When Dickinson House became a possibility, not just a dream, one of the first things I knew was that it would need quilts. I have so many friends who make quilts; my mother makes quilts. Quilts and blankets mean cosiness, warmth, care, and beauty all in one object. And the house does have quilts—this one by Blair Stocker, for example, who traded it to me for editing, and one made by my friend Melissa (in the photograph below), and another made by Neele Dellschaft, whose chapbook was one of the first three MIEL published. Writers and artists, come and be warm under these quilts! Come and feel the work their makers put into them to give you comfort!
Immensely pleased to be able to announce our 2015 list and part of our 2016 list, most of which came to us during our 2014 open reading period.
Rachel Moritz, chapbook
Metta Sáma, chapbook
William Reichard, chapbook
Celina Su, microseries chapbook
Neele Dellschaft, microseries chapbook
Megan Garr, chapbook
Luke Allan, chapbook
Ray Gonzalez, chapbook (2016)
Amy Wright, nonfiction chapbook (2016)
Natalie Vestin, nonfiction chapbook
Jesse Keen, nonfiction chapbook
Andrew Schroeder, photographs
Thomas Sayers Ellis, photographs (2016)
If you’d like to support MIEL as we move forward with the publication of these books, you can purchase a poetry subscription, a nonfiction bundle, our art books bundle, a microseries subscription, or a full-year subscription. Subscribers underwrite the cost of printing, allowing us not only to publish more, but to take more risks about how we make out books—including investment in more costly printing and production processes. Thank you for considering a subscription!
From Rachel Moritz, author of a forthcoming MIEL chapbook, this call for essays on Caesarean births. (Note that this will not be published by MIEL—just signal-boosting.)
Call for submissions
We seek personal essays from individuals who have had C-Section births for an anthology that will be submitted to publishers in spring 2015.
While birth stories will likely be an important component of many essays, the anthology will focus on reflections during the months or years following a C-section. For instance, how has Caesarean birth, whether planned or unplanned, influenced your perspective on motherhood/parenthood, the body, the medical establishment, or natural birth stories? As three mothers who have noted a dearth in literature about the post C-Section experience after the first six weeks, we are looking for essays that articulate multifaceted perspectives not widely represented in popular or medical writing. We seek fresh conversations across identifications of race and ethnicity, age, class, gender, sexuality, and ability.
Essays should be no more than 15 double-spaced pages and submitted as a Word document to Birthessay@gmail.com. Please include e-mail contact information and a short bio. Questions should also be directed to this email address.
Deadline: February 28, 2015.
Our role as editors will be to discern connections and intriguing dissonance among the essays, as well as to converse with writers about their pieces. Submissions, however, should be polished and in final form. Any revisions we request will be minor.
Amanda Fields is a Pushcart-nominated writer whose work has been published in Indiana Review, Brevity, Superstition Review, and others. She co-edited Toward, Around, and Away from Tahrir: Tracking Expressions of Emerging Egyptian Identity (Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2014). She gave birth to her daughter via C-Section in 2013.
Kathleen Glasgow‘s work has appeared in The Cimarron Review, Bellingham Review and many other journals. She writes for The Writer’s Almanac and lives in Saint Paul, MN. Her daughter was born in November, 2012; her son was born in June, 2008. Both children were delivered via C-section.
Rachel Moritz is the author of the poetry collection Borrowed Wave, forthcoming from Kore Press. Her work has appeared in American Letters and Commentary, Colorado Review, Iowa Review, Verse Daily, and other journals. She edits poetry for Konundrum Engine Literary Review. Her son was born via C-Section in 2010.
111O/7 came out in May, but did it get enough fanfare then? No. How could it have? It is really the sweetest issue of the journal so far (although I do tend to think that about every one as it comes out), and it’s gotten great feedback from everyone who’s received it. The main thing I hear, besides appreciation for the writing and photo? I love the size. This issue of the journal is small. Not just small in the usual way—one image (a great photo of a school, by Andrew Schroeder), one piece of prose (a pair of indices by Sarah Ann Winn), and ten poems—but small physically. It can almost fit in one hand. Maybe if your hands are bigger than mine it would completely fit. And the poems in particular are atomic, brittle, shard-like.
It fits in a greeting-card-sized envelope, and it’s €10. You can get your copy here. Shipping’s included in the price.
This issue of our Little Magazine returns to a (tiny) book form—printed and stapled by our trusty Nottinghamshire printers, Tompkin Press.
There is FREE SHIPPING on this issue of 111O; the issue ordered in combination with other books/issues will not incur extra shipping charges.
We’re pleased to present writing by Anna Lena Phillips, A K Beck, Sarah Ann Winn, Joel Allegretti, Luke Allan, Aaron Anstett, A. Bennet Jacob, Elosham Arkady Vog, and others.
Cover photo by Andrew Schroeder, and it’s beautiful.
Edition of 150.
Dimensions: 150 mm x 90 mm
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Neele Dellschaft has a poem in Lighthouse‘s summer 2014 issue, and a chapbook, Call it an Immersion, forthcoming from dancing girl press.
Metta Sáma, whose work appears in 111O/5, has a new dos-à-dos chapbook out from Nous-Zot Press; it’s called After Sleeping to Dream/After After.
111O/6 contributor Willie Lin has a collaborative broadside out from Broadsided Press.
We love hearing good news from our writers and artists. Drop us an email if you’ve got something new coming out!
There is a story I want to tell. The story is about togetherness: that’s its short version. The longer version could go back to the pine table in my family’s kitchen where my brothers and I did homework while my parents cooked or washed dishes. It definitely encompasses the year I lived as a stranger in France and the multilingual education I’ve been fortunate to have. And it is directly related to my five years in England and the way that, in that place, I was part of an intense and sustaining community. It’s certainly a story that comes out of a magical—there’s no other word for it—five days in 2010 when some poets whose work I love came to Nottingham, spending four of those days teaching and talking and reading and walking and eating with forty writers from all over Europe and the UK. (Those days! Where together we built something! I got up to read and couldn’t read because I was in tears over the belief of all these people who’d come to be together and write.) And the story I want to tell comes out of MIEL, too—this press, which itself developed out of the desire to make spaces for writers like the one we’d made together in Nottingham that July. Being at the Vermont Studio Center this summer only made me more sure of the desire I have for spaces where writers and artists can be together, not only on the page but in the flesh.
For a very long time, nearly ten years, I carried the idea of making such a space in my pocket. But for most of that time I never believed it was realistic or possible. It was bigger than what I could do alone: it required things like money and land, neither of which I have. The story I want to tell is the story of that idea, which is now real, against what I believed were the odds. The story is Dickinson House.
I wanted to make a space where writers and artists could come to make work, to build community, to be taken care of without guilt, with openness and generosity. And about two years ago Jonathan’s mother offered us her house to rent and renovate and use for just that. And as of about two weeks ago we are officially licensed by the Flemish Tourist Board as a guesthouse, so I can say that Dickinson House truly is real. We’re doing a soft launch this fall, and will open for 2015 applications (and applications for fellowships!) in December.
None of this would be possible without a ton of hard work and help from Jonathan, without the kindness (and below-market-rate rent) his mother extended, without the support of our families, or without the belief, good cheer, and help of friends all over. I want to emphasize this. None of this came from thin air. It is the result of generosity and privilege. It is also the result of penny-pinching and elbow grease and borrowing against hope and filling spare time with more work, even (especially) when we just wanted to rest. The house is full of beautiful old things that were given to us by friends and family, or found in second-hand shops here. The beds have quilts made by hand by three talented friends. I want the house to be for you, writer, reader, maker. I want there to be—there is—space here for you. If you need it, ask for it. If there are obstacles, tell me about them. We will find a way to get you here. You are welcome.