Events

Come one, come all, please join us under the falling leaves for a feast like none other. This October, the seventh issue of Last Leaves will make your mouth water.

Send us your traditional ghost stories, the ones that haunt and scare. Send us your unconventional ghost stories, the ones that make us rethink what a ghost story can be. We are open to your interpretation, so surprise us!

Submit work about whether you view your life and the world through a microscope or a telescope or perhaps from both perspectives. Mention the major and the minor issues, concerns, goals, living conditions, etc. that are just as important to you.

This theme can be interpreted in so many different ways, on so many different levels…

The purpose of The First Line is to jump start the imagination--to help writers break through the block that is the blank page.

This issue turns to the arts to foreground and forecast what is next for nature, food justice, water preservation, climate action, and afro-/Indigenous futurisms.

What brings us into profound relation to place—and what pulls us out? In a social world that feels less and less place-dependent, and a physical world that is being reconfigured by climate change and habitat loss, how do we sustain our connection to physical place?

How has the human–animal bond evolved over the centuries? And what truly separates us from the creatures we share the planet with?

We wants to know what compels you to rush to the mailbox, turn on your notifications, or put your money on the line. 

This issue opens up space for feelings and thoughts around grief and food. In our grief we celebrate what was, cooking our ancestors’ favourite meals, finding connection at your local restaurant, and finding an old recipe book.

Raw, unvarnished truth gleaned from living an unpasteurized life makes for more interesting reading than the average schlock. Write it how you feel it.

Solastalgia. Tightening at the smell of smoke. Recoiling at the sight of receding glaciers. Close the news app. Shudder in a foreign home. I’m sorry for the heat. I’m sorry for the mercury. This is a new kind of grief, with a nascent voice. Speak to it.

We are looking for works exploring trespass within nature; access to natural spaces, the right to roam, rural trespass and land ownership are all specific interpretations of this theme we’d particularly like to see

We share work here representative of shared human values, however differently those values might be expressed in our various religions and cultures.