Your beloved Editors are pleased to announce that the final poetry and fiction selections for Nude Bruce Review’s third issue have been made! We will compile the magazine this month, and we plan on making the issue available during the first week of January 2014. Consider this our way of ushering in the new year in lieu of “Auld Lang Syne.”
Although we cannot reveal much, here are two spoilers:
- We will feature work from international writers.
- There may or may not be a stunning new cover.
Happy Autumn, Nude Brucians!
We are excited to report that we have received a healthy amount of submissions for the Winter 2013 issue, but you still have two more weeks to dazzle us into a near-death stupor of literary euphoria with your work (and we do love that state of literary euphoria, trust us). Particularly, we would enjoy the opportunity to read more fiction submissions. So, spread the word!
To submit, simply click on the ‘Submit’ tab at the top of our page and act accordingly. Remember, the submission period closes when you start seeing this kind of stuff happening around town:
Happy writing and submitting,
Hey y’all. We have some exciting news here at NBR. The submissions window for our third issue is officially open! We’re ready be heated up and bothered about by* all of the fiction and poetry YOU can send us. Seriously, make it salacious.
Please note the following guidelines:
- Poetry – Please submit 1-4 poems for consideration. Poems should be uploaded via the Submissions Manager (link below). For the convenience of the editors, please submit each poem INDIVIDUALLY (i.e. only one poem per document). If all poems are contained within one document, only the first poem will be considered.
- Fiction – Please submit a short work of fiction (3000 word maximum) for consideration. We will definitely accept flash fiction as well. Fiction pieces should be uploaded via the Submissions Manager (link below). For the convenience of the editors, please submit each story INDIVIDUALLY (i.e. only one story per document).
- “The Prude Bruce Clause” – For the convenience of the editors, please limit yourself to one and only one of the genres listed above (poetry or fiction). Choices!
- For the Veterans – If your work was featured in a previous issue of NBR, feel free to submit more work to us, but please understand that priority will be given to fresh, new writers. On the other hand, if you’re just plain brilliant (again), you can expect us to agonize (again) over your work along with the rest of the noobz.**
The submissions link is just below. Zounds!
*Two prepositions in a row!
**The term “noobz” should not be mistaken for a pejorative. Spelling is correct.
Sometimes Papa Jim would help Curtis start the prop of his duster. The blades spun off into a transparent disc that looked like it was beginning to wheel the other way around as it accelerated.
In the freedom of Sunday afternoons, Papa Jim flew over the fields of green in the back seat of a corn-yellow duster with a few beers, drinking in the air.
The snarling engine was too loud for them to hear any talk. In roaring silence Papa Jim got his thinking done in the tranquility torn from the low sky.
They threaded back and forth with each long low pass over the quilt patches, and with each turn the furrowed land fanned out like rays of striped light. They flew so low that Jim could see the bugs just before they were dusted under the wing. He looked behind at the cascade of fertilizers and pesticides and counted how long it took the clouds to hit the ground, knowing he couldn’t hope to fall so slow.
He felt as though the plane ought to move faster to stay in the air. He felt unlikely up here, a big man, in this coughing hunk, challenging fate and teasing gravity.
He was one to challenge and tease between working too hard. It was how he unwound from the grating impersonal violence of surviving. Wealth and poverty were pretty well predetermined in his community. But he was a big man, and hardship strong and when an overconfident money man fell in his path he personified Papa Jim’s faceless foe. When Jim and his pals would find a hive of such soft-handed dollops in one of the dance halls, they would draw sticks. If you drew the short stick then it was your turn to start the fight.
He flew miles and miles inside that square mile. He wondered how far he might’ve gone if he could unwind that tangled flight path into one long straight line.
(by C. Hancock)
(© Martin Stamat)
Flat barren desolation before me,
Alone at last at the location of droughts and snake bites.
Take in the serenity.
Very good, until I catch the loneliness bug and start a conversation with a cactus
Or a chuckwalla.
That’s the sign of un-sanity and dehydration.
Didn’t you bring the water?
Just keep moving till you collapse and die.
I’m sure your body will be taken care of properly
And with respect for the dead.
Most people fear those incorrectly buried–
That’s how ghosts and ghouls are born.
(by Aaron Vigil)
(© Martin Stamat)
In case you thought we were merely hibernating for copious amounts of time (ahem, you wouldn’t be entirely incorrect, but only Bruce himself can judge us), we’ve decided to grace you with a sufficient update regarding our literary shenanigans.
First, a short yet informative promotional video for our humble publication has been filmed and is currently being edited; it’ll emerge along with the next call for submissions in August. GET EXCITED!
Secondly, beginning with this, we’ll make it a habit of posting individual poems, stories, letters, etc. semi-frequently for your entertainment, so watch out for these each week or so. The first of these posts is a lovely Thank You letter from a gentleman named Allan Benson to his former library coworkers. Enjoy:
Thanks for your patience, folks. We’re out of our caves now, so we’ll be in touch.