Events

This call is for writers born and/or residing in Canada and Canadians living abroad. 

Fallen from grace, or falling on your face, out for the count or out on the town, down in the dumps or deep below the earth (or the waves), on the road with no fixed abode ... be creative and show us what you can do with this theme!

Queer characters (and queer people, for that matter) put up with enough bullshit from homophobes and transphobes, and this month we want noir tales where they turn the tables on the haters in fabulous and brutal ways.

We want examples from outside of the mainstream, stories about practices, ideas, and movements that were/are suppressed by economic, socio-cultural, religious, or imperial (colonial) powers.

We seek submissions for the "Jerky" issue. Our themes are not to be approached literally. Please just have fun with the theme, or ignore it altogether. The small submission fee is to help defray the cost of shipping physical contributor's copies.

Boudin is currently looking for creative work that speaks on the beautiful moments of queer life, the not so beautiful moments, and even the everyday uneventful moments. The goal of this issue if to remind everyone that queer people have always been here and will always be here. We cannot be erased. 

We want to read haibun and tanka prose that excites. It should leave THE DOOR AJAR to the world, and work with tension.

Whether doors conjure memories or set your mind on a fictional adventure, we welcome your creative work.

A poem could have 12 syllables, 12 words, or 12 lines; it could be an erasure of page 12 or Chapter 12 of a particular book; it could be created from a word-pool you generated by gathering every twelfth word of a source; it could be a cento combining 12 different sources.

"In the Kitchen" poetry could involve foods, customs, kitchen talk, preparation, or teaching.

Summer is close and we like to spend much time outside. You are challenged to observe the sky, to explore the objects in the sky: airplanes, kites, skyscrapers, balloons, clouds, rainbow, moon, stars, anything you want.

As we all contend with the global ":crisis" in politics, climate and return to bias and prejudice, we're asking our readers to consider ways of engaging in tapping into our own collective and inner resilience.

What does it mean to be a poet engaged with the physical material of the world around us? How does poetic form change in the encounter with other beings? How do we write collaboratively with—rather than about—nonhuman beings and ecologies?

Put on your Sunday best for this edition of Griffith Review, which goes behind the seams to unpick the many paradoxes of fashion.

In this issue, we explore the boundaries drawn around us—by law, by faith, by fear—and the ones we are willing to cross, no matter the cost.

What ideas does the word sanctuary evoke for you? Are you thinking about being rescued, or offering rescue? Where do you find sanctuary?

A mountain could be desolate or teaming with life; it could be a struggle, an idea, or a large thing in an otherwise small space. It could also be a hurdle or something to conquer.