Issue 14: April, 2016
Issue 14: April, 2016
Issue 14
Bittersweetness
10th April, 2016
This issue features the parallels and contrasts of Bitterness and Sweetness, embodied in joy and pain, beauty and conflict, comfort and hardship: the extreme emotions we feel in equal and profound measures. We encounter lovers on a journey from pain into hope, the uncomfortable squirm of projected judgment, and the realisation that toast can trump love. We introduce the first in a series of connected short stories by author Nicole Bostrom, in which a young woman must make a difficult personal and social choice. We also have our first album review by editor Ana’Rchy, and another curated collection of contests, competitions and calls-for-submissions from organisations in Australia and elsewhere in the world. Don’t forget the writing exercise on the back page (extra credit for sending us a submission that came from one of our writing exercises!), and connect with us on Facebook and Twitter for more Underground updates. ~ Jemimah Editor-in-Chief
Underground 1 Issue 14: April, 2016
Editor-in-Chief Jemimah Halbert
Volunteer editors Timi Adeyemi Dylan Dartnell Kate Lomas Glendenning Ana Victoria L. Neves Candace Sharpe Shelley Timms Jessica Wilson
Contributors Trevor Scott Barton Nicole Bostrom Shelby Traynor Ana Victoria L. Neves
Underground Literary Magazine is published four times a year
Underground would like to respectfully acknowledge this magazine was produced and edited on the traditional lands of the Wurundjeri people of the Kulin nation, and also on the traditional lands of the Wadjuk people of the Nyoongar nation. As an internationally-reaching magazine, we also pay our respects to the traditional custodians of all the lands from which the stories and poems in this issue were sourced.
Views expressed by authors are not necessarily those of the publisher. Copyright is reserved, meaning no one is permitted to scan or photograph our pages and publish them anywhere else. Reproduction in whole or part is prohibited.
Contact Submit your work to Underground at [email protected] For general enquiries email us at [email protected] Our website is underground-writers.org Find us on Facebook at Underground Writers Follow us on Twitter @undergroundWA
2 Underground Issue 14: April, 2016 Contents
Cover…………………………………………………….Editor’s Letter
4…….…….………..Review: Panic! At the Disco’s Death of a Bachelor, by Ana’Rchy
6……..…….Feature piece: My Subconscious Doesn’t Care About You, by Shelby Traynor
7………………………………………Look, Frida, by Shelby Traynor
8-11……….……………………….Revolution, by Trevor Scott Barton
12-16…..….A fine morning on the Oakland Estuary, by Nicole Bostrom
17…………………………………………Introducing: Nicole Bostrom
18-19…………………………….…….Upcoming Local Opportunities
20-23……………………….….Upcoming International Opportunities
24-25……………………………………………...……….Our Editors
Back cover……………………..………….Writing exercise & Contact
Apology for incorrect attribution Underground would like to issue a correction and apology regarding issue 13. The pieces Gush and Firestarters were incorrectly attributed to Lunabella; the correct author's name is Luna Ma Narama. We apologise for this mistake, and the corrected version of issue 13 can be downloaded from the Underground website.
Underground 3 Issue 14: April, 2016 ‘Death of a Bachelor’
Review Panic! At the disco lot of people feel betrayed that Brendon Urie is still performing on his own under the moniker of Panic! At the Disco. The band has been known to change up their style for each album,
A and it’s been thought that this had been done to keep up with the tastes of fans. I consider this theory to be a bit simplistic. I think fans of the band and their brand have been able to relate to their growth and evolution over the years, and every time a new album is released, can appreciate the story it tells. Death of a Bachelor is no different. This album incorporates some very small elements of what made the old albums so “Panic!” but completely reinvents and reinvigorates their sound. Starting strong with Victorious, to Brendon’s beautifully haunting vocals in Emperor’s New Clothes, quickly followed by his mellow crooning in the titular song, Death of a Bachelor, the whole album leaves the listener with a gorgeous story to piece together. Being that Brendon is now the sole creator and contributor to this album, the lyrics feel almost autobiographical, and keeping that in mind, the album is more than anything we’ve come to expect from Panic! At the Disco in previous years. This shows such a dedication from Brendon Urie to the fans, but also a respect for the name of Panic! At the Disco. It’s a welcome rebirth for one of the noughties’ favourite bands! Recalling a time when P!AtD and Fall Out Boy were compared to each other, The Good, The Bad And The Dirty, is a fantastic anthem, reminiscent of our collective emo/pop-punk phases, with some bad-ass lyrics to match. For all the hype that comes with the rest of the album, the second last song, House of Memories, though catchy, leaves the lyrically inclined listener wanting, as its lyrics seem lacking in much depth. This makes it a bit of a let down, considering the quality of the rest of the album, and makes the lead-up to the final song less poignant. If this song had been left off the album, it wouldn’t be missed.
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The album ends on a melodically captivating note, with the final song, Impossible Year, carrying the listener through beautifully thought out metaphors and subtle clichés. The sound of the piano lifting the spirit to a crescendo as the final song signals an almost classical goodbye, brings forth the images of a black and white movie, where one can’t be entirely sure if the ending was a happy one… Like Casablanca. I have found this album easy to listen to, all the way through, regardless of how I’m feeling. I’m still constantly impressed by the attention to detail, and the effort Brendon Urie put into this creation. I always used to say Panic! At the Disco was all Brendon Urie, and now, we can definitely say Brendon Urie is Panic! At the Disco. And I, for one, am so excited for what this new era will bring! 4/5 - would listen again! P.S. Make sure to watch the music videos for the full experience. ~ Ana’Rchy
Underground 5 Issue 14: April, 2016 My Subconscious Doesn’t Care About You
Feature piece Feature Shelby Traynor
there is nothing I can pull from my memory quicker than the smell of toast or the crunch of toast the sound of curved cutlery on crisp bread turned golden by red hot wire
and melting butter I can’t yank that feeling of lips curving that person singing those bones weighing down hospital beds so what does it say of my subconscious when all it ever really gives a shit about is toast?
Shelby Traynor is a nineteen year old writer from the suburban wastelands of Perth, Western Australia.
6 Underground Issue 14: April, 2016 Look, Frida Shelby Traynor
Frida Kahlo is staring at me from the head of my bed. Her self-portrait is taped in lilac at the corners, her flower crown balanced on her head like a bouquet. She makes me want to be spectacular – she’s my dreamcatcher, and right now she’s looking pretty disinterested. My bed is my cushioned hell. It’s where I sit to be glared at by Frida, to crumple my posture and crack my spine. Yawn and weigh the justice of my eyelids. It took me a day to notice the barbed wire circling her neck, and the hand hanging from her ear. She just looked so pretty, so tired, amongst my pillows and through my sleepy eyes.
Underground 7 Issue 14: April, 2016 Revolution
Trevor Scott Barton
t was a rainy morning in Havana. He looked out the window over the old city and saw the dark clouds rolling in from the sea. He felt the cool breeze across his body. He turned quietly and watched her sleeping. The sheet rose and fell with each of I her deep and rhythmic breaths. He was glad she was finally resting. "Is she dreaming of a time or a place, of the sea or of what brought us here?," he wondered. Yesterday, they thought they would not see the light of the new day. There was a cut across her cheek, a rip in her jeans, and a determined look on her face as they struggled hand in hand across the countryside. They arrived at the hotel in the night. He washed away the dirt and pain from her body, took her worn and tattered clothes off of her, and soothed the fear and chaos within her. He remembered the look of fearlessness and hopefulness that were in her eyes as they journeyed together, a look that comforted him now as he watched her sleep. He laid down beside her. The curves of her body reminded him of the gently rolling hills below the mountains where he lived as a boy. She was beautiful like that land, like the flowers he found as he roamed the countryside, like the soil he walked over barefooted as his grandfather turned the earth with a donkey and plow, like the leaves of the trees that sparkled green after the rains of the rainy season. He moved close to her until he felt the breathing of her breath upon his face and the beating of her heart upon his chest. He closed his eyes. He felt the heartbeat of her as a little girl. She had lived with her landless family on a farm in a neighboring village. Her weathered Father was a campesino, with wrinkles on his face for all of the times he had walked down long rows of beans in the hot sun to hoe away weeds. There was a kindness in his eyes that welled up from the deep feelings he had felt as he worked to keep his family alive. His hands and feet were calloused and gnarled for they had been blistered and broken and used as tools all of his life. He had worked from the time he had toddled beside his own Father and the workers of the plantation of his childhood until now, in the time of the middle of his life, when the same land, the land of the wealthy owners, had bent his back to make it appear as if he were continually genuflecting to God, or to the wealthy, or to the land itself. He was not a political person. She had observed his life, however, for she was a gifted girl who saw deeply into the lives of people and knew,
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simply knew, the inner workings of their minds and hearts and the true meanings of their words and actions. In that observation she saw the life of her Father eloquently speak, "I am a human being...no person is more important than another...my family has a right to food, shelter, clothing, school, and medicine...We are human beings," and those words grew with her and were watered by the laughter she laughed as she was playing with friends in her community and the tears she cried as she was laying in bed hungry from only one meal from the day. He felt the heartbeat of her as a young woman. She had been there at the mass rally at the university in Santiago de Cuba the week before the struggle began to overthrow the Batista regime. He had been there, too. Their voices joined together with the voices of hundreds and thousands of students, campesinos, professors, and rebel leaders and rumbled across the night sky to the furthest reaches of the island. "We ask for a fair price for beans and rice...we ask for a fair price for a room to sleep...we ask for a fair price for shirts and shoes...we ask for schools for our children...we ask for care from doctors and hospitals...we ask for work so we can build up these things for our people because we need them to live...we need them to live!" It was then that he had seen her for the first time. Her fist was clenched and raised to the sky, her black hair hung down along her back, her brown eyes glistened under the lights of the field where they shouted and sang their hopes and dreams for their country, for their poor families, for their people. Out of all the people there around him, she was the one...the one his eyes could not leave...the one his heart could not forget. He knew then that their courage and compassion would draw them together and bond them as friends and lovers. In those first days he thought of what it might feel like to be with her, to feel her hunger for his body, for her to feel his hunger for hers...to be with her, to hear the stories of her childhood, to share the stories of his...to be with her as they were together now, naked and holding each other, loving each other, protecting each other. He felt the heartbeat of her as she was now. One week ago, he was sitting in a barracks in Santiago de Cuba, shoulder to shoulder and knee to knee with compañeros, under the watchful eyes of Batistas henchmen. Those government soldiers had fired their guns in the air and jammed them
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into their backs as they left a mass meeting demanding rights for the campesinos and a new, democratic government for the people. The prisoners had been stripped down to their undershorts, slapped across their faces and heads, and spit upon by the soldiers. One soldier had taken his hands, hands he had used to write the speech that was delivered that night at the mass meeting, hands he had used to build up instead of tear down...the soldier had taken those hands, tied them to a table, and hit them over and over again with a heavy, jagged rock until they were swollen and sore, broken and bleeding, until tears streamed down his cheeks and fell off onto the dirt floor like drops of rain from a heavy sky. The prisoners had not eaten for three days and drank water from a bucket and a rusty, dented dipper set down in the middle of the room early in the morning and late at night. His eye was swollen and blackened from the abuse, his stomach hollow and cramped from hunger, and his tongue so dry he could barely speak. It was then, as he held his head in his arms, hunched over, falling into despair, that he heard explosions and gunshots around the camp. The guards ran this way and that way in confusion. The prisoners moved en masse toward the door and spilled out into the night. He made his way to the barbed wire behind the barracks and she was there. She leaned close to him, catching her cheek on a barb, and took the wire into her own hands and pulled it apart until he could step one leg and then his whole body through to freedom. She pulled him to her and kissed him softly on the cheek. "Hola, mi cariño," she had whispered. "Gracias," he had breathed. "Estoy aquí," she had gently sang, "Estoy aquí," as she rocked him back and forth in her arms, and he had wept as if he were a boy lost but then found by his mother, and the tears fell again but not onto the dirt floor of the prison but onto Gabbys dark, tender skin. In all of the chaos around them, she took his arm. "Vamos, tenemos que ir," she said and pulled him away. For one week they had made their way west across the island toward Havana, finding clothes and shelter in the homes of friendly, frightened campesinos along the road, eating sugar cane and drinking water from rivers and swamps, sleeping in the swamps covered with mosquitoes but surrounded by stars by night, making their way to the great city where they would continue their work in the revolution. Now they were
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here, body to body, heartbeat to heartbeat, in the morning light of a rainy day in Havana. She sighed and began to stir. There were times in their lives when their lovemaking was like a thunderstorm. He would come home from the University or the barrio and as soon as he walked through the door she would push him down onto the couch and take him into herself as if he were a deep breath of air. Or he would take her hand at a gathering and lead her to a private place and lift her dress and take her from behind as if he were a strong gust of wind across the land. Sometimes it was like a hurricane. They would crash upon the bed and lose themselves in time and space rolling across, under, above and into each other until they were left soaked and silent in each others arms. And sometimes it was like a soft rain. Their fingers would gently tap, tap, tap across each others skin, their lips would brush against each others lips like a soft breeze, and they themselves would move into each other as if they were leaves twirling down from a tree in a spring shower. Today their lovemaking was like the soft rain. "Tomás," she trembled as she opened her eyes. "Mi mariposa hermosa," he answered. "Estoy aqui, estoy aqui." Though their bodies had been broken by the revolution, they made love to each other like the rain that fell softly out the window on the city of Havana.
Trevor teaches at an inner-city elementary school in Greenville, S.C. and writes for the community newspaper, The Greenville Journal. You can follow him on Twitter @teachandwrite
Underground 11 Issue 14: April, 2016 A fine morning on the Oakland Estuary
Nicole Bostrom
ith difficulty, she labels a test tube containing another water sample. Given the rocking canoe and screaming from her ridiculous sister and friends on shore, Molly, Molly, the fools chant, it’s all she can do to W print neatly, much less get the information down in its correct order: 12/8/16 – Oakland Estuary, 14:22 hours, 37.7940 N, 122.3153 W. She hands the slender vial to Laura, a cranky double-major grad student: Environmental Science and Engineering – with honors. Dark-haired and scowling, Laura’s seated at the bow of her precious canoe. Specially engineered concrete canoe, she’s drilled into Molly since morning, which feels like a week ago.
“Thank you,” she tells Molly, pressing skinny lips into a fake smile before inserting the sample into a tray of two-dozen others. They each hold water Molly’s siphoned from different points along the narrow inlet. “Sit carefully!” Laura adds for the thousandth time. But Molly’s already back in her cold perch in the hull. Her chubby thighs squeezed together, allowing room enough to row and avoiding the witch’s next command to step lightly.
But Laura’s meaner to Josh. Bearded and owl-faced, Josh does the heavy paddling at the stern and is in the School of Journalism at Cal. He’s won a big award for publishing a series of articles on pollution in the estuary and surrounding neighborhoods. His work was even picked up by The Times; though Laura claims journalists are wimps. Clearly, she’s jealous.
“Your friends will shut up?” Laura asks, fixing Molly in the center of her blue Ray- Bans.
A chubby, brown-haired girl in each lens nods back. She should have definitely slept in this morning. Half the ecology class did, including Fred, who’s now screaming loudest on shore and flapping his short arms. He resembles a bellowing sea lion, balancing on short flippers. And there’s her tiny, blonde sister, Mia, at the end of the bunch, jumping and waving, like an annoying gnat. She’s flanked by two stuck-up BFFs in big sunglasses, skinny jeans – and vaping, of course. Idiots. And skinny Charles stands behind his camera, filming everything. Shit. What are they doing here anyway?
It’s not like any of them care about Mrs. James’ family, or the Lakeside community. They probably haven’t even read Josh’s articles that Ms. Fischer assigned: Two hundred
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families sickened by local drinking water. Mia certainly didn’t read them. They’re probably here scoring dope, or whatever.
And she’s stuck in a canoe with a madwoman and being blamed for her sister’s obnoxious friends. Meanwhile, Charles is pointing the camera right at them. Damn. She’ll just ignore him. Tune all of them out. At least she’s doing something useful. And they’re heading back to the pier. They’ve collected all the samples Laura needs. And they’re moving with the current. And it’s high tide, thank god, since the row of collapsed factories they’re approaching stinks; though Josh says it’s way worse when the tide is out.
It used to be a homeless village until the support pillars rotted, causing a cave-in. A few people were killed, others injured; it was awful. And now a huge cyclone fence surrounds the mess with big warning signs to KEEP OUT. She can’t imagine wanting to go in.
Molly, Molly.
This has to be her sister’s idea of a joke. Pulling back on the oars more vigorously, her upper arms are killing her: swim team or not. How does tiny Laura do it? Must be the long, orangutan arms she’s got.
Molly, Molly!
Laura groans in front while Molly ducks her head, letting the Warrior’s cap cover her face. Take that, Charles. Though this could be Fred’s doing: his dumb way of asking her to Spring Fling – like she’d go.
Doubling-down on her effort, she’s just managing to keep up with Laura’s maniacal pace; but once they pass the bend of factories, they’ll be out of sight of the fools and almost at the pier. And she’ll be free of this horrible woman.
Still, Ms. Fischer reminded them this morning that it’s been the hard work of Cal students, like Laura and Josh, to have identified the estuary as being the probable source of toxic levels of cadmium, mercury and lead; the very same chemicals found in Mrs. James’ drinking water and much of nearby Lakeside for the last two years. No local or state environmental agency has lifted a finger to investigate. Instead, it’s been the sole work of Cal students to draw national attention to low-income families being poisoned by their drinking water.
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In fact, Laura suspects that an old computer mainframe factory, which is inside the fenced off heap, is causing the pollution, especially since water tested around the area contains the highest concentration of the three chemicals. And the three chemicals are standard byproducts of computer manufacturing. Josh agrees. It’s the only thing they seem to agree on, but it’s kept them working together all through graduate school.
Strange, the estuary’s never looked so clear. Sunlight bounces off gentle ripples and San Francisco shimmers in the distance: everything sparkles. But Josh warned her against splashing any water in her eyes or mouth and to wash her hands thoroughly before eating or touching food. Actually, he and Laura also agree there’s probably a leaking storage tank full of waste from the computer factory that’s buried close by. But the City of Oakland’s too preoccupied with building luxury apartments downtown to cleanup this area and the statute of limitations has run out to prosecute the factory owners.
Molly. Molly. Molly.
“Can’t you do something?” Laura twists around, snarling with shoulders hunched. “Can’t you shut them up?”
In all honesty, Molly would love to shut them up – shut everyone up – but what is she supposed to do? Ask folks politely to be quiet?
“I can’t think with these Neanderthals,” the double-major-doctoral-candidate continues. “And I still have work to do, if-you-don’t-mind.” She jolts back and attacks the water.
Damn. Laura’s a bitch. And no way can Molly keep up now. But then, Mrs. James sat in their living room a few days ago crying, because half of Lakeside has moved out. She and her three grandchildren are living in a wasteland, she told Molly’s mom. And she’s too sick to clean their house. Her grandkids are sick too; the whites in their eyes have turned piss-yellow. Molly saw it herself. It’s liver failure, Josh explained, from cadmium and mercury poisoning.
Molly, Molly!
She’s up, turning to the fools on shore, “Hey, guys,” she yells. “Guys!” But damn, if the canoe doesn’t lurch away all of a sudden. Her feet and legs are moving forward, while
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the rest pitches backwards; her head’s going for a concrete side, for sure. And the whole boat’s skimming fast away. Shit!
Screams blanket her while she braces for impact – it’s fucking going to hurt. Then she’s bouncing right into contaminated water.
Eyes closed, she hits something solid, but not too hard. And strong arms hold onto her.
“Gotcha,” Josh says into an ear.
But she squirms; she doesn’t want him to feel how fat she is.
“Fucking shit!” Laura’s shriek pierces the clamor. “Morons!”
The test tubes! A wild thumping now fills her chest and ears and she tries to sit upright, clasping a bleeding hand onto grey concrete. But Josh keeps hold.
“Oh my God! Molly!” she hears Mia, exclaim. “Are you all right? My God!”
“All’s well,” Josh shouts to the group, still securing her in the seat.
“Jesus Christ!” Laura breaks in. “All is not well! Stupid – stupid!”
“Awesome!” Fred yells. “You were taking out the boat!”
She lurches up just as Laura secures a lid over the metal box of samples. Thank god.
“Yo, is Ms. Fischer with you?” Fred yells at her. “Am I in trouble?”
“Sweet, Jesus,” Laura says. “Can we get out of here,” she fumes, fitting the square container under a seat before eyeing Josh. “Huh? Can we move?” She takes up her oars and ignores Molly.
“Are those my Chookas?” Mia now shrieks. “Molly!”
Shit. Leave it to Mia to spot her stupid boots. And, of course, Charles has his camera up.
“You’re wearing my boots!” Mia continues.
“You okay?” Josh asks her quietly, as a full-throated chorus of Molly-Molly starts in.
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She’s jammed back in the hull, hand still bleeding, and rows in time to Josh’s soft count of one-two, one-two – in rhythm with Molly, Molly. Stupid Mia; it was dark when she grabbed the dumb things.
But she almost ruined a whole day’s collection of samples. Thank god, Ms. Fischer went to the San Leandro Estuary with the rest of the class. Molly-Molly. Thank god they’re paddling away. Laura’s shoulders lurch up and down, like she’s pounding someone to death. Molly-Molly. She should have fallen in. She’d have hidden under the computer factory until dark. Then gotten cancer and died.
“I’m interviewing Mrs. James later,” Josh tells her. “We both want you to come. Okay?”
Molly-Molly. No. It’s definitely not okay. Nothing’s okay. But she nods affirmatively, keeping time with Laura’s pace.
The End.
Nicole Bostrom has written scripts for PBS, HBO, and the Lifetime Channel. She’s worked with directors Chris Columbus, George Lucas and Wayne Wang, among others, and teaches screenwriting at City College of San Francisco and San Quentin State Prison. She’s researching a novel set in Shanghai and lives in Melbourne.
16 Underground Issue 14: April, 2016 Introducing...
Introducing author Nicole Bostrom, who is developing a series of connected short stories to be published over the next few issues of Underground. A fine morning on the Oakland Estuary introduces Molly Steadman, a high school student in her junior year engaged in a volunteer project with her Ecology Class. The feel-good project is to help uncover a source of contamination that’s polluting a low-income neighborhood’s drinking water. Ostensibly, Molly’s collecting water samples to be analysed later for levels of toxic chemicals. In reality, she’s confronted by a choice that will seal her immediate future at the very least: social girl or nerd? And while this banal selection can only exist among those fortunate enough not to think about survival basics, it’s the Mollys of the world who hold the potential for opening doors to those in need of a leg up who will then offer opportunities to others. This first piece is from a developing collection of linked stories set in fictional Crocker Gardens, California, and Shanghai, People’s Republic of China.
Underground 17 Issue 14: April, 2016 Upcoming Local Opportunities
Opportunities from Australasian and New Zealand publications and organisations
Antic Antic is a new not-for-profit online literary magazine of fiction, non-fiction, poetry and criticism open to Australian and international writers. anticmagazine.com.au/
Monash University Undergraduate Prize for Creative Writing This prize is open to all undergraduate and honours students from all universities across Australia and New Zealand. All forms of creative writing are accepted between 1,500 and 3,000 words. Closes 18th April. monash.edu.au/
The Rachel Funari Prize for Fiction 2016 This is a themed fiction competition open to all Australian women, female-identifying and non -binary writers; the theme is ‘Other’, with a focus on women’s stories. Entries can be up to 2,000 words, closing 22nd April. lipmag.com/
Wildcare Tasmania Nature Writing Prize 2016 Open to both fiction and non-fiction between 2,000 and 4,000 words. Entry is $20 and the winner receives $5,000, publication in Island magazine, and an optional 2 week residency in a Tasmania National Park. Entries close 2nd May. taswriters.org/natureprize/
2016 Dangerously Poetic Byron Bay Writers Festival Poetry Prize Dangerously Poetic Press is an incorporated community group that encourages, publishes and promotes quality poetry. Writers are invited to submit up to 40 lines on the theme ‘Connections’, with a first prize of $500 and a three day ticket to this year’s festival. Closes 10th May. dangerouslypoetic.com/
Griffith Review Novella Project IV Griffith Review are accepting submissions for their annual Novella Project edition, prizes are a share in the $25,000 prize pool and a free one-year digital subscription to Griffith Review. They are seeking original works of fiction between approximately 10,000 and 35,000 words, submissions close 13th May. griffithreview.submittable.com/
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Ubud Writers & Readers Festival and AAWP Prize The Australasian Association of Writing Programs (AAWP) and Ubud Writers & Readers Festival have teamed up with a prize for emerging Australasian writers: a ticket to Ubud Writers & Readers Festival and a one-year annual membership to the AAWP. The theme is ‘Tat Tvam Asi’, which is a Hindu concept meaning ‘I am you, you are me’, and pieces should be in the form of up to 30 lines of poetry or up to 3000 words of prose. Competition closes 15th May. www.ubudwritersfestival.com/aawp-prize/
The Lifted Brow & non/fictionLab Experimental Non-Fiction Prize Open to Australian and international writers, this prize focuses on experimental fiction up 5,000 words in length. Entry fee $7 (free entry for The Lifted Brow subscribers and RMIT students and alumnus), closes 29th May. theliftedbrow.com/experimentalnonfictionwritingprize
The Big Issue Fiction Edition 2016 The Big Issue’s annual fiction edition is open for entries between 300 and 3,000 words. Closes 31st May. thebigissue.org.au/
Local publications regularly accepting submissions Grouch Publishing—grouchpublishing.com Tincture Journal—tincture-journal.com/ Island Literary Magazine—islandmag.com/pages/submit Voiceworks Magazine for Young Writers—oiceworksmag.com.au/contribute/ Going Down Swinging—goingdownswinging.org.au/site/submissions/ Cordite Poetry Review—cordite.org.au/submissions/ Creatrix Poetry & Haiku Journal—creatrix.wapoets.net.au Uneven Floor Poetry Magazine—unevenfloorpoetry.blogspot.com.au
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Upcoming International Opportunities
Opportunities from international publications and organisations
Narrative Magazine—San Francisco, USA Narrative Magazine accepts year-round submissions of fiction, nonfiction, and poetry. narrativemagazine.com/
Limnisa Short Story Competition 2016—Methana, Greece Open to all writers, this competition accepts fiction of up to 3,000 words and the winning entrant receives a Writers’ Retreat or Workshop in 2016 or 2017 at Limnisa, a seaside writers’ centre in Greece. Free to anyone who shares the competition on social media, closes 15th April. www.limnisa.com/
The Bath Short Story Award—Bath, UK This award is open to local, national and international entries from published and unpublished writers. The fee is £8, they accept stories of all genres and styles up to 2,200 words, closing 25th April. bathshortstoryaward.co.uk/
The Novella Award 2016—Cheshire, UK This award is for a fiction novella of 20,000-40,000 words of any genre by a writer of any nationality. It costs £17 to enter, closing 29th April. thenovellaaward.com/
Tom Howard/John H. Reid Fiction and Essay Contest—USA Open theme and style, entries may be published or unpublished short stories, essays or other works of prose, no word limit. Entries cost $US18 each. Closes 30th April. winningwriters.com/
2016 Bristol Short Story Prize—Bristol, UK This prize is open to all writers, accepting works of up to 4,000 words with an open theme. £8 per entry, closing 30th April. bristolprize.co.uk/news/
The Ghost Story Supernatural Fiction Award—Union, USA This award accepts short fiction from approx. 1,500 to 10,000 words in length featuring any supernatural element. Entry is $US20 per story, closing 30th April. theghoststory.com/
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14th Annual Conference On The Short Story In English Story Contest—Shanghai, China This contest is open to all writers; they accept short stories between 2,000 and 3,000 words, and the suggested theme is The Short Story—Influence and Confluence, East and West. Closes 30th April. www.shortstoryconference.org/story-contest
The Exeter Story Prize and Trisha Ashley Award—Exeter, UK This prize accepts stories up to 10,000 words with no lower limit. It costs £10 to enter and stories may be on any theme, but only humorous stories are eligible for the Trisha Ashley Award. Closes 30th April. creativewritingmatters.co.uk/2016-exeter-story-prize
2016 Shooter Short Story Competition—UK This competition has no genre or style requirements and accepts submissions up to 5,000 words. Entry is £7, closing 1st May. shooterlitmag.com/competition/
The David Nathan Meyerson Prize for Fiction—Dallas, USA A prize for short stories up to 8,000 words with an entry fee of $US25. Entries close 1st May. smu.edu/SouthwestReview/
Conium Review 2016 Innovative Short Fiction Contest—USA Accepting entries of any combination of short stories or flash fictions totalling up to 7,500 words. Entries are $US15 each, closing 1st May. coniumreview.com/contests/
Lorian Hemingway Short Story Competition—USA No theme or genre requirements, up to 3,500 words, entry is $US15 per submission. Closes 1st May. shortstorycompetition.com/guidelines/
The Raymond Carver Short Story Contest—Dallas, USA Run by Carve Magazine, this prize accepts short stories up to 6,000 words. Entry is $US17 for online, $US15 for mailed entries, per story; there is no theme. Entries close 15th May. carvezine.com/raymond-carver-contest/
Underground 21 Issue 14: April, 2016
Upcoming International Opportunities
Continued
The Sitcom Mission 2016—UK The Sitcom Mission is a UK-based international comedy writing competition accepting scripts for sitcoms up to fifteen minutes in duration. Entry is £10 and there are several levels of entry, such as entering the script early to be read and returned in time to rewrite it for entry into the main competition. The final deadline is 15th May. comedy.co.uk/sitcom_mission/ info/
A Very Short Story Contest—2016—Gotham, USA For flash fiction writers, entries of no more than ten words. Entry is free, closing 16th May. writingclasses.com/contest/very-short-story-contest-2016
Swansea Writers Horror Writing Competition—Swansea, UK There are three categories to this competition: Scary short stories (1,500-2,500 words, £6 per story), Spine-chilling scripts (TV/film/radio/stage scripts up to 25 minutes, £6 per script), and Eerie poems (up to 42 lines, £4 per poem). Closes 20th May. swanseawriters.co.uk/
Welsh Poetry Competition—Wales, UK Accepting up to 50 lines of poetry with an entry fee of £5 per poem. Closes 29th May. welshpoetry.co.uk/entry/
Finchley Literary Festival Short Story Competition—Finchley, UK Open to any theme and genre, entries have a 1,000 word limit. £5 per entry, closing 31st May. finchleyliteraryfestival.blogspot.com.au/
1,000 Word Challenge—UK Limit of 1,000 words on the theme of ‘Lift’. Entry is £5 (or £8 with feedback). Closes 31st May. 1000wordchallenge.com/
Baltimore Review Writing Contest—Baltimore, USA Accepting up to 3,000 words of fiction or non-fiction or one to three poems on the theme of ‘Games’. Entry is $US10, closes 31st May. baltimorereview.submittable.com/submit/
22 Underground Issue 14: April, 2016
The 2016 WoW! One thousand word story competition—Exeter, UK The UK organisation Creative Writing Matters are holding their annual competition for a 1,000 word story on any theme. It costs £5 to entre, closing 31st May. creativewritingmatters.co.uk/
Fool For Poetry Chapbook Competition—Cork, Ireland This competition is open to writers of poetry, new, emerging or established, of any nationality. They accept manuscripts from 16-24 pages in length in English, in verse or prose poetry. Each chapbook will receive a review in Southword Journal. Closes 31st May. www.munsterlit.ie/
Hourglass Literary Magazine—Bosnia and Hercegovina This competition has three categories: Best Short Story, Best Essay, and Best Poem. There are no theme or genre requirements, entries can be in English or BCMS language (Bosnian, Croatian, Serbian, Montenegrin). Closes 31st May. hourglassonline.org/contest/
The Brighton Short Story Prize—Brighton, UK Accepting flash fiction up to 350 words and short stories of 1,000-2,000 words. Entry is £6 for flash fiction, £8 for short stories. Closes 10th June. brightonprize.com/
Bath Flash Fiction Award—Bath, UK Limit of 300 words on any subject, entry is £9. Closes 12th June. bathflashfictionaward.com/
The Masters Review’s Short Story Award for New Writers—Portland, USA An online and print publication that holds an award for new writers, open from 15th May to 15th July. mastersreview.com/
Underground 23 Issue 14: April, 2016 The team
RaeZor I am majoring in Writing and Events Management with Minors in History and Hospitality at ECU. One day I hope to own a book café, where anyone from anywhere can come and enjoy the atmosphere… or more importantly the food. That’s what reading and writing is to me—a medium that anyone from anywhere can contribute to.
DylanQuent I am studying a major in Literature and Writing, here at ECU, Mt Lawley I believe that collaboration is an integral component to the creative process. I favour pieces dark in nature; I cannot help but visualise a beauty in the macabre. But the pieces that resonate with me most ultimately leave me higher spirited by tale’s end.
Chief I am a Melbourne-based reader, writer and editor of adventures for word-lovers; I have been published in Voiceworks and on Smashwords. You can find me on Facebook, Twitter @oddfeatheredit, and my website oddfeather.co
Candy I have grown up reading every book I could get my hands on. I have a borderline addiction to Pinterest, am a vegetarian, am prone to getting attached to inanimate objects, French fluent, and guilty of becoming too invested in the lives of fictional characters.
24 Underground Issue 14: April, 2016
Read our full biographies at underground-writers.org
Ana’Rchy Avid reader, writer and feminist. I even taught Mark Ruffalo how to be a great feminist. You’re welcome ladies (and Mark – call me later, babes!) Find Ana’Rchy on Instagram and Twitter @anamonthsago
Tim I have a Bachelors in Mass Communication from Redeemer’s University and I am currently a first year Postgraduate student of Marketing and Innovation Management at Edith Cowan University. I am a lover of poems and great speeches, “Let a Hundred flowers Blossom” by Mao Zedong seems to be my all -time favourite. I also love star gazing.
IntoxiKate I have spent my life with my head inside books. I am a perpetual student, zealous writer, incurable reader and passionate editor. My weaknesses are books, tea and quoting authors, “Always”.
ShellShock I am currently a Journalism student at Edith Cowan University. There’s something about getting to know the inner workings of someone during an interview that is compelling, and the same goes for fiction.
Underground 25 Issue 14: April, 2016
Writing exercise #14
Use the following list of words as writing prompts. Read through them until a strong memory stirs and free-write from that memory until you connect to another word on the list. Turn this into a poem that uses stream-of-consciousness association or materiality. Don’t forget to send us the result!
Fold Book Spread Mandarin Across Barb Stand Tendon Crunch Red Swept Powder Hold
Submit your work to Underground at [email protected] For general enquiries email us at [email protected] Our website is underground-writers.org Find us on Facebook at Underground Writers Follow us on Twitter @undergroundWA
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