Spring 2017 – Issue 4
We couldn’t be happier with the final issue in our first cycle. Containing etchings, poetry, photographs from an old book called Metallurgy, this issue combines both our aesthetics and the voices of our writers and artists in a way that even we didn’t think was possible.
A year ago, three friends had an idea to launch a literary magazine, and over the next few months fumbled around with ideas and website builders and begged people they knew, as well as random people on the internet, to submit art and literature to their new project.
A year has passed, four seasons, and we’re here to round out The Slag Review, Year One, with our first Spring Issue. It’s the end of first issues, but certainly not the end of firsts. Every quarter, every month, every day we are learning and relearning how to do this, and we can’t thank you enough for joining us on this journey.
Perhaps this quarter’s letter from the editor (or Leditor, as I keep accidentally saying it) says this better.
An etching is a story, a story is an etching.
…Ok, we admit that first sentence was a little pretentious, and we could probably have done better. Let’s try again.
How have you been? Issue 4 is excited to meet you, even though it’s a little self conscious. Don’t worry, it will be okay. There have been setbacks and cutbacks and cutthroats and one-two-steps since the last issue, with all of us figuring out more about ourselves, about the business, literature, art, meaning, but there is only this final product to show for all of that.
Etchings are not that way. If you want to, you can save every part, trace the steps from beginning to end, show your pain and hesitation, that one speck of blood from when you pricked your thumb, reminding you of rust on the metal. And when you finally print, what you create is the reverse of what you made. And that’s that, you suppose. That’s how it always will be.
From now, to then, and again, we’ll try to document the phase shifts. Each issue may be a complete whole, but our artists and their work contained herein are each their own etching. As permanent, as imperfect, and as beautiful as the ink that stains and stays.
This quarter, we’re working closely with our readers and one of our favorite poets to create this new project:
You Lost the Game:
a poem in pieces
Did you receive a print copy with a card in it? Follow the instructions, take a picture of the card and email it to firstname.lastname@example.org.
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Are you new, and want to learn more about us?
And most importantly, see what we’ve already published on our Issues page. This is the heart and soul of what we are here for: sharing art and literature created by small, individual people with the big world outside of them.
Are you a writer? An artist? A colony of bees gifted with sentience?
We’d love to hear from you, so:
We want everything: your poetry, your prose, your artwork, but we especially want the bits and pieces that went into making them.
We at The Slag Review are here to dispense with the flowery image some have with writers and artists as lone geniuses, hiding away and coming out of their offices with perfectly crafted works after only a single try.
The truth is, this shit is hard. We know. So send us the thing that broke you-that one piece you’ve been slaving over for months on end, and have finally beaten into submission. Send us that, along with pictures of notebook pages, scribbles on napkins, random phone notes on the subway-We want to show the world how this is done.