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Below are descriptions for positions we are looking to fill. All positions are 100% volunteer.
Applications are due December 30, 2016.
Social Media Manager
Send your resume and a brief description of why you’re interested in working with an inclusive, diverse, and feminist literary magazine to firstname.lastname@example.org. You may also include an explanation of previous experiences or writing samples that you feel are relevant.
Be sure to include which position you are applying for in the subject line.
Tweet us @thefemlitmag with any questions!
*Please no follow up emails*
We’re still on hiatus, but we have a wonderful (free) opportunity to share. The Fem Literary Magazine will be hosting our very first workshop! We’re looking for eight (8) people to join our editor, Jasmine Combs, as she explores the art of spoken word. What makes it different from written poetry? What does it mean to perform a piece?
Saturday, December 3, 2016 @ 1-2pm EST
Sunday, December 11, 2016 @ 1-2pm EST
Thanks in advance to all who apply. We hope to have more workshop activities in the future so please keep an eye out for those as well!
The Fem Lit Mag is taking a temporary break until the new year. Expect new content January 2, 2017. Submissions are still open, so send us your best!
We have some exciting projects coming up and we can’t wait to get back. Follow us on twitter for more updates.
See you in the new year!
Autumn & Rachel
The page: a body
is this, a body is that.
The threat: internal
and opaque. This might mean
the girl is external to everything.
Mirrors double the quick
movement. Impossible pleasure—
to picture her own closed eyes.
A mask of lack: the nose missing Continue reading “The Monster Is Familiar by Emily Anne Hopkins”
Ginette took from the dryer a big hoodie, a pair of sweatpants, and a pair of fluffy socks. She dressed and returned to her room where papers and clothing decorated the floor and her dresser. After moving a pile of books from bed to floor, she crawled under the covers.
Cold corrupted the Chicago streets outside her home. Thermal capital passed from feet to cold, contracted wooden floors, and the vacuum of Chicago winter stole that drop of warmth from the broken-heater house.
Awake but absent from her head, she kept quiet, squeezing eyes shut, squeezing herself into a ball of heat under blankets.
She found a bruise of unknown origin on her left shoulder muscle. She poked the raw spot with her index and middle finger; flesh stung and pressed against bone. Continue reading “The Demon Arm by Alice Pow”