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

By

Who made it? Issue #28

Who made it?

September 2023 | Issue #28

With “My Bad” by Deborah Adams

“Brother Can You Spare a Dime” by George Michael.
black and white image of a small person falling, arms and legs behind them in a misty sky as they look toward a tree canopy

“Untitled” by Henry & Co.

Antique old clock with roman numerals in an abstract fractal spiral.
“Untitled” by Mikhail Leonov.

With “The Conqueror” by Michael Waterson

“The Conqueror (El conquistador de Mongolia)” by Victor Young.

With “Please Advise” by Christine Aucoin

Portrait of confused young woman with blurred face. She is moving her head fast, so her face isn't identifiable.

“Untitled” by Sophia Floerchinger.

Graphic illustration of a black staircase with the same blue silhouette of a business person on each step and the person on top is a red silhouette being pushed down by a large pointer finger

“Termination Dismissal Released” by RosZie.

Acknowledgments

Image of Genghis Kahn statue at Smithsonian Associates.

Rendering of Fremont St. in Las Vegas at Rare Historical Photos.

Image of error message by SkillUp.

By

From the Editors | Issue #27

May 2023

From the Editors

From within or from behind, a light shines through us upon things, and makes us aware that we are nothing, but the light is all. –Ralph Waldo Emerson

We say goodbye to our third season with three reflections on loss. Issue 27 moves from grief, to regret, and then into a kind of rebirth. The body in Kelly Vance’s “Open Casket, 2020” is “a coded message too long to decipher in a single lifetime.” There is nothing to decode in the examined betrayal and remorse in “Mostly Sorry,” a eulogy of lost love by Susan Wadds. “But there is light, muted yet glistening” shining through Laurie Easter’s “Transmute,” where in water “floating sand is the mirror of stardust.” The light is all. It shines here, in these pieces.

—Claire, Suzanne, Cheryl 

Join Our Growing Community

We’re in our third season 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.

*We promise never to sell or share your information. We hate spam as much as you do. For more info, read our full Privacy Policy.

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!

Support WWR

By

Who made it? Issue #27

Who made it?

May 2023

With “Open Casket, 2020” by Kelly Vance

“First Day of My Life” by Bright Eyes.
closeup of dandelion stem with a few attached seeds, and a string of seeds blowing away out of focus
“Untitled” by Saad Chaudhry

With “Mostly Sorry” by Susan Wadds

“Baby Can I Hold You” by Tracy Chapman.
small colorful stones on the bank of rippling water topped with a glimmer of sunlight
“Untitled” by Dey Kheireddine.

With “Transmute” by Laurie Easter

“Time After Time” by Cyndi Lauper.

Acknowledgments

Background image of parking lot by Tim Meyer via Unsplash.

Image of apartment door by Rodrigo Santos via Pexels.

Image of Ipomoea alba (Moonflower) budding by Don McCulley.

Background image of shoreline by Nathan Tran via Pexels.

By

Who made it? Issue #26

Who made it?

April 2023 | Issue #26

With “Omnia Vanitas” by Donna Obeid

“Dance on The Moon” by Aurora.
1800s oil painting of fair-skinned woman with long straight brown hair leaning on her elbow, her other hand resting on a human skull, looking dreamy and contemplative into the distance
Omnia Vanitas, 1848, by William Dyce.
Untitled by MariaD.

With “Remembering Adella” by Anna Citrino

abstract field with rough brush strokes for grass, valleys and hillsides in white, gray, and blue
Embracing the Silence by Wanda Loomis.
early version of Picasso's Woman Ironing; woman with dark brown hair, olive skin, bent over using a flat iron; colors are all tinted with hues of blue
La Repasseuse, 1901, by Pablo Picasso.

With “The Shawl” by Elizabeth Bedell

Chopin Etude in E major Op. 10 no. 3 “Tristesse” by Henrik Kilhamn.
curly blond-headed child in red coat and hat bending over a wall covered in vines with a key to unlock a secret door; book cover of The Secret Garden
Cover: The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett. Illustrated by Maria Louise Kirk.
painting of women wearing Kashmiri shawls; colors of the background are earth tones and abstract; women are wearing cream-colored shawls with the same earth tones as the background
Cashmere, 1908, by John Singer Sargent.

Acknowledgments

Field background by BETRuleR via Alpha Coders.