The Common is a new print literary magazine based at Amherst College. We publish stories, poems, essays, and dispatches with a strong sense of place. We accept translations for which translators hold the appropriate rights. Contributors to past issues include Jim Shepard, Jennifer Haigh, Ted Conover, Phillip Lopate, J. Malcolm Garcias, Martha Cooley, Lauren Groff, Fiona Maazel, John Matthias, Rafael Campo, Yehudit Ben-Zvi Heller, Honor Moore, Sabina Murray, Mary Jo Salter, Tom Sleigh, Susan Kinsolving, Major Jackson, Ilan Stavans, and Don Share. Issue 04 is available as of October 2012.
(3 credits for 1 manuscript)
(3 credits for 1 manuscript)
(0 credits for 1-2 manuscripts)
(0 credits for 1 manuscript)
Design Award from New York Book Show
Best American Notable Essay 2012
The spring 2013 reading period opens March 1 and closes May 31. Subscribers may submit year round in any genre for free. Please choose the Subscriber Submission genre in Tell It Slant.
Poetry submissions are closed until Fall 2013.
Works must be in English and previously unpublished. We happily accept translations for which the translator has secured the rights. There are no length restrictions, except for dispatches (see below). Simultaneous submissions are allowed; please notify us if the work is accepted elsewhere. Submit only one story or essay per reading period. Give us three months to read your work, please, before querying. Please submit only once per submission period.
Include the title, your name, email address, and the genre of the piece on the first page of your submission. Do not submit PDFs; Word docs only.
Dispatches are notes, news, and impressions from around the world. Both prose and verse accepted. Length: up to 500 words. They are accepted year round and are published online only.
The Common pays contributors for works that appear in the print magazine. Stories and essays: $100. Poems: $20 each.
Electronic submissions through Tell It Slant carry a reading fee of $1.50. If this fee is a financial hardship, please contact us at firstname.lastname@example.org.
WHEN I WAS RELEASED, I took her on a trip to Hawaii to thank her, to say how sorry I was. I chose a quiet resort that catered to the camera-sore. We had a private beach, a banana tree, a bed so large we could barely swim to meet in the middle. During the day, my wife grew tan and supple under massages given by pretty young women with hyacinths in their hair. Because of my bad heart, I was no longer allowed too much of anything, sun, food, exercise, and so I read my books and magazines in the fluttery cabana on our private beach. We skirted one another, shy as newlyweds, nuzzling lamblike in the late afternoons, excessively kind. I couldn’t stop looking at her. How marvelous she looked: young and dimpled and lean, far too beautiful to be mine.