Field Notes

My mind’s eye becomes that of a tlaquetzqui, and I find my soul operating on a different plane. I understand it all. I don’t know if it was the references to the music of my childhood or the red wine starting to kick in (maybe a mixture of both?), but I felt a wave of admiration come over me.

We’re excited to share some updates to our submission guidelines and payment rates!

The majority of creative writers are jostling and jockeying to be known. We’re plagued by a desire to share our insights and stories with the world. No writer wants to die unknown.

It does her story a disservice to repeatedly stop and ask her to filter her culture through a white lens so that her struggles are more understandable.

My personal theory behind this phenomenon is that we continue to rely on the familiarity of authors and resources available in a cyclical pattern of engagement: the books that get taught/studied are the ones with an abundance of critical works written about them, and vice versa. But this recycling bin we continue to draw from is something that should be acknowledged if we ever want to change the ways in which we speak about texts.

Autofiction is a safe space. I can accept readers connecting dots, finding similarities, and seeing me through the cracks. And I think those who find themselves veiled in my work can too.

Cozy horror troubles me not due to the lack of violent or shocking content, but because its existence illustrates how wildly off-base our current cultural understanding of the horror genre is. Even we avowed horror fans seem to have forgotten our roots.

Even if we share similar experiences, the complexity of the human mind and its emotions could be written a million different ways, and in each way, be as uniquely personal and infinitely layered as the last.