Andrew Katz Well, it’s really happening. Your constant surveillance of the Weather Channel app on your phone, paired with an infrastructure incapable of handling light precipitation, has pleased the weather deities enough that you’ve been granted a snow day. Amazing. Now what? You could spend it like you spent your…
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Top Ten Pieces of Media that Made Me Realize I was a Feminist
Bailey Shea I’ve always been a feminist, but haven’t always had experience to back it up. Growing up in generally-liberal Connecticut, I didn’t always feel like I needed to prove my strength or defend women. By reading books and listening to music, I realized that many women (including those marginalized…
Bookshelves Filled with Untouched Novels
Parker Gregory Shpak I’m going to say something heretical to our collective faith as literary-folk. Here goes… Reading is boring. Whew! Okay, great, I’m still here. There’s no angry horde at my door. The walls of my home are still standing and I still have my health. Still,…
Why Social Media Poetry Isn’t the End of the World Or, Why Christopher Poindexter is More Successful Than You
Amanda McCarthy unsplash-logoJohannes Roth Poetry looks like leather-bound journals, sounds like typewriter keys, and tastes like lukewarm Malbec. Poetry is something you do in your hybrid study-library with your prized, purebred poodle Pascal at your feet. Sometimes, writers are inherently nostalgic creatures, wanting to crawl back into previous centuries to…
10 Reasons to Start Your Own Bookstagram
Rachel Conte I never found much satisfaction in scrolling through Instagram pictures of the same people fishing for likes by using cleavage and HD quality as bait, until one day I discovered the secret wardrobe of Instagram hidden from the mainstream drag; an endless bookiverse of readers just like myself…
What Book to Read Next Based on How You Decorated your College Dorm Room
Rebecca Hill Whether you’ve found yourself searching recently for the next book on your reading list or for your memories of certain nights in college, you may be surprised to learn that there’s no reason these two experiences can’t be combined—or at least, why not use what you do remember…
Constance By Jeremiah Dennehy (2017)
The Jennie Hackman Memorial Prize for Fiction, Third Place (2017) I don’t take the school bus, I don’t drive, and because mom doesn’t get home from work until four most of the time, I don’t ask her for a ride. But if I take the 509 toward Whitney Avenue at…
Erythrophobia By Jameson Croteau (2017)
From out in the outfield dirt, the crack of the bat was the only indicator a ball was rising up before dive bombing, back through the crepuscular sky. Jimmy turned and chased the echo of the sound. Go foul… Go foul… The ball, draped in a cloak of clouds, seemed…
Crumbling Walls By Kristina Reardon (2017)
Long River Graduate Writing Award, Winner (2017) “Petra, she say there be bones,” my grandmother told me, pointing beyond me to the old castle on top of the hill. The frame of the old, Slavic structure was about as beautiful as a decaying tooth with jagged corners. A revolting brownness…
Angus By Sten Spinella (2017)
The Jennie Hackman Memorial Prize for Fiction, Second Place (2017) The girl I was seeing had this dog, a real fluffy fucker, whose name was Angus. It was her boyfriend’s dog. She was taking care of Angus because his owner was studying abroad in New Zealand for the semester. I…
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