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Early Bird deal on now!
Submit your poetry, short fiction, and/or creative nonfiction for a chance to win one of three $2,000 prizes and publication.
This year's judges:
Manahil Bandukwala (poetry)
H. Felix Chau Bradley (fiction)
Shane Neilson (cnf)
Look for interviews with them in our upcoming newsletter.
Early Bird entry fee until Sep. 30
(includes a one-year print subscription):
CAD $20 for each entry from Canada
CAD $30 for each entry from elsewhere
CAD $10 for each additional entry, no limit
Head over to our contest guidelines page to learn more.
Veronika Gorlova,
#231 poetry contributor
 Moez Surani talks with his fellow issue #231 contributor about food as an expression of love, language as history and culture, and dismantling systems of injustice.
MS: Is there something you wish people could know about Ukraine? Is there a poem or movie or artwork or anecdote you would like to point us to?
VG: To be honest, the only thing I want people to understand about Ukraine is that Ukrainians are not more worthy of support than anybody else who is fleeing war, genocide, climate change, etc. It was bittersweet to see the outpouring of support for Ukrainian refugees. On the one hand, I knew many people who were fleeing and it was wonderful to see how warmly they were received all over Europe and North America. On the other hand, I’ve never seen this type of positive response to a refugee crisis, both from governments and from ordinary people, and it solidified the racism and injustice that lies at the heart of immigration and border enforcement. A year-and-a-half later, when Israel started its genocide in Gaza, that racism and injustice was amplified.
There’s a brilliant essay written by Palestinian American writer Hala Alyan, published in the New York Times, that was originally titled “Why Must Palestinians Audition for Your Empathy.” In it she writes: “[I]f your shock and distress comes only at the sight of certain brutalized bodies? If you speak out but not when Palestinian bodies are besieged and murdered, abducted and imprisoned? Then it is worth asking yourself which brutalization is acceptable to you, even quietly, even subconsciously, and which is not.”
I know many people who wholeheartedly support Ukraine, but still, almost two years into a genocide, find every excuse to look the other way when it comes to Palestine. So, to those who still find it hard to support the Palestinian cause, I want them to ask themselves why.
Read the rest of Veronika Gorlova's interview as well as her poem, "Following the lodestar."
Moez Surani,
#231 cnf contributor
 Veronika Gorlova talks with her fellow issue #231 contributor about masculinity as camp, candour as a weapon, and seeing past conventions of genre.
VG: The first thing I noticed about this piece is the deliberate choice to refer to Vladimir Putin as “Volodya.” This nickname for Vladimir is usually one that is used by close friends or family and is meant to be endearing, and it creates an interesting contrast to the picture that is painted of Putin (as well as the one many of us have in our heads). Why did you make this decision?
MS:
I thought it helped draw him as a character—that name helped to see him anew, and without the very effortful branding. There’s an air of vulnerability with that form of the name, or, as you say, an intimacy, but an intimacy with the aspects of himself he wishes to hide.
There’s a part of this work that talks about the muscular armoring that narcissists create for themselves. That armoring plays out in the monumental exercise in branding “Vladimir Putin” with menace, mastery, masculinity—but, of course, it’s important to see him in a multivalent way, one that is in concert with this branding, but isn’t overwhelmed by it. This is a story about a Volodya who was bullied in school, who hid behind his teacher’s leg, who withdraws during crises, and who lashes out with cruelty whenever his fallibility is exposed. “Vladimir” is the reassuring projection that Volodya has nervously made for himself and the world.
Read the rest of Moez Surani's interview.
Courtney Bill,
#231 fiction contributor
 Katherine J Barrett talks with her fellow issue #231 contributor about comfort POVs, writing guides, and ambiguity.
KJB: Writing guidebooks often advise us to create characters who “want something.” In “Dog Eat Dog,” neither character seems to want very much—or rather they don’t know what they want or aren’t ready to say it. And yet the story has tension and a beautiful arc. Did you find this difficult to write? What do you think about throwing out conventional writing advice?
CB: I don’t really think about characters’ desires when I’m drafting, maybe because in a way they feel effortless; the fact of a character immediately necessitates desire of some kind. Whether it is visible to themselves or the reader (or to me). People are always wanting something. In “Dog Eat Dog,” I wanted the characters to be pulled between their love and their dislike and their boredom with each other without letting one emotion dominate the others.
I try not to worry about advice too much when I’m writing. You can eschew every piece of conventional advice and write an awesome story, or follow every piece of advice and write something blah. But the opposite is still true; learning the nuts and bolts has been helpful to me. Ultimately, I have to approach that stuff with a consideration for what feels resonant to me or not. When I’m writing, when I’m thick in the murk of it, it’s best if I’m not thinking about rules at all.
Read the rest of Courtney Bill's interview as well as an excerpt from her story, "Dog Eat Dog."
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