Dear Readers,

When we launched Waterwheel Review, we were keen to explain why we were so moved and motivated by the image of the waterwheel. Water stands for language, an ever flowing, renewable source; the waterwheel, an engine of labor, circles through, lifting words and then dropping them back into the running stream. Our magazine is a mill, we said, where the waterwheel powers writing and publishing. “We want—and need—to make things.”

For a couple of years, now, we have known that we can’t make enough of our own things while we give so much energy to the work of others. We have had to cut substantially the time and attention devoted to our own writing, and mostly we have been glad to do it, determined to find a way to repay our own work in the end. We never did find that way.

If we could quit our jobs and earn that income publishing this magazine, we would take that deal in an instant. But that’s not the world we live in. For many, many months we have known this, but we couldn’t accept it until now. And thank goodness for that.

Every single issue of this magazine has been a wonder that transported and enchanted us. We can’t say we gloried in every moment. We read or edited or built the site at times while sick, exhausted, grieving—that’s the nature of any publication. But we damn well gloried in every word, every paired image and sound.

Four years and thirty-six issues: What an honor to publish our contributors. What a privilege to offer stunning work to our readers. We must use the word pleasure, too, always rolled out to accompany “honor and privilege,” but pleasure isn’t strong enough, nor is gratitude nor joy nor blessing. For once we find ourselves at a loss for words to express precisely what it has meant to keep this waterwheel turning.

Maybe this will do it: How many times does anyone ever fully achieve the glittering, half-glimpsed vision floating above; that winking, flirting piece of art we ache to manifest? For the three of us, precisely this once.

We will keep making things and so will you. We started this magazine with the image of the waterwheel and a Jean Rhys quote, and we will end in the same way, as we thank you for reading and submitting, and wish you and yours all the very best:

Listen to me. All of writing is a huge lake. There are great rivers that feed the lake, like Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky. And there are mere trickles, like Jean Rhys. All that matters is feeding the lake. I don’t matter. The lake matters. You must keep feeding the lake.

—Claire, Suzanne, Cheryl

September 1, 2024: Waterwheel Review will stay online for the foreseeable future. It remains as it looked for the final June 2024 issue.

Waterwheel Review

Literature Without Labels

Archives for September 2021

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From the Editors | Issue #11

October 2021

From the Editors

None of us want to be in calm waters all our lives. — Jane Austen

Dis-ease, one of us said—Issue 11 is thick with it. Dis-ease through disruption—that’s the source of the energy running through this work. Sherre Vernon in “City Cancels 4th of July” and Brooke Middlebrook in “Philosophy of the Dance” disrupt their own narratives with borrowed text, layering in more meaning with see-sawing voice and tone. So much of the power of Laine Harrington’s “Philippines, 1973” comes from jarring images and word choices that shove attention from one line to another. Subject, form, and diction are so very different, yet all three pieces feel uneasy and out-of-focus, with protagonists always on the edge of one kind of danger or another. Having spent a year and a half, now, more-or-less sheltering in place… our psyches are ready for a little less stillness.

—Claire, Suzanne, Cheryl

Join Our Growing Community

We’re just getting started here at Waterwheel Review, and we couldn’t be happier. But we have big dreams. Right now we have two ways—in addition to being an author or maker—to be a part of our labor of love.

1. Sign up for our newsletter.

You’ll know when each issue goes live and learn news about WWR and our authors.

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2. Support literature without labels.

All expenses are out of pocket. Any help goes to our submissions manager and media. We would LOVE to one day pay authors, hold contests, speak at conferences… (slow down, deep breath). Thank you for supporting literature and art!

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Writer’s Notebook: “The Shut-In”

Writer’s Notebook: “The Shut-In”

Published March 2021, Issue #7

white run down bungalow with overflowing garbage cans in front

For a while I thought Maine might avoid the Delta-variant-driven spike in Covid cases. These past couple of weeks I’ve accepted that last year’s postponed Thanksgiving visit from my sister and her husband will be postponed once again. In a fit of disappointment over this, I asked my husband how many introverts like us might morph into shut-ins because of this pandemic. That term—“shut-in”—isn’t one I’ve heard or used much. It came to mind, I’m sure, because of Erica Kent’s piece we published this past March. And I’m so pleased it did, because it led me away from my frustration and brought me back to her good work.

I asked Erica about her inspiration for the piece:

“The Shut-In” is based on a true story. My parents moved into the shut-in’s home “sight unseen” in the summer of ’68, about nine months before I was born. As my dad was pretty acerbic, it proved easy to imagine his comments as he and my mom went from room to room unearthing treasures of their starter home. The story became part of our family folklore, or what was our family until my parents got divorced in 1983. A couple of years ago, when I set about writing the piece, I mined my mother for details. I wanted to call my dad too, but as he had recently died, I made do with what I envisioned he would’ve remembered. I tried to stay faithful to my parent’s personal history, as well as the character of the shut-in. In a few places I gave myself creative license, and, as such, technically the piece is fiction. My favorite part, the ball of hair, is true. It was the starting point.

When Covid hit and the country went into lockdown, the implications of the piece expanded. A revised story might very well include playing with time, creating more of a back and forth examination of what it means to be tucked away from daily life. But for now, after many drafts, I am satisfied with the scope of this version.

As usual, our search for companion pieces led us to images and articles we didn’t end up using that have nevertheless stayed with us. I love this photo-treatment of the anxiety behind agoraphobia, for example. And Cheryl suggested this video of Joan Cusack as Sheila, who suffers from agoraphobia, in the television series Shameless. I haven’t watched a single episode (yes, Cheryl, I will get to it) but was moved to tears by this video and still think about a couple of the scenes.

Thank you again, Erica, for your fantastic work, and for the timely reminder that art is refuge.

–Claire Guyton

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7VByc6iAxDI&ab_channel=TessWolvert

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Who made it? Issue #10

Who made it?

September 2021 | Issue # 10

With “Prognosis: Blue” by Heather McClelland

“To Build a Home” choreographed by Ana Zimhart.
“Sometimes Ghosts” by Michelle Goega.

With “Surfacing” by Phebe Jewell

“Road to Nowhere” by Talking Heads.

With “canyon market” by Rex Wilder

“Grandma’s Hands” by Bill Withers.
“Colorful Past” by author.

Acknowledgments

Background photo of an iris by StockSnap from Pixabay.

Child with backpack photo by Maël BALLAND from Pexels. (Photoshopped by Cheryl Wilder.)

Background photo of fog by Nina from Pexels.

Background photo of bee on flower by Hiếu Hoàng from Pexels.

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Writer’s Notebook: “A Thing of Beauty”

Writer’s Notebook: “A Thing of Beauty”

Published December 2020, Issue #4

As we launch our second season with Issue #10, I’m still reflecting on the work our authors let us showcase in season one. The piece I’ve been coming back to lately, because it speaks to the way I’m feeling as I re-enter Waterwheel Review, is Nancy Jorgensen’s “A Thing of Beauty.” It feels like a meditation, I said in our editors’ notes. I like its wandering shape.

Photo by author.

I reached out to Nancy last week to ask about her inspiration for “A Thing of Beauty.”

Almost every day, I hike through a county park. It’s only a five-minute walk from my house, with hiking paths, mountain bike trails and a swimming hole. I explore the forests, look for new blooms, and listen to the frogs or birds or squirrels. One of those walks inspired the first part of my essay. Then, I used collage form to build on this theme of finding beauty. Starting with a personal experience, I expanded out to my grandparents and their love of beautiful things, and then further out to a place close to me, but removed from my immediate life. As I wrote the three sections, I kept finding connections: that my grandparents lived in the same time period as Alfred Lunt and Lynn Fontanne; that beauty is important, especially in challenging times; that a powerful legacy can affect future generations; that a search for beauty is universal whether young or old, rich or poor, famous or ordinary. When Waterwheel Review asked for visual art as a companion piece, my daughter suggested her friend’s nature-inspired prints. So, there are more connections, with beauty that spans words and images, and creativity that spans generations.

abstract of flowers in vase with pinks, oranges, red and yellows
Flowers by Maggie Lach.

Searching out, considering, and selecting companion pieces is such an important part of our process, and connects us deeply to each publication. We looked at a handful of images, videos, and poems as we readied “A Thing of Beauty” for publication. In the end, we used one of the nature-inspired prints Nancy mentions above, Maggie Lach’s Flowers, and although we strongly considered this video about Ten Chimneys—I was particularly high on it—we settled on this one instead, as a celebration of Nancy’s final line.

Once again, many thanks to Nancy Jorgensen for sharing her terrific work with us.

—Claire Guyton