My colleague Jason Gillikin and I have just released our first two issues of The Lakeshore Review, Grand Rapids’ only currently active literary magazine (I think?) and we’re pretty proud of it. It takes the place of the 3288 Review, which was cool and groundbreaking and died a glorious pre-COVID death, so we’re glad to fill the void in literary work in Kent County and West Michigan. We will keep publishing triennially, and we’re currently reading for Issue 3 through the end of November, so submit here if you have something ready to go.
We had our release party for Issue 1 and Issue 2 simultaneously, and the event was a joy. In particular, it was good to meet some of our authors in person, especially after the long pandemic hiatus which precluded literary events like this one. We’re hoping to hold some more author events down the road, so keep an eye on this space if you’re interested in attending a reading. You can also visit the links above for some sample pieces from each issue or purchase a copy (both print and digital download available) if you please.
As co-editor, part of my job is to ride herd on selecting the content (fiction, poetry, and creative nonfiction) that will appear in each issue. Choosing from among the hundreds of submissions is challenging and rewarding in equal measure. Below, I have included my editorial for both issues, which may give you some insight on both the selection process and the creation of literary journals from scratch. Feel free to read or ignore.
Editorial, Spring 2022
Trying new things is often uncomfortable. As a first time journal editor, I was expecting the assemblage of the issue to be kin to, say, learning tae kwon do; I was expecting some bruises. Instead, I found this new pursuit was pure pleasure. As a writer, it was a treat to see how the gears work behind the Big Scary Submission MachineTM which is neither as big nor as scary as I anticipated. As a professor and writing group member, I seldom read polished, complete work that I don’t feel compelled to fix. And then, above all, there’s the singular joy that accompanies reading a piece that so deserves more attention and then thinking, I can do that. I get to publish this. What a world.
There were glitches, of course. We’re still streamlining our submission system. Our email provider is apparently landing in spam (or just not sending at all). Getting registered with and approved by the various creative writing verifiers, gatekeepers, and publicity mavens is like dancing a spicy little bureaucratic two-step. But we put together a team here at Lakeshore who like to dance. So, for the last two years, from initial inspiration to this first issue, we’ve been waking up each morning to say, “Play it again, Sam.” Because we have a goal: to publish fantastic, important, and accessible work by the writers of the Great Lakes.
And that’s what we’ve done here, or at least tried to do, and we hope you’ll agree. The writers and poets in these pages embody what’s best about this beautiful region. They’re introspective, understated, and modest, right up until they decide they’re sick of it and get real loud. Pay special attention to stories from Julia Poole, Phillip Sterling, Dominic Bryan, and Maggie Hill, who all speak to illness and the times in which we endure. The poets here, too, are often aligned, though they look to the world that is enduring us for inspiration. Watch Robert Wolfkill, Bri Bruce, Steve Barichko, Elia Hohauser-Thatcher, and Andrea Janelle Dickens work natural space into line and stanza that in turn transport us straight back outside. All the stories and poems here will ask you to sit, push you out a chair, and then lay it on you. We hope you enjoy the experience.
Editorial, Fall 2022
As this issue was coming together, I was thinking about Salman Rushdie. At the time of this writing, it appears the author and champion of free speech will survive the knife attack that nearly ended his life. In a year that’s seen the reemergence of book banning and censorship, Rushdie’s bravery seems all the more profound. It also reminded of something Richard Russo said of Rushdie in the Forward to his edition of the Best American Short Stories. According to Russo, when asked what about the point of writing fiction, Rushdie had only one thing to say concerning the author’s job: “To entertain and to instruct.”
And though he was referring to the novelist in particular, I feel this advice is salient to all creative writers. First, captivate. Last, educate. When a poem concludes and rocks me off of my axis, lifts me away from my desk, asks me to shut up for a minute and listen, I know that I’ve been moved. When a short story wraps up and I’ve learned something new, about a new subject or about people in general or even about myself, I know that I’ve read something worth knowing. As readers, these reactions keep us coming back, keep us wanting more. And as writers, it’s what we must seek to be relevant, to be worthwhile, to deserve to be read.
Each writer in this issue has achieved that lofty goal, to deserve to be read. The poets and authors contained in these pages both entertain and instruct. Each and every piece enthralls us before teaching us something new. From subjects ranging from Halloween candy to agoraphobia to burying a dog, our short fiction authors weave tapestries from the threads of the human condition. Our poets pull life lessons from gardens and battlefields, golf courses and wrestling, all for our betterment. How lucky we are to be able to share the work of these amazing writers with you. How lucky are we all to be readers.