We strongly encourage both published and new writers to submit, as well as submissions of collaborative work.

WRITERS & POETS: Submit only 1-3 pieces per issue, each as its own attachment. We do not have length limits, but longer pieces must truly warrant their word count. Do not include your name on these files, as we read submissions blind.

ARTISTS: Submit up to 10 pieces of photographs, illustrations, cartoons, fractal renders, etc, in .jpeg format. Art is considered for both covers and features.

MUSICIANS: Audio submissions should be .mp3, .mp4, or .wma. If your audio submission is accepted for publication, we’ll turn it into a video and host it on our YouTube page. Or, you may submit your own video .mp4. Submissions may include both audio/video and text.

COLLABORATIONS: Submit only 1-3 pieces per issue, each as its own attachment. Collaborators may work within one or multiple mediums.

ETCETERA: Limit 1. Articles, essays, interviews, and book review requests fall into this category. Please also include a brief summary. Articles and essays should be about writing and publishing, or match a current submission call.

BOOK REVIEWS: Want your book reviewed? Instead of using our submissions manager, query via email: cahoodaloodaling@gmail.com, with “Book Review” in the subject. Please include a brief sample (a few poems or a chapter).  **This does not apply to our Give It to Me E-gain issue.

 

ALL SUBMISSIONS:

TITLE: Include the titles of your pieces, each separated by a comma.

COVER LETTER: Include a brief, third-person biography that is fun, 50-150 words, and demonstrates who you are as a writer/artist. Previously published and simultaneous submissions are both fine, provided you state this in the cover letter. If your piece is accepted elsewhere, please withdraw it from cahoodaloodaling by leaving a comment on your submission that notes the withdrawn piece(s).

PHOTO: Attach a contributor’s photo. It can be your smiling face or your left foot—anything that shows who you are, but it must be of you.  Do not send a picture of your dog, crazy ex-lover or your favorite fruit (although they may be in the picture with you!).  Pictures should be a .jpeg, with pixel dimensions no smaller than 100×100 and no larger than 300×300.





Ends on September 14, 2018

Issue #27 – Joy Sticks

Joy is elusive, sudden, unexpected, gradual, and sometimes grotesque.

The week after my mom's death, I remember a hideous joy on the fifth day at 3:47 pm when the sun burned my shoulders and all the world—the dogwoods, the warm pavement, the mockingbirds near the porch—was implicated in her presence. I could feel her laughing, smell her apple-tinged perfume, watch the red of her hair burn their way across the yard. Just one single minute of exuberant impossible and then back to the banality of living lies, telling others I was fine, negotiating the absurdity of death and imagining someone could be erased, gone, eternally absent.

Joy is so many flavors of awe. There are joys we fondle—memories we pick up and unspool in private. There are public joys—a friend's description of holding her girlfriend's hand for the first time on a public playground, the relentless joy of a gay pride parade. And yet, despite countless publications that swear to deliver it if you put your knees over your head and eat only almonds, there is no formula for joy on this planet. By its nature, joy is unsustainable, untenable, hard to hold, impossible to coerce. 

What surprise is lovelier than joy? So give us your public joys, your private joys, your foolish fondles. Give us your transient, shameless, vulnerable, wimped-out absurdities. Give us the harrows of joy, its horrors. Give us your smallest joys, your childhood joys, your most monumental. Give us the elusive object that lacks a template. We can't wait to read it. However it looks. However it haunts. Whatever it touches. 

Submissions due 9/14/18. Guest Editor Alina Stefanescu. Issue live 10/31/18.


Ends on September 14, 2018

Issue #27 – Joy Sticks

Joy is elusive, sudden, unexpected, gradual, and sometimes grotesque.

The week after my mom's death, I remember a hideous joy on the fifth day at 3:47 pm when the sun burned my shoulders and all the world—the dogwoods, the warm pavement, the mockingbirds near the porch—was implicated in her presence. I could feel her laughing, smell her apple-tinged perfume, watch the red of her hair burn their way across the yard. Just one single minute of exuberant impossible and then back to the banality of living lies, telling others I was fine, negotiating the absurdity of death and imagining someone could be erased, gone, eternally absent.

Joy is so many flavors of awe. There are joys we fondle—memories we pick up and unspool in private. There are public joys—a friend's description of holding her girlfriend's hand for the first time on a public playground, the relentless joy of a gay pride parade. And yet, despite countless publications that swear to deliver it if you put your knees over your head and eat only almonds, there is no formula for joy on this planet. By its nature, joy is unsustainable, untenable, hard to hold, impossible to coerce. 

What surprise is lovelier than joy? So give us your public joys, your private joys, your foolish fondles. Give us your transient, shameless, vulnerable, wimped-out absurdities. Give us the harrows of joy, its horrors. Give us your smallest joys, your childhood joys, your most monumental. Give us the elusive object that lacks a template. We can't wait to read it. However it looks. However it haunts. Whatever it touches. 

Submissions due 9/14/18. Guest Editor Alina Stefanescu. Issue live 10/31/18.


This category is for collaborative work (2+ creators) only.

Submit only 1-3 pieces per issue, each as its own attachment. Collaborators may work within one or multiple mediums.

See general guidelines.

If your work is not text based nor a collaboration, submit here following the general guidelines.

Working within or related to a current theme is more likely to be accepted. If you'd like, please feel free to tell us why you are submitting the piece(s) you've selected to share with our staff in your cover letter.

When in doubt, submit. We don't charge for submissions so it can't hurt.
Limit 1. Articles, essays, interviews, and book review requests fall into this category. Please also include a brief summary. Articles and essays should be about writing and publishing, or match a current submission call.

See general guidelines.

$3.00
$3.00
Our "Tip Jar" is available for any of the above submission types and goes towards offsetting site costs. It won't entitle your work to any special treatment nor will we think any less if you decide to submit for free instead. Tips are simply one small way to show support and help our continued growth.  

If you use our tip jar, please comment in your cover letter which issue you'd like your work to be considered for and follow general guidelines.

THANK YOU!

Oh, and if you'd like to tip without submitting (although, we'd love it if you submitted) please go here: http://cahoodaloodaling.com/support-cahoodaloodaling/

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