Available Now! Our special spring issue featuring the best writing by women we could find. Prepare to be amazed: poetry by Alison Pelegrin, Patricia Smith, Ivy Alvarez, Erin Quick, Shalya Lawson, Cheryl Dumesnil, Lillian Yvonne-Betram, Tara Bray, francine j. harris, Christine Hamm, Nancy Devine, Rachel Trousdale, Susan Elbe, Sandy Longhorn, Lisa Fay Coutley, Mary Biddinger, Donna Vorreyer, Jeannine Hall Gailey, Marjorie Stelmach, Betsy Sholl, Erin Elizabeth Smith, Catherine Bowman, Mary Ruth Donnelly, Cleopatra Mathis, Martha Silano, Elizabeth Rees, Pamela L. Taylor, Mary McLaughlin Slechta, Allison Joseph, Cindy Veach; fiction By Diane Lefer, Lindsey Griffin, Ethal Rohan, Colleen O’Brien, Laurie Stone, Lynn L. Sloan, and CNF by Laura Madeline Wiseman, Kelcey C. Parker, Patricia Bjorklund, DaMaris B. Hill.
We are happy to announce that we are now able to sell subscriptions online, through Submittable.
The lovely people at New Pages reviewed last fall’s issue earlier this year. In addition to highlighting the work of Sean Singer, Erika Meitner, Leyna Krow, Doug Watson, Makalini Bandele, and Marc McKee , they concluded with these heart-warming words, “In sum, Sou’wester is a bright, energetic publication that can be read in pajamas or pantsuits—that is, on many different levels that all seem to work well and function cohesively. The writers in this journal are uniformly excellent and marry diverse styles and content in a triumphant read.” Of course, you’ll want to read the entire review.
Sou’wester is pleased to present the Dr. Fred Robbins Memorial Award for Emerging Writers (aka The Robbins Award). Beginning in May 2013, one poet and one prose writer who have not published a full-length volume in their genre will be chosen from the fall and/or spring issue to receive a cash award of $100. (Poets who have published chapbooks with a run of less than 500 copies are eligible for the award.) All selections will be made by the editors.
Dr. Robbins, a fiction editor in Sou’wester’s earlier years, was a passionate champion of the journal and a highly esteemed professor at Southern Illinois University Edwardsville. This award seeks to honor his commitment to writers, especially those in the early stages of their careers, and reflects Sou’wester’s mission to publish the best work available to us regardless of the previous accomplishments of the writers.
Recently, assistant editor David Rawson posed a number of questions to Benjamin Reed about his story, “Surprise Me With Something Familiar” (Spring 2007). Benjamin responded with generosity, insight, and hilarity – way more than we could have hoped for.
How does this story fit into the rest of your work?
I remember it was one of the first couple times I thought I’d written a “polished” piece. But back then I didn’t read a lot of literary journals and I had a really naive perspective of contemporary fiction. I think I judged all my manuscripts in terms of whether or not they might get accepted by Glimmer Train.
How did this story come to be?
I was a bartender for a long time, in a small, dark lounge on Red River, what used to be the very edge of downtown Austin. It was so dark, all the light was from a few dozen red venetian candles and the glowing ends of people’s cigarettes. We poured beers practically by feel, and mixed drinks by sound and texture. We hated making white Russians. Cream–really it’s half-and-half–froths when you shake it. It expands. It gets everywhere, all over your hands, the bar, the bar mats, your shirt, the upside-down glass you use to cap your shaker tin–everywhere. And after you make a white Russian you have to rinse everything extra, which clouds the blue water of the sanitatizing sink. And usually the people ordering them were amateurs, posers, or young men who over-identified with The Big Lebowski.
As such, the manager was constantly “forgetting” to buy half-and-half. So we were always being prompted to suggest a replacement. Usually this would be Bailey’s. One night, we started joking about making white Russians with breast milk. One of our bartenders had just come back to work after having a baby, and was always talking about lactating and pumping. I asked her if she would be up for a donation. Just a few ounces. She said she’d think about it. When I asked again later she replied with a decisive “No.” I assume she’d mentioned it to her husband, and he clearly did not think it was as amusing an idea as I did.
Joseph Levens has a way of messing with your head. What’s in a name, he asks. Where is the line between the literal and the metaphorical? What’s all this about sex and death?
Joseph’s fiction has appeared in Sou’wester numerous times,including the Spring 2012 issue.
My boyfriend’s name is Gunner and there is a reason for this. The sex is good, great even, but when he comes, boy and girl here have a little problem: a bullet is shot out instead of semen, at the same velocity as if fired from a rifle.
John Linwood, used under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0
Of this story, appearing in the Fall 2011 issue, writer Anthony Varallo recalls:
I wrote “Think of Me and I’ll Know” during a time when I was writing a lot of short-short fiction, for reasons that still aren’t clear to me now, but likely have something to do with avoiding the novel I was working on at the time. The working title for the story was “All Quiet on the Western Front” (great title, but already taken, alas) and the story ran about five pages or so, a story about a guy who gets into an argument with his wife, goes to the library, recalls reading All Quiet on the Western Front in high school, goes home, and finds his son’s lost cat. The end.
I thought it was an okay story, but, at five pages, it both seemed too long and too short.
I’m told Sou’wester is throwing a Come As You Are Party. Well, here I am, or my hand, anyway, at my mess of a work desk. Reason #1 for the mess: I’m eyeballs-deep in the final revision of my novel-in-progress, which will be titled The Sexual Lives of Missionaries. Reason #2: This is how messy my desk always gets, and the only reason it ever gets less messy is because I keep a to-do list, and on the fourth Thursday of every month, I tend the line item that reads: “Clean your desk.”
The stack of books on the left is part pleasure reading, part research. The Atlas of Anatomy and Gray’s Anatomy are for the novel that will follow the novel I’m writing. Its construction requires me to know more than I now know about bodily organs, their natures and appearances, and how they decay after death. (There’s a stack behind this stack on the subject of “morbid anatomy,” which means that every time I leave the library I get funny looks from the desk clerks, who surely wonder whether I’m a medical student or an axe murderer.)