literary journal

SUPPORT COMICS POETRY

INK BRICK’s FIRST KICKSTARTER IS LIVE!

Starting this fall, our journal issues will debut in bookstores across the country! To celebrate this milestone, we’ve invited some of our favorite cartoonist-poets to create a special issue. We’re crowdfunding it, and we need your help to support comics poetry and grow this movement.

The special issue is 80 pages, 5.5″ x 8.5″, perfect bound, and will debut in Fall 2017. It features this beautiful cover by Paul Madonna. Full contributor list:

Vidhu Aggarwal | Alyssa Berg | Warren Craghead | Erin Curry | John Hankiewicz | Keren Katz | Mark Laliberte | Matt Madden | Paul Madonna (cover) | Alexander Rothman | Alexey Sokolin | Bishakh Som | Deshan Tennekoon | Andrea Tsurumi | Paul K. Tunis | Andrew White | Sophia Wiedeman | Shahar Sarig

—a page from Alyssa Berg’s piece in INK BRICK no. 8

—a page from Keren Katz and Shahar Sarig’s piece in INK BRICK no. 8

—pages from INK BRICK no. 8 | by Andrew White, Deshan Tennekoon, Warren Craghead, John Hankiewicz

—pages from John Hankiewicz’s piece in INK BRICK no. 8 | by Alyssa berg, Matt Madden, Sophia Wiedeman, Vidhu Aggarwal, Bishakh Som


PLEASE CHECK OUT OUR KICKSTARTER PAGE FOR MORE ABOUT THE BOOK AND OUR REWARDS TIERS.

espn.com
The NBA's secret addiction
ESPN exclusive! How one performance-enhancing sandwich has spread through the NBA.

You guys, I have had this open in a tab for days since reading it, because it was so transcendently, life-changingly good that I can’t let go. YOU GOTTA READ THIS ARTICLE. It doesn’t matter if you don’t watch basketball. I don’t watch basketball. JUST TRUST ME ON THIS.

In So Many Words
17k, Mature
Summary: Derek writes a short story. That’s his first mistake. His second is getting it published.

*

Derek knows he fucked up. He does. He is very well aware that this particular brand of impending doom he’s facing down right now is entirely of his own making.

But he still can’t quite bring himself to regret any of his actions leading up to it.

Yes, he wrote the story knowing exactly what it was. He submitted it to the literary journal. He happily accepted the praise from the editorial staff that approved it. And he went out and bought three more copies on top of the free one they gave him once it was published.

He’s proud of himself is the thing. Which is kind of secretly rare for him.

So, you know, fuck it. He did this. He wrote something that other people wanted to read, and it wasn’t even just a few lines of poetry with a decent beat to it, it was a whole damn story. He can’t regret that.

Even if he knew full well the entire time, from start to fucking finish, that it was eventually going to bite him in the ass.

“Oh honey,” Bitty sighs pityingly as he finishes reading it at the Haus kitchen table.

Derek stuffs the last bite of his slice of pie into his mouth and braces himself.

“It’s really very good,” Bitty tells him. “But…”

Derek nods. “But,” he agrees.

“Maybe he won’t read it.”

“Even if he doesn’t… everyone else will.” Derek imagines what the group chat is going to look like once they do and barely suppresses a shudder.

He watches Bitty come to the same conclusion and pull a yikes face, then quickly shake it off. “Well, they’re proud of you, of course they’ll read it. It really is good, Nursey. Not that I’m an expert, but even I can see that you’ve got talent.”

“I don’t think Dex is going to care how good it is when Rans and Holster start chirping him for the torrid, clandestine affair he’s supposedly having with me.”

Bitty cringes a little. “Yeah, probably not.”

(Read the rest on AO3)

via instagram @kelseytylr

(Please don’t forget to also like the picture there)

***

“Yes, my consuming desire to mingle with road crews, sailors and soldiers, bar room regulars - to be a part of scene, anonomous, listening, recording - all is spoiled by the fact that I am a girl, a female always in danger of assault and battery. My consuming interest in men and their lives is often misconstrued as a desire to seduce them, or as an invitation to intimacy. Yet, God, I want to talk to everybody I can as deeply as I can. I want to be able to sleep in an open field, to travel west, to walk freely at night …

The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath, diary entry No. 93, 1951

2

I’m reading Virginia Woolf in English for the first time! It’s such an accomplishment for me, guys (my native language is Spanish and reading literary texts in a different language is quite tricky) but the effort is just SO worth it. I’m in love with this author and every word she wrote.

I made a vocabulary list on my bullet journal to help me memorize the new words. Oh and I’m using the Linguee app, it’s such a useful tool.

Ferus Ferrum

It would be difficult to secure funding for a literary journal in a standard university - at Elsewhere, most professors wouldn’t dare. Going to the Dean to beg for money, it would be too much like a deal, a favor owed - even if the Dean wasn’t one of them, you didn’t make tenure at EU by taking unnecessary risks.

So it’s difficult, but not impossible - which is why everyone is slightly in awe of Professor Howell, when the petite, soft-spoken poetry professor announces to her classes that she’s looking for volunteer readers and editors.

They call the journal Ferus Ferrum, and their submissions come from across the country. The staff are all English or Creative Writing majors - they know the Rules, and Professor Howell trains them well. The editors learn how to create an email database, how to solicit submissions without “please” or “thank you”; they choose pen names and debate different weights of paper and call the printers to ask if their toner contains iron oxide.

When the first issue is printed they have a release party, with pizza and cake and a tray of vanilla pudding from the dining hall tucked into the corner. There is a palpable but unspoken amazement in the air that they made it, that the journal is sitting in front of them finished, and no one was mysteriously disappeared or even “borrowed,”, and everyone is filled with awe and pride and a fierce kind of victory over the particular entropy of Elsewhere.

So of course, at the end of the party Professor Howell makes an announcement to her staff: she’s leaving.

Not for good. They’ve never known a professor to leave EU, although they don’t think about it particularly hard. She’s pregnant, she tells them, and she’s going to take the next year off for maternity leave. She’s convinced a colleague to take over advising Ferus Ferrum, Professor Chapel, and he’s new.

As they walk back to dorms and parking lots, Howell takes her editors aside. He’s new, she tells them, and they nod, but they don’t understand. They’re writers and they learned the Rules quick, and they all secretly believe that the people who don’t realize the strangeness of Elsewhere are hiding something.

Professor Chapel walks into the first editorial meeting of the next year and the poetry editor looks to the nonfiction reader on her right and they both think, “Ah, he’s new.” Chapel grins freely and stammers and bleeds apologies. He has a tattoo that is a reference four-places removed from a Dickinson poem, and he gushes at length about an obscure short story he read in his first year of grad school. He’s a wonderful professor, and an excellent advisor, and he hasn’t the faintest clue about the Rules. The Ferus Ferrum staff, new and old, take one look at him and realize he’s a sitting duck.

With the steel resolve of their first issue backing them, the head copy editor immediately begins organizing the troops. Two fictions readers who work together at a cafe smuggle out salted bagels and a photo editor delivers them to Professor Chapel’s office every morning. Someone produces a fountain pen with a ring of iron below the grip and hands it over as a welcome present. In meetings they make sure to rib him when he missteps around the “school traditions,” and make an inside joke of talking to the crows. He is constantly puzzled by the salt packets that make their way into his bag, his coat pockets, the corners of his office.

It’s a massive undertaking, and requires almost as much coordination as putting the journal itself together. Which is why it’s so disappointing when “Professor Chapel” walks into a meeting late with sharp teeth and golden eyes.

(They give him back a couple days later, thankfully. At least he doesn’t complain about the salt packets anymore.)

[x]

Close as Strangers: Chapter 10

Close as Strangers: Chapter 10

Word count: 4.5k

Genre: High School au, angst, fluff

Happy Valentines day, lovelies. Thank you if you’re still reading this. Sorry about mistakes, i’m sleepy and just got off work.

Parts:  one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine

Originally posted by donewithjeon

The fact that it was March, almost April, was crazy. You were getting into some different colleges and so was Jungkook. It was weird that sooner or later you’d be departing from each other. You’d been thinking about it so much recently. You knew you two would have the summer and everything. It was just that you had been waiting so long for Jungkook to be yours and then all too soon you would be split up. It was like you couldn’t win.

You were trying not to think about it and obviously it wasn’t working.

Keep reading

In May, we celebrate Asian Pacific American Heritage Month, a time to “join in paying tribute to the generations of Asian and Pacific Islanders who have enriched America’s history and are instrumental in its future success.” We think every month is a time to remember and honor the rich traditions of Asian/Pacific America, so we’re showing some love to the literary journals that celebrate Asian Pacific America year-round. These publications help us to discover emerging writers, recall the histories undergirding our present, and take pleasure in beautifully crafted writing. Whether you’re looking for the next Gish Jen, interested in exploring adoptee culture, or want to attend to challenges of representation, these literary journals have got you covered.

story time: the great pickle heist of 2016

to all of you who wanted another story: you made your bed, and now you’re gonna lie in it.

  • so this story is, from a purely superficial standpoint, about how i stole 40 pounds of pickles from my community college cafeteria today
  • but, on a deeper level
  • a literary level
  • a new yorker review kind of level
  • this story is about the perils and pitfalls of the sacrifices one nineteen year old girl makes to win the approval of authority
  • that’s me
  • I’m the girl
  • the girl who stole 40 pounds of pickles today.
  • so here we go:

Keep reading

3

For my Creative Writing Non Fiction class, we were assigned an essay to write about anything we want- as long as it was autobiographical. I (of course) chose running. I wrote this on a particularly hard night, and this is the final 3 pages of the 14 page essay about my running career. I don’t always feel this way about running, but sometimes I do. And it’s okay. And I want others to know if they feel this way too, that they aren’t alone. I’ve posted things here and there about my struggles with food and feelings of anxiety and even depression, but I haven’t really come out and posted anything direct about it. My professor came to me and asked me to submit my essay to some literary journals. At first the idea terrified me because people see me as a strong, dedicated runner with an unwavering love for the sport. But these feelings are what make me real. They’re what make me human. I didn’t want others to read this because I was ashamed of how I feel. But I’m using my blog on Tumblr as a platform to share this with someone more than my professor and 13 classmates for the first time. And I hope that eventually more people will get to read it too. And that it will help someone.
Being a student athlete is hard and there are many pressures that are too often brushed under the rug. I am determined to address the elephant in the room. Or maybe it’s just the elephant in MY room. But if not, and this reaches someone who is struggling as well, then I have achieved my goal in sharing this.