The absence of your essays turns my blood into hot oil.
My boyfriend tells me that when I’m asleep, I radiate heat, that my skin is feels like it could inflict first degree burns. This is troublesome for a few reasons:
1. If I set the sheets on fire I will be screwed becuase I don’t have renters’ insurance.
2. Normal people are supposed to experience a one or two degree decrease in body temperature.
Last night I had a nightmare typical of literary journal slush readers everywhere: there were five submissions, an approaching deadline and nothing was any good. I am convinced that this recurring nightmare is the reason I turn into a little furnace-woman every night, but you can help. Submit some nonfiction to Columbia: A Journal of Literature and Fine Art. We have a contest going on until December 1, if cash prizes are your kind of thing, and if not, you can just submit the old fashioned way.
Why just nonfiction? Because I am on the nonfiction board and perfectly content to let the fiction people do their own begging. But I will also say this: the fiction editor these days has a wild streak and his fiction is hysterical and surreal, though his tastes are broad, I think he wants to laugh and cry at the same time when selecting fiction. So far he’s only gotten one story out of the slush (as opposed to solicited stories) and it’s his favorite story thus far. As for poetry… meh? The poets are a tad hermetic on the whole and I have no idea what their tastes are right now.
I like personal essay things over high-minded pie in the sky stuff and the other two people on the board tend to lean that way too.
Also, Columbia is run by 2nd year MFA students (at Columbia U) and the staff changes every year. If we’ve rejected you in the past, try again, because we are not the same we anymore