Now, some of these places have rejected me more than I can count, but that’s part of the game, chickadees. Am I really getting on this horse again? You betcha. I’m taking it bigger than it ever was before: it’s gonna get BROUGHT, bitch!
If you have red-hot poetry or short stories that need homes, here’s the list you need.
Did I leave anyone out? Let me know in the comments.
Zines are great but don’t take my word for it. A quote, ladies and gents (from the camp in Rotterdam site) that explains one of the coolest things about zines better than I ever could:
Experimentation with form, technical execution, concept, or (ideological) function is more than welcome to open up the possibilities of what a zine can be today, i.e audio zine, film zine, super 8 zine, etc.
Rotterdam Zine Camp
How exciting! Read all about it here. And yes, obviously I’m going to see if I can go (it’s not far from here, according to Google Maps). I love stalls! And friends. The posters being in English is already very promising…
Reading Writing Submissions
Writing submissions for ESC #5 are now closed, so we’re getting cracking with reading all of them (there’s well over 100!) and getting back to the writers asap. Here’s my desk for submissions reading time. Bring on the copious cups a tae!
Hello! Thanks for dropping in. I’ve uploaded an audio recording of a short fiction piece that I wrote called Olio. It’s based around the concept of an iron lung – no, not the Radiohead song – and polio, and it kind of just evolved from there. This recording was done at the 2013 Dublin Zine Fair and originally appeared in issue 2 of ESC zine.
I did a Q&A with Irish writer and blogger Alison Wells. It’s been posted up now on writing.ie, ‘the home of Irish writing online.’
The Q&A focussed on ESC, a literary and visual arts publication that I’ve been running with my friends since 2011. There’s an extract below, and you can read the whole thing here.
You are actively seeking submissions; can you tell readers what you are looking for?
All of their professional weirdness. All of those odd half-thoughts you have at two am and decide to scribble down in the dark. If you want the world to be different and have an idea, tell us about it. Obviously, though, the work has to be good. I mean, people have standards, right? If you can be funny, and grim, and tear something open, and smile while you do it, then send us your work.
There’s some things I wanted to say about writing, and how I write, and why I write.
Why I write.
I don’t know why I do; I don’t know what else I’d do if I didn’t write or think about writing or talk to writers or read about writing – or even read books and think about writing them, and what I would have done (or wouldn’t have done). I write because it’s who I am. What or who else would I be if I didn’t? Yes, I get distracted. Everyone does. Real life gets in the way. Things overwhelm other things. It happens. But even at the furthest away I’ve ever been from a bit of paper and a pen (or my typewriter or word processor), there’s always writing inside my head.
How do I write?
I write. Flippant, isn’t it. Facetious, even. I just write and keep writing and write more and go back and write over what I wrote and go on and write more. Like a child locked in a room with blank walls and a big fat crayon. Writing writing always writing. I could give all the tips in the world, and even though I did study writing, I still maintain that it’s not really something that can be formally learned. You learn writing by writing, not to listening to people talk about writing, or writing yourself. The how and whys are bound up here together, you see. I write because I have to, and any way that I can, for as long as I can, always. That’s it, really.