jmww (https://jmwwblog.wordpress.com/), a weekly journal of writing publishing the best in fiction, poetry, flash, essays, and interviews. Our stories have appeared in Best American Essays, Best Small Fictions, Wigleaf Top 50, BIFFY, and Best of Net.
JMWW Journal
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Blended & Beyond: Mr. Yellow Bathrobe by Karen Walker
Tonight's life drawing model appears in a yellow bathrobe. I recognise it. Then I recognise him. The man is my neighbour.
JMWW Journal
Flash Fiction: Let’s Read This Picture Book by Sage Tyrtle
Skip forward five pages. Skip past the toddlers with the rubber knives and toddlers with the cardboard handcuffs and the toddlers in their severe uniforms.
Poetry: Voices Over Rooftops by Alexandra Burack
A cow barn, once, my red cedar-shaked house, the basement limestone-walled and trough-lined for milking.
Creative Nonfiction: Merely Missing by Katie Robinson
In my dream, you’re still merely missing, your body not yet recovered, and an etching of hope remains that I will find you.
Arrested Development: An Interview with Abby Frucht by Curtis Smith
I'm not looking for my writing to be legible so much as arresting, worthy of some degree of immersion on the part of the reader.
Fiction: Joanie Takes The Plunge by Jen Wrightsmith
From assistant professors with trimmed beards, borrowed theories, and wandering eyes, Joan decided to get a job. That, and she was flat broke.
Creative Nonfiction: Four Pictures by Nicholas De Marino
The fridge never stops humming. It's the same pitch as the ringing in my ears.
Poetry: Poem with IUD & a Man’s Hunger by Kiyanna Hill
We lived in a basement apartment, mildew choking our throats.
Submissions Open
We are reading Poetry, Blended & Beyond, Flash Fiction and Creative Nonfiction through June 15th (CNF and Flash Fiction will cap at 40 submissions)
Creative Nonfiction: Cure Soliloquy by Majda Gama
As I walk into the coffee house, they’re playing Pictures Of You. It sounds the way it did when I first heard it, after high school; lack of sleep a phantom limb I dragged with me every day.
In my dream, you’re still merely missing, your body not yet recovered, and an etching of hope remains that I will find you.
Skip forward five pages. Skip past the toddlers with the rubber knives and toddlers with the cardboard handcuffs and the toddlers in their severe uniforms.
We are reading Poetry, Blended & Beyond, Flash Fiction and Creative Nonfiction through June 15th (CNF and Flash Fiction will cap at 40 submissions)
As I walk into the coffee house, they’re playing Pictures Of You. It sounds the way it did when I first heard it, after high school; lack of sleep a phantom limb I dragged with me every day.
