Thanks, AWP! We are finalists for the AWP Small Press Publisher Award, along with One Story and Creative Nonfiction. The winner will receive $2000 and an exhibit booth at the 2015 conference. We’ll be nibbling our nails till the announcement in Seattle!
Archive for the ‘Contests’ Category
The Cincinnati Review invites submissions for the annual Robert and Adele Schiff Prose and Poetry Awards. One winning poem and prose piece (fiction or creative nonfiction) will be chosen for publication in our 2014 prize issue, and winning authors will receive $1000 each. All entries will be considered for publication in The Cincinnati Review.
Writers may submit up to 8 pages of poetry or 40 pages of prose, per entry. Previously published manuscripts, including works that have appeared online (in any form) will not be considered. There are no restrictions as to form, style, or content; all entries will be considered for publication. Simultaneous submissions are acceptable under the condition that you notify us if your manuscript is accepted elsewhere.
Entry fee is $20, which includes a one-year subscription to The Cincinnati Review. We will be accepting submissions only through our online submission manager, so contestants will pay the fee through that system. Please do not include the writer’s name or any identifying information in the manuscript file, as submissions will be judged blindly. Instead, insert a cover letter with the writer’s name, mailing address, telephone number, email, and the title(s) of the work(s) submitted in the “comments” section of the online submission manager.
Note to international entrants: Our payment gateway requires you to enter a US state or territory AND a zip code as part of your address. We suggest you use “OH” for the state and “45202″ for the zip. If you already have an account with us, you’ll need to change this information on your account page before submitting payment. After your payment goes through, you can change it back.
All entries will receive equal consideration.
Submissions will be accepted through our online submission manager from June 1 to July 15.
Winners will be notified October 1, and an announcement will appear on our website and in the Winter 2014 issue. Winning entries will be published in the Summer 2014 issue.
As we mentioned Wednesday, we’ve sent off Issue 9.2 to subscribers, no matter the spilled Laffy Taffy, tangled tape, or papercuts necessary to complete the shipping project. Keep an eye on the mailbox for your issue (or order it here if you forgot to renew your subscription!), and when it arrives and you open it with reverence, immediately grab a pen or pencil (even better if it’s blue) and take a careful look for mistakes. Despite our thorough proofreading process, which involves six sets of eyes, we’re not perfect. If you can prove that by finding one legitimate typo or mistake in Issue 9.2, we’ll post the results on our blog—and you’ll win a prize!
Leave your comments by clicking the post title above (unless you can already see the comments section). The first five to respond get their choice of a free issue, thermos, or slingpack, along with a blue Col-Erase pencil, the old-timey editor’s tool of choice. Yes, we’re old school, and we like it that way.
Fiction Editor Michael Griffith on choosing Carey Cameron’s “Thursday”:
“Thursday” takes up—in subtle, touching, psychologically acute ways—a subject that seems to get relatively little attention in literary fiction: the slippages and frailties of late middle age, the tectonic grindings and intricate negotiations necessary to long marriage. It’s a sharp, smart story, tender but resolutely unsentimental.
Carey Cameron: You write about what you know, and I wrote “Thursday” because I have a family member dealing with hearing loss, and a family dealing with that family member’s hearing loss. I searched a couple of times on the internet for help—literature, groups—for the families of those experiencing hearing loss—a kind of Al-Anon, but for hearing-loss-affected families—but found nothing. Maybe I was simply not adept enough at searching on the internet, but it led me to want to write something inspired by my family’s experience in the hopes that it might resonate with others. There are a lot of baby boomers out there struggling with hearing loss and other “ordinary” problems of aging, which, however, require extraordinary adjustments.
Cameron is the author of Daddy Boy (Algonquin, 1989) and Cuba Diaries: An American Housewife in Havana (Algonquin, 2002, published under the pseudonym “Isadora Tattlin”).
Poetry Editor Don Bogen on choosing Emily Hipchen’s “Boy into Polished Concrete”:
“Boy into Polished Concrete” struck me at first reading by its command of music and structure. The stanzas each have a clear focus as the poem progresses from the schoolroom, to the test, the boy going to bed, and his feelings in bed; and the whole poem is framed brilliantly by the far-away galaxies we cannot see at the start and the close-in memory of the spiral “galaxy” of spilled milk at the end. That milky way spills out as a fluid play on blank verse in the last line, a subtle and effective contrast to the rattling, consonant-laden phrases that express the boy’s anxiety at the start. The craft here is both noteworthy in itself and seemingly natural to the scenes described.
Great craft alone, of course, does not make a poem, but in the case of “Boy into Polished Concrete” it builds an intimate and persuasive character study. I’m impressed by the way the boy’s distinctive integrity grows even as we get closer and closer to his inner thoughts. This poem brings us inside the boy’s world—and his family’s too—with insight and grace. It’s a rich and deeply moving piece of work.
Emily Hipchen: “I just hit things,” my friend said, “hard. Like in football. And for a split second I could think.” He took a sip of beer; I frowned. “Look,” he said, “It’s a cognitive disorder. This is what we had to do: my son’s teachers thought that children needed to sit still to take tests. My son needs to throw himself on the floor. Over and over.”
This is where the poem came from—my trying to understand what that must be like for my friend and his son—but more generally what the relationship is between knowledge and the floor, and the motion of falling to the floor, and the point in that gesture at which knowledge becomes accessible, and why that place? It’s not like I got answers over the raft of revisions I did (the only original line here is the title), which makes all the periods in this version look really bizarre to me. I just had the questions, and this picture in my head of the boy, his fat pencil, the test, the floor; his father, his mother; the way the noise in his head must be like watching a badly-tuned television. The way my father used to pound the side of ours to fix it, which did fix it, most of the time.
Hipchen is a Fulbright scholar, the editor of Adoption & Culture, one of the editors of a/b: Autobiography Studies, and the author of a memoir, Coming Apart Together: Fragments from an Adoption (2005). Her essays, short stories, and poems have appeared in Fourth Genre, Northwest Review, Arts & Letters, and elsewhere. She is an associate professor at The University of West Georgia.
We are delighted to announce that Emily Hipchen is the winner of the Poetry Prize for “Boy into Polished Concrete,” and Carey Cameron is the winner of the Prose Prize for “Thursday.” Cameron and Hipchen will each receive a $1,000 prize, and their pieces will appear in the Summer 2013 issue of The Cincinnati Review, due out in May.
The judges, Don Bogen for poetry and Michael Griffith for prose, have also named the following honorable mentions:
D. M. Armstrong
Andrew D. Cohen
The editors would like to thank Heather Hamilton and Becky Adnot-Haynes for their invaluable help with the judging.
(Tune in next week for comments by the writers on their winning pieces and from the editors who chose them.)
For this month’s contest, associate editor Becky Adnot-Haynes took a cue from Glee (back when it used to be good) and created a mash-up of words and phrases from choice poems and stories in CR’s latest issue. And now we want you, readers, to get in on the fun: Take out your super-secret spy glasses, pull out issue 9.1, and unlock our code! Be one of the first five people to send us the correct sentence (we will wait till we have five before we release the comments) and win your choice of free back issue, CR thermos, or CR slingpack.
(Note: Instructions do not take into account titles or author names; for example, “line ten” refers to the tenth line of the body of the poem).
The fourth word of the thirtieth line on page 92.
The last word of the tenth line on page 18.
The fourth word of the fourth line on page 150.
The fourteenth and fifteenth words of page 71.
The fourth word of the second line on page 80.
The third through seventh words of line 6 on page 74.
LEAVE YOUR COMMENTS BY CLICKING THE TITLE OF THE POST ABOVE.
Hi there blog followers. Sorry for our stretch of silence. We all were hospitalized for the excessive coffee/burrito consumption that we required to survive the last weeks of spring term. Turns out Trehalose, Lactic Acid, and Torula Yeast (ingredients in Taco Bell’s seasoned beef) don’t combine well with massive doses of caffeine. We no longer have stomachs, though we’ve discovered stomachs are not strictly necessary if you put yourself in the hands of the right mad scientists.
So we’re back—and still trying to work out the mechanism that will allow contest entrants to submit and pay online. We are on the cusp of making it happen. And you have till the end of July to submit, so no worries . . . yet. A note about the contest: each entry includes a year’s subscription to the mag, so if you enter twice, that’s a two-year subscription, three times is a three-year subscription, and so on. If you would prefer to make any of the additional subscriptions gifts to family members or friends, just drop us a line to that effect (editors [at] cincinnatireview [dot] com).
Our contest is officially open! Unfortunately, we’re still trying to configure Submission Manager so that you can pay your entry fee securely online at the same time you submit your piece(s) for consideration. Of course, the old-fashioned way always works. You can wait a bit for us to work out the kinks in our system, or you can send us your entries via snail mail, including a check for $25. Remember that the entry fee includes a year’s subscription. We’re excited to see what comes our way this year. Last year’s winners appear in the issue that is due in our office any day!
Writers: Polish up your best poems, stories, and creative nonfiction, because we’re gearing up to read entries for the 2012 Robert and Adele Schiff Prizes in Prose and Poetry. One winning poem and one prose piece (fiction or creative nonfiction) will be chosen for publication in our 2013 prize issue. The entry fee of $25 includes a year-long subscription.
Submissions will be accepted in June and July; all entries will be considered for publication. For complete contest guidelines, please go here.
While we’ve accepted postal entries in the past (and will continue to do so this year), stay tuned–we’re in the process of setting up our website to receive submissions and entry fees through our submission manager, so we’ll update the guidelines accordingly when we know more.
We look forward to reading your entries this summer! And don’t forget: the reading period for non-contest submissions ends on May 31.
A lot of blood, sweat, and tears go into the copy-editing and proofreading of each issue of CR (and mustard . . . we blame associate editor Matt McBride for the mustard stain on our copy of The Chicago Manual of Style). And now that our newest issue is officially available, we want you, readers, to get in on the fun: Did we miss anything? Scour our pages and find one legitimate typo (subject to editorial review) in issue 8.2, and we’ll post the results on our blog.
Leave your comments by clicking the post title above. First five to respond get their choice of free issue, thermos, or slingpack, along with a blue Col-Erase pencil, the old-timey editor’s tool of choice. (We have to warn you: Your friends won’t like it when you return their correspondence with the comma splices corrected).