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

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

By

From the Editors | Issue #10

September 2021

From the Editors

What gives light must endure burning. —Viktor Frankl

We open our second season of Waterwheel Review with three beautifully quiet pieces… that burn. No, that’s not quite right. They do something more satisfying—they settle deeply into what is burning off. Burning out. In Heather McClelland’s “Prognosis Blue,” color and shape disappear into unfiltered light; in Phebe Jewell’s “Surfacing,” the need to escape dissipates into fog over water; in “canyon market,” Rex Wilder writes into what is, finally, truly ripe. These pieces remind us of all the ways we burn. How much we can’t help wanting more color, more space, more time. It’s a new year for Waterwheel Review—nine issues of MORE. We’ll be showcasing every joyous piece of writing that comes our way.

—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.

*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

Editor’s Note | Issue #7

March 2021

Editor’s Note

claire guyton headshot

John Prine was one of my favorite writers. When he died of Covid, I took a day off to mourn him. As always, I found refuge in his lyrics. 

His songs are full of stories that somehow marry goofiness, poignancy, and deep sadness. Despite appreciation for his work, my husband can listen to Prine only in short spurts or he will sink into melancholy. I’m so surprised by this, because it’s the sadness that I appreciate most. Writing that captures our worries and griefs comforts me. No, much more. It buoys me. I rise.

All genuine hardship and loss boil down to the same elemental pain, and no one gets through this life unscathed. How lucky we are to see the proof—in prose, verse, music, painting—that we are not alone with our dark thoughts, this trembling uncertainty, that moment of boiling rage. I am channeled, and so I am heartened and then fortified. Now I’m ready to give it all another go.

As our March issue goes live, I am channeled by Erica Kent’s “The Shut-In,” a piece starring a version of myself I work hard not to be, and I know I am far from alone in that, as the pandemic has shown so many of us. In Danielle Joffe’s “Reduction,” I am heartened by a kind of courage I’ve had to summon myself, as have all the women I know. And “My New York Accent” by Anne Myles fortifies the “I am who I am” confidence we’re all building and rebuilding. 

I cried at my last John Prine concert. When he hit the stage, strumming and singing, his age knocked me back, and I knew that he would die before I could see him again. As he performed a rough and speedy version of “Your Flag Decal Won’t Get You Into Heaven Anymore,” I put my face in my hands and wept. Then I wiped my tears and sank into him and his music, savoring every syllable, every note. Every sad smile.

Claire Guyton

By

Rauh Family Shout-Out

Rauh Family Shout-Out

pencil drawing of woman sleeping and feeling connected to the outside ocean and cliffs

The first piece we accepted at Waterwheel Review was “Forgive the Form,” by Christina Rauh Fishburne. We three editors shared the giddy moment on the phone, delighting in the revelation of our first author’s name when we clicked “accept” in Submittable. Christina was just as excited when she set our mill in motion with her reply: “Forgive the Form is yours!”

Not content with one first, Christina quickly delivered another. We would publish her work with two companion pieces, we’d told her, and we welcomed any suggestions. “My brother is musician Charlie Rauh and he would love to write a companion piece of music if that would work!”

aged-looking scrolls lettered with a folktale

If that would work? Our vision for Waterwheel Review had led, already, to exactly the kind of collaboration and community-building we’d fantasized about. I laughed with joy when I read that understatement. Why, yes, Christina, that would work very well.

“Until the Charm Fades” came to us a few days later. I must have listened to it fifteen times, reveling in every note. And now… here we are again. The mill keeps turning, there is yet another talented Rauh sibling, and Christina logs another Waterwheel Review first: A contributor shout-out.

It is our absolute delight to shout about another collaboration connected to the one sparked by our publication of “Forgive the Form.” Today Charlie Rauh celebrates the pre-release of his EP, “The Silent Current from Within.” As with “Until the Charm Fades,” which is included in this newest album, “Silent Current” is a family affair. The piece is inspired by the work of Anne Bronte, Anne Carson, and sister Christina, and the music in turn inspired another sibling project.

Charlie asked his brother Chris to write a folktale based on the music and writings, and he asked Christina to create a map based on the folktale’s details of landscape and setting. Check out the pre-release of the EP by Destiny Records. Charlie tells us there will be a limited run of packages that include the album art, an individually crafted map, a handwritten excerpt of the folktale, and a PDF of the complete tale.

medieval-looking map inked onto a scroll

I love everything about this project. The line from the Bronte siblings to the Rauh siblings; the spiraling out of vision and collaboration; the leaping from one art form to another and back again. In a time of enduring disconnection, when all of us are suffering one kind of loss or another, when even those of us who have stayed well and mostly whole are beginning to fray…. Well. We can still make beautiful things. And share in the joy of it.

Claire Guyton