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

From the Editors | Issue #36

June 2024

From the Editors

When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the Universe.—John Muir

profile of three women walking on sandy beach in winter

Carry on, that’s what we do. We walk through the door and into a life threatened by illness or accident, diminished by a lost love, broken by if we are most unlucky—God forbid—war. Today we three are fortunate. We do not walk into a life changed by such things but lightly past this ending to our fourth season, this Issue 36 that testifies to those who do. In our first solicited issue, we publish three of our previous authors: Nancy Huggett tells us in “Fractions Are Numbers that Are Not Whole” of “Half-truths falling like seeds into soil.” While “Inbetween,” Annaliese Jakimides shares “Photos of shadow and cloud and fracture.” In Richard Jackson’s “In Its Otherness,” it is “as if our words could send out new beginnings.” That’s exactly what they do, these words, as we move into a summer of catching up with ourselves and our work.

—Claire, Suzanne, Cheryl 

By

Who made it? Issue #36

Who made it?

June 2024 | Issue #36

With “Fractions Are Numbers that Are Not Whole” by Nancy Huggett

“Tears in Heaven” by Eric Clapton.
Composition II in Red, Blue, and Yellow, 1930, oil on canvas, 46 x 46 cm, by Piet Mondrian.
“Untitled” by Pexels.

With “Inbetween” by Annaliese Jakimides

“Kintsugi” by Lana Del Rey.
“Hands Clasped” by Gavin Worth.
“Untitled” by Denny Müller.

With “In Its Otherness” by Richard Jackson

“Blue in Green” by Miles Davis.
“Flammarion” by unknown.
“Untitled” from A Pilgrim in Narnia.

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Editor’s Notebook: On Going Old School

Editor’s Notebook: On Going Old School

June 2024

One thing we always knew we wanted at Waterwheel Review: blind submissions. To come to the page with no preconceived notions about what we might find in a submission is like unwrapping a present from a secret Santa. What joy when Santa guesses right!

We have loved putting our magazine together this way. In particular we’ve all enjoyed the shock of recognition when, every once in a while, we accept a piece and the submitter’s name is then revealed… to be an acquaintance or friend. It’s so satisfying to publish a friend knowing your affection had nothing to do with the acceptance.

Let the record show that we did finally choose to spend a little of that literary world “who you know” capital. Just this once, we did away with blind submissions. Each of our three Issue 36 authors kindly offered us work for this final installment of Season 4.

Nancy Huggett, Annaliese Jakimides, and Richard Jackson are publishing with us for the second time. Many thanks to all for honoring us again with such beautiful work.

—Claire Guyton

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From the Editors | Issue #35

April 2024

From the Editors

It was as if, through that one sentence, she had wandered out of the yard of her usual language
and found herself in a different, mysterious, elegant part of town.—Barbara Feinberg

editors Cheryl Wilder, Suzanne Farrell Smith, and Claire Guyton sit in beach chairs on a cold sunny day on a sandy beach

Wander deep into Issue 35 and come upon critters and creatures, lessons and lies, magic and myth. Yet clear-eyed realness flows through the heart of each piece. In Brian C. Billings’s “The Crayfish Ferris Wheel,” a river trip leads to a surprising festival, but what is the price of delightful consumption? The fungi in Faith Allington’s “Xeroseres: A Lesson” know something about us that we may not yet know ourselves. And Gerald Yelle in “The Mood Begins to Shift” encourages us to enjoy the fairy tale: “Don’t come back if you want to know the truth.” Go ahead and take a few wrong turns. Get a little lost. Sit in mystery for a while.

—Claire, Suzanne, Cheryl 

Join Our Growing Community

We’re in our fourth 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.

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