PRISM 52:2 LOVE & SEX 2014

522storePRISM 52:2 LOVE & SEX launches just in time for Valentine’s Day and beyond with sensuous, salacious tales of love and lust to warm those cold winter nights. Pick up an issue now and keep us on your nightstand for a little literary pillow talk. Here’s a taste of each piece to get your mouth watering:

Bev Craddock’s short story “The Bodies in the Lake” explores the meaning and limitations of friendship through a series of sharp, poignant vignettes.

Patrick Grace’s “Layover” navigates that delicate mix of eros and pathos intrinsic in chance encounters and discovers in the process that love and loss are perhaps inextricably linked.

Jessica Saunders’ quiet, contemplative epistle, “Kananaskis (Can I Ask This?),” explores the bittersweet aftereffects of physical passion and the void that remains when “nothing of me is left in you / not even a knuckle / not even a request that I might still withdraw.”

In Karen J Lee’s memoir “Happy Hour,” the author processes the sudden dissolution of her decades-long marriage at a remote cabin on one of BC’s gulf islands.

In “My Montreal Vagina,” “Petrified,” and “Red Mailboxes,” Billeh Nickerson highlights the humour and melancholy intrinsic in human relationships, walking us through doctors’ offices, lonely hotel rooms, and empty streets. Continue reading

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Don’t forget: PRISM’s Launch Party!

52.3 CoverPRISM is getting ready and getting excited for our Launch Party! It’s this Thursday, April 17th at 7pm at the Cottage Bistro, 4468 Main St, Vancouver B.C.

We’ll be sharing our launch with Event Magazine, Poetry Is Dead and Room Magazine and there will be a host of wonderful readers: Zoey Leigh Peterson (Event magazine), Karen J Lee (PRISM international), Ashleigh Rajala (Room magazine), Dina Del Bucchia (Poetry Is Dead), and Billeh Nickerson (PRISM international).

Our spring issue 52.3, featuring the beautiful cover art of Meryl McMaster, will be available to purchase for $10. We’ll also have recent back issues for $5 and our popular mystery packs of eight issues for only $5! And free appetisers… Did we mention free appetisers?

It’s going to be a fantastic evening of writing and reading—we’ll see you there!


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2014 Fiction Contest Update

PRISM wishes to inform readers that Leah Jane Esau, one of the runners-up to our 2014 Short Fiction Contest, has withdrawn her entry. As a result of this late withdrawal, the sole runner-up is “Bad Things” by Kathy Friedman. We congratulate both Kathy Friedman and the contest winner, Cathy Kozak’s “This Is How I Remember You,” on their awards.

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It’s officially launch season in magazine land and we’d be amiss not to invite you to our party. This year, PRISM is excited to share our annual launch party with Event Magazine, Poetry Is Dead, and Room Magazine! Our Launch will be on Thursday April 17 at 7:00pm at the Cottage Bistro on 4468 Main Street, Vancouver, BC.

Our fabulous line-up of readers includes: Zoey Leigh Peterson (Event magazine), Karen J Lee (PRISM international), Ashleigh Rajala (Room magazine), Dina Del Bucchia (Poetry Is Dead), and Billeh Nickerson (PRISM international).

It’s going to be a great night! We’d love to see you there.

Hurray for Literary Magazines! Come celebrate with us.

Hurray for Literary Magazines! Come celebrate with us.


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PRISM 52.3 Sneak Peak: “Reunion” by Non-Fiction Contest Winner Re’Lynn Hansen

52.3 CoverPRISM 52.3: The Non-Fiction Contest Issue launches on April 22nd. Here’s a sneak peak of the winning entry, “Reunion” by Re’Lynn Hansen. In “Reunion,” Hansen uses the annual class reunions of her all-girls Catholic high school as a jumping off point to explore mortality, friendship, and the nature of memory.

Make sure to pick up your own copy of PRISM 52.3 to read “Reunion” in its entirety. The issue also features new writing by Madeline Sonik, Drew Nelles, Lori McNulty, and many other fantastic writers. 


I went to a Catholic all-girl high school and I’m not sure what this has meant—what it offered then in terms of a foundation for who I am now. The exigencies of religion and its doctrine were lost on me. I look to the skies at night and to the renewal of the trees in spring as my religious philosophy, and maybe the closest I’ve come to feeling connected to some larger gestalt is when I’m out walking the dog in the nearby state park, and a bend in the river that I know is coming up, comes up again—the oxbow emerging from the wetlands—and amazes me all over again, crystal waters sluicing quietly past reedy banks.

Perhaps I am different from them, my classmates, who have volunteered for Catholic Charities, prayed for me, especially since I’ve had cancer, and who make their monthly visits to the elderly nuns who once lectured us.

As a class we have stuck together more than most. It happens that we don’t have a reunion every ten years, but every year. I’m not sure what spurs this on. Perhaps there is only the circumstance of convenience, but it could be purposeful, as many classmates seek out the ritual of gathering together more than I do. Most of us still live in the city, and the president of our class had a reunion one year after high school, and then one year after that, and one year after that, and we all kept going until we were this group whose pledge it was to get together next time.

The president’s house is a large bungalow done in a Frank Lloyd Wright prairie style appropriate for Chicago. She still lives within the boundaries of the city because her husband is a fireman. There’s a sense of home when we get there because she’s had these reunions for twenty years, and we know the routine by now. There is a grand piano and an addition in the back with a kitchen island and family room. The forty of us who gather can settle in the family room, but sometimes we migrate to the living room where the piano is, and we gather round it to sing the school song.

I don’t ever remember what they remember, my friends from high school. If they are talking about a car, and they say that I was in it, I believe them. They say, remember, you were in the car. And I say I do. One friend remembers an evening when she deeply gashed her hand as she tried to retrieve a joint that fell beneath the bucket seats of her car. I was with her, and we were racing away that night, apparently, to evade her father. She had stolen his car, which I barely remember was an Impala, and he was following us, driving hers, Nancy exclaims to the classmates gathered around the kitchen island listening,meaning her mother’scar, and he was going to beat the living shit out of me when I got home, remember? she asks looking at me. I never challenge the story. There were numerous dark nights and circlings of empty city streets and meeting up with other classmates who had also borrowed, or stolen, their parents’ cars. I never ask if she was scolded or punished that evening by the father whom I vaguely remember as stern. The story always ends in triumph. We pulled over, we dimmed the lights, we lost him. I don’t remember the evening’s end any more than the beginning. We met up with McMurphy who always had the best weed, is how Nancy ends the story, and I am content to listen and to make a toast with her at the president’s house. And of course I wonder how long I can keep up, keep going back with them before nothing is the same anymore—nothing is as I remember it, but I have not reached that threshold.

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Jane Campbell Interviews Douglas Glover

GloverThis week over at, our Prose Editor extraordinaire Jane Campbell interviews Canadian writer Douglas Glover, author of the recent short story collection Savage Love, several other collections of stories and essays, and four novels.

In the interview, Glover shrewdly discusses his work, his ideas about art and literature, and the meaning he finds in the writing life. He also talks about what motivated him to start his own online magazine, Numéro Cinq, and what are the best ways of getting invited to submit to it. Also, Jane asked him about his dalmatian, Lucy.

Here are Glover’s thoughts on becoming a writer:

“As for deciding to become a writer, I don’t think I did. I backed into it, always telling myself I could return to journalism, which was my second so-called career after teaching philosophy. Then one day, not so long ago, I woke up and realized returning to newspapers was no longer an option. On that day, I rather reluctantly became a writer.”

Read Jane Campbell’s full interview with Douglas Glover here. 


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The Roller Coaster Ride of a Working Poet

In the following video, “You are going to now get a rare [and hilarious] glimpse into the stream of consciousness of a live, living poet.”

Enjoy “The Normal Day” by Barbara Brownskirt, Poet of the People:

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