and observable phenomenon.

Campbell describes something like this reflection of contemporary society as explained through mythology, though he focuses in this case on the pervasive effect of Judeo-Christian religion in the Occident. Campbell, in critiquing the new age fad of sampling, piecemeal, bits of eastern religion in order to establish some form of meaning, says that a western emphasis on the individual, a consequence of religious traditions, precludes us from adopting eastern philosophies. He argues that an emphasis on individuality has prompted humans to do great things, but he also sees the limitations of the ideal, and through recourse to eastern religions illustrates that our certainty in the value of individuality is simply a matter of cultural tradition.

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September 18, 2021 – Description of the Northern Lights

The first thing to mention, before the beauty of it and the effect of it, is that it felt like a rare privilege, something that most would not get to experience or see.

I first saw it when I was rinsing the mop bucket on the back deck. I’d been told the conditions in which the Northern Lights were most likely to appear – cold, clear nights. It’s obviously been getting colder and colder, but clear nights are surprisingly uncommon. They’re not unheard of, but the skies are most often overcast, and the phenomenon seems to occur above the clouds. So when I noticed that the stars were out, I began inspecting the skies. And sure enough, I spotted the first band of green vapors over the shores to the east of us. The bands are ribbon-like, curving across the sky, sometimes seeming to approach or fall further into the distance. The base is the most visible, vibrant part, meaning that it is illuminated most brightly and that light fades upwards from the horizon. I was surprised by how dynamic the northern lights were, like a ribbon moving in a breeze. They brighten and dim from one second to the next. And then, in the most intense moments, there is also a sort of vertical movement, as the light dances and shifts in strands that stand upright, reminiscent of the way that water shimmers. The spectacle might be similar to a thick mist, constantly shifting while illuminated from behind. That said, such a description doesn’t quite capture the effect, as the vapors seemed almost to be illuminated from within. At one point, I could see the vapors rippling from the horizon and passing directly overhead, swirling like a vortex above the boat and rising infinitely upward.

And the affect of this, which I tried to describe to you over the phone, was a kind of melancholy. There was a lugubriousnss to the movement of the light, a meandering, sort of lumbering march across the sky. The dynamism of movement meant that they could appear or disappear from one second to the next, but, when observed, the movement seemed slow. Coupled with that was the fact that the vapors seemed to slowly evaporate skyward in a constantly rising mist, the vertical light rising towards the heavens and vanishing. The green color was simultaneously vibrant and solemn, and seemed barely willing to announce its existence within the mist. And yet, the grandure and majesty of it gave it an eternal quality, as if those bands of light had been engaged in that march long before we arrived and would continue it long after we go. 

And of course, the context for this was a freezing night over the Alaskan tundra. I know that those lights are visible in other parts of the state, over other landscapes. But there, in the frozen tundra, over the freezing ocean, in a place that was so inhospitable that it nearly remained frontier but for the intrusion of humans digging away at the frozen land (a local man told me that Christian natives had to bury relatives using jackhammers to unearth the permafrost). It was a lonely place, barely inhabitable by humans, animals, and even plant life. And there’s also something sad about the landscape in that it was a sort of reminder of how much humans have intruded into and exploited the natural world, as if nature had been forced to retreat to this most remote locale, looking back with a sort of mournful melancholy. Completing the ambiance is the shriek of the un-greased belt of the shoreside hopper, which emits a sort of melodic whistle when in operation, a sound like a dozen apparitions whistling in harmony. And so the ghostly lights marching across the sky, already haunting in appearance, haunting in context, come to seem like the final departure of nature, forced to retreat skyward, to some other realm as the humans continue to encroach and intercede. And that is the best way I can describe the melancholy affect of the northern lights.

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August 23, 2021 – Meditations on the Buck that Visited Us Each Night

Written as a part of an email home while working on a tugboat in the Arctic Circle of Northern Alaska.

We had an adolescent buck that would visit our backyard each night, and we’d taken to feeding the animal. There were other animals that came though as well – skunks and cats and possums and squirrels and birds – so there were a million noises outside the open bedroom window, and each had to be investigated. But we were waiting for the buck. Each of the other animals was of interest, but the buck was the spectacle.

When he arrived, I cut up apples for him in the yard while he watched me, and left them in one of our barren planters. He was a handsome animal, with a perfectly black nose and muzzle. He watched me with his large black eyes while I prepared his food and I imagined I saw something like sadness there: not out of concern for me – my presence or absence – but because he was no longer a master of the wild there. He was a refugee, creeping through the night.

I was amazed that the old neighbors didn’t like the bucks. If one were able to say that the animals ruined the gardening, or were dangerous, or that there was anything threatening about them at all, then I would have accepted it. But they just didn’t like critters. In contrast, the deer were one of my favorite things – majestic and kind of mysterious. They reminded me Joseph Campbell’s writing. Campbell described a prehistoric time, kind of an origin of myth, before humankind took for granted that they were the ruling species on the planet: 

“In those earliest millenniums… men dwelt and moved about in little groups as a minority on this earth. Today we are the great majority, and the enemies that we face are of our own species. Then, on the other hand, the great majority were the beasts, who, furthermore, were the “old-timers” on earth, fixed and certain in their ways, at home here, and many of them extremely dangerous.”

It’s sad, I think, but the bucks are a vestige of that time. They’re kind of vagabonds, in hiding. They’re furtive, not owners of the world that was once theirs entirely, theirs to exist in utter deer-ness. But now they stalked through the night, strangers in an inhospitable world. Perhaps (I hope) our yard provides a tiny little haven for creatures beleaguered by humankind.

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December 14, 2023 · 12:20 pm

Unreturned Calls

By Ben Leib

She hasn’t called back again this month, which, I tell myself, doesn’t worry me because it’s not unusual.  Nevertheless, the last time I saw her she was strung out, or at least at the tail end of a jag, so those recollections of her are the freshest, and I wonder if she will ever return to something approximating sanity.

Mom was angry on that visit.  She didn’t feel like she got all of my attention, all of my love, felt, in a way, abandoned, because I did not make visits with her a priority, and it was true, she had become something less than a reliable fixture in my life.  It was heartbreaking to visit with my mother.  She was so full of resentment, so full of rage, and so overwhelmed by a deep and inexhaustible sorrow, that it was depressing to spend more than five minutes in her company.  I always tried to escape as soon as possible.

The drugs and the booze made everything worse.  She had a penchant for melodrama, particularly when the intoxicants had so affected her mind that she was incapable of rationality.  If I didn’t play the sympathizer to her paranoid conceptions of a world that seemed intent on destroying her, then I was counted among the enemy.  That’s how it went that last visit, nearly a year ago now.  Mom was mad that I wasn’t consoling her, wasn’t placating her, and she tried to hurt me as a punishment.  She felt ignored and unwanted.  As we walked to our respective cars, Mom pulled me aside and said, “I could die tomorrow, and you wouldn’t even fucking know it.”

So I’ve waited again for her to return my call, and, again am disappointed that she refuses to speak to me.  I am not sure if she is trying to hurt me or if she feels humiliated by the way she acted when we last saw each other.  She’s ignored my birthday phone call, ignored the Mother’s Day phone call.  But, I tell myself, I am doing my duty as a son.  It’s not my job to hunt her down, to attempt to placate her and tell her that everything’s all right, and that I love her above all else in the world.  I have to remember just to be a son and to be available, and probably one of these times she’ll answer the phone.  Though I know, with every passing day, that first contact becomes more and more daunting.

So, when it has become apparent that Mom does not intend to return my call, I go about the second part of my monthly routine.  I sit down at my computer, get the internet up and running, and search the obituaries archived online.  Sorry you didn’t see fit to return my phone calls, Mom, but I do know that you’re still alive.

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Sliver of Stone – “La Adivinación”

Though Sliver of Stone is defunct, read the story in their archives here.

“La Adivinación” appeared in the 16th issue of Sliver of Stone. They had a strong editorial board and published 16 issues over ten years before shuttering in 2020. I’m happy that I had a place in their last issue and the story remains available to read online.

Our Mission

Sliver of Stone is a nonprofit online literary magazine. Our mission is to provide for a web-based environment for outstanding literary fiction, nonfiction, poetry and visual art from around the globe. We want to expand the influence of these genres beyond their traditionally academic audiences.

We take special pride in the editorial aspect, offering suggestions and critiques for the submissions that we feel need and deserve that “extra push” toward publication. While we do not take ourselves too seriously, we scorn cliché, lack of craft, or craft over substance.

We invite submissions of unpublished or (exceptional) previously-published works which have not appeared online and for which the rights belong to the author. No unsolicited manuscripts, pleas

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Blacktop Passages – “Always the Lucky One”

You can read the story here.

Blacktop Passages published my short story “Always the Lucky One,” about the narrator’s superstitious descent into lucklessness. Though I was proud to have it published by Blacktop Passages, the publication has since ceased publication.

About Blacktop Passages:

Founded in early 2013, Blacktop Passages is a literary journal dedicated to the open road. We want to serve as a home for the stories, essays, poems, and images of transition that are often overshadowed by our destinations. We want thoughtful writing, full of feeling, conflict, and desire. If you have a great piece that reflects this ethos, Blacktop Passages would love to have your work in our pages.

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Emrys – “Aluxes”

Read the story here.

I was submitting to Emrys for years when they accepted my story, “Aluxes,” to appear in Volume 33. Unfortunately, the publication is currently on indefinite hiatus. They had thrived for nearly 40 years before shuttering.

In the words of Wikipedia, “Alux is the name given to a type of sprite or spirit in the mythological tradition of certain Maya peoples from the Yucatán Peninsula and Guatemala. Tradition holds that aluxo’ob are invisible but able to assume physical form for purposes of communicating with and frightening humans as well as to congregate. They are generally associated with natural features such as forests, caves, stones, and fields but can also be enticed to move somewhere through offerings.” That said, this story has nothing to do with aluxo’ob, aluxes, or any other mythological figure. It’s about two friends who elicit local help to locate a cave in a rural region of the Yucatan Peninsula.

Emerys Mission Statement:

Founded in 1983, Emrys (a Welsh word meaning “Child of Light”) has sponsored music competitions, concerts, art exhibitions, conferences, creative writing awards, poetry workshops, and lectures. The Emrys Journal, our group’s signature literary publication, has appeared annually since 1984. Emrys Press, launched in 1995, primarily publishes poets of outstanding merit. Our Reading Room has brought writers and audiences together since 1990. Our Writing Room has provided professional instruction for writers at all stages of their craft since 2006 and begun in 2011, our Open Mic, which has provided a venue for writers of all skill levels to present their work to an enthusiastic and supportive audience.

Based in Upstate South Carolina, the Emrys Foundation was awarded the Elizabeth O’Neill Verner Governor’s Award for the Arts in 2004 in recognition of outstanding contributions to the arts in South Carolina.

➢ Emrys nurtures creativity among emerging and established writers.
➢ Emrys seeks to expand the impact of the literary arts.
➢ Emrys collaborates across a broad variety of art forms to give voice to the written word.

We invite you to join our award-winning organization.

Emerys History:

On the night of April 2, 1981, a special musical performance took place at Furman University. Everyone involved had ties to Greenville: the librettist, Keller Cushing Freeman, the musical composer, Sally Wyche Coenen, and the singers. The event was the premiere performance of an original song cycle called The Death of Arthur: a Requiem for Six Voices. The singers represented important characters in the life of the legendary king of the Round Table.

The Death of Arthur was the first public appearance of Emrys, but it had its real beginning when two friends dreamed, planned, and worked to make some ambitious ideas come to fruition. Who better to tell about this than one of the co-founders, Keller Cushing Freeman:

“It wasn’t quite the first act of Puccini’s La Boheme, where a cluster of young artists and poets shared their dreams and a bottle of vin ordinaire in a Paris garret. But it was close. Our setting was a basement apartment on Constitution Avenue in Washington, D.C.  Serving up the cabernet was Dan Coenen, a law clerk for U.S. Supreme Court Justice Blackmun. Tossing the salad was Dan’s wife, Sally Wyche Coenen, a native of Greenville, S.C., currently taking photography courses and continuing her study of piano with Spencer Fellows. Sally also harbored ambitions as a composer, although 1980 was not a year when the world clamored for the music of emerging young composers—male or female. To date Sally had not had even the nibble of a commission.

“I was the fortunate dinner guest that icy winter evening, warmed by more than 20 years of friendship with Sally and the Wyche family. Like Sally, I, too, had a closet stuffed with dreams. Although teaching philosophy was my day job, I wrote poetry on the sly. Recently I’d completed a series of poems based on the legends of King Arthur. The material seemed made for music, so I labeled the poems lyrics and set off to find a composer to collaborate on a song cycle. Sally was my first choice.

“That evening over melting bowls of ice cream we reflected on the obstacles confronting writers, composers, and artists who were in sore need of a place to present their work, an audience to receive the work, and a patron to subsidize the projects. Without realizing it, we had begun to articulate the mission statement for the organization that was to become The Emrys Foundation—to promote excellence in the arts, especially literary, artistic, and musical works of women and minorities.

“Nearly a year later we felt ready to present our first collaboration, a song cycle for piano (later scored for chamber orchestra), narrator and six voices.

“To choose a name for our new partnership we turned to Welsh lore that had inspired our first collaboration. Learning that King Arthur’s sorcerer, Merlin, was actually named Emrys, we agreed that this rather mysterious word had a special ring to it. When we discovered that Emrys was translated Child of Light, we felt certain that this was a name of good omen.”

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Little Patuxent Review – “The Augury”

“The Augury” was published in the 19th issue of Little Patuxent Review and remains available to purchase. I love the piece – it’s brief and was written in transit, and at the present time it reminds me of adventure and unfamiliarity.

Little Patuxent Review is an amazing magazine out of Maryland. It’s a print publication, and a copy of issue 19 costs $12. You can order the issue or subscribe to Little Patuxent Review here.

About Little Patuxent Review:

Little Patuxent Review (LPR) is a journal of literature and the arts, publishing poetry, short fiction, creative nonfiction and artwork. LPR welcomes most US-based contributors and prides itself on supporting both up-and-coming and well-established artists and writers. Please see our submission guidelines for more details.

LPR’s mission is to promote the tradition of literary and visual arts through our:

LPR reflects and draws upon the creativity and diversity of the Mid-Atlantic region and beyond by promoting the literary and visual arts in print and throughout the region’s community and educational venues.

Each subscription to LPR supports the arts in your community. You get two amazing issues per year for only $24. Subscribe today!

Water over stone: Little Patuxent River, Spring 2012 (Photo: Lynn Weber)

LPR was named for Little Patuxent River, one of the three major tributaries of the Patuxent River. Like LPR, the river flows over stones — the Algonquin word “patuxent” means “water flowing over smooth stones” — through Howard County, Maryland, gathering strength as it carries content to the Chesapeake Bay and out toward the larger world.

LPR was founded in 2006 by a group of local writers — Mike Clark, Ann Bracken, Ann Barney, Brendan Donegan — to fill the void left when a periodical of the same title, founded by poets Ralph and Margot Treital, closed a quarter century ago.

They envisioned LPR as a forum for area writers and artists. In doing so, LPR not only provides readers with a diverse array of local offerings, but also attracts contributors of national repute.

LPR has featured poetry from Donald Hall, Poet Laureate of the United States and Michael Glaser, Poet Laureate of Maryland. In addition, from Delmore Schwartz Memorial Award winner Stanley Plumly, the late Lucille Clifton, winner of the 2000 National Book Award for Poetry and recipient of the Robert Frost Medal for Lifetime Achievement from the Poetry Society of America and Joy Harjo, recipient of the Lifetime Achievement Award from the Native Writers’ Circle of the Americas.

There has been fiction from Edith Pearlman, whose collection Binocular Vision: New and Selected Stories won the 2011 National Book Critics Circle Award,  Michael Chabon, whose Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay won the 2001 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction, Rafael Alvarez, whose screenwriting contributed to the critically acclaimed television series Homicide: Life in the Streets and The Wire, and Manil Suri, whose The Death of Vishnu became an international bestseller.

There have been myriad early efforts from writers and artists who will look back on Little Patuxent Review as the publication that gave them their start

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On the Premises: “Tenderness”

Read the story here.

Tenderness” was published in Issue #26 of On The Premises, “Straightforward”: “All stories had to be told in strict chronological order, with no flashbacks (scenes that take place before previous scenes) and no flashforwards (glimpses of a future which then return the story to its present). We received 216 contest entries and chose six stories for prizes. Two of our authors have been published in OTP before. For one of the others, this issue represents a first fiction sale.”

Tenderness is a story about a couple of friends who are struggling to care for each other despite propensities towards self-destruction. The story is a good one, I think, and On the Premises is a publication that I am extremely proud to contribute to. Please have a look.

On the Premises’ editorial team:

Tarl Kudrick: The founder, co-publisher and chief editor of On The Premises. You can look him up on LinkedIn if you like. In his day job, he provides strategic human capital consulting to public and private sector clients for a big consulting firm. He was successfully self-employed as a consultant for two and a half years before deciding it’s better to join forces with other smart, capable people than to do everything by himself.

Tarl has sold fiction to a variety of paying markets, including ChiZine back when it paid professional rates for fiction. About 2/3 of the stories he’s sold aren’t “in print” anymore. Here are three that are: Hot Fudge and Whipped Cream, A Pocketful of Silence, The Ogre King and the Piemaker. Tarl’s not sure what to do with his old published fiction. An ebook? Would anyone be interested? Write him at Editors@OnThePremises.com if you think it would be worth doing.

Quite some time ago he designed an adventure add-on to a computer role playing game called Blades of Exile. His adventure, Tatterdemalion, won first prize. Google it!

Bethany Granger: Bethany is our magazine’s other co-publisher. She contributes heavily to overall story selection, story editing, and also helps critique stories. She comes up with quite a few contest premises, too. In her day job, she is a proposal manager for what is currently the world’s largest architectural and engineering consulting firm. She loves reading fiction but has never seriously attempted to write any.

Frank Dutkiewicz: Frank has been a two time finalist in the Writers of the Future contest, has appeared twice in Daily Science Fiction, and has a bunch of other works of speculative fiction published in a dozen other places. He reviews currently for Diabolical Plots, and serves as an assistant editor for the annual humor anthology Unidentified Funny Objects. He has appeared three times in On The Premises and was a constant submitter to the contest. Making him a full time judge was the only way the editors could get him to stop. [From the editors—but mostly, we find his critical takes on our top ten stories to be highly valuable. Seriously, we can see why other magazines also use his talents.]

In Addition to the Regular Crew… We enlist the help of amateur short story enthusiasts to help us select winning stories. We’ve had anywhere from four to nine prize judges for any particular contest, and we usually have either five or six. Why do we ask for such help? Because we want to publish fiction that can be enjoyed by a wide range of audiences. This magazine was never intended to be Stories Tarl Likes Even If Nobody Else Does. Any story that can get through our fairly diverse crowd of fiction lovers is likely to be enjoyed by most of our readers, and we think that’s the best a fiction magazine can hope for.

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