Our seventh print annual (+ 2016 Prize nominees!)
2016 is over. We published our sixth print annual at the beginning of the year, and online, we published the work of 61 writers (31 women and 30 men) for a total of 38 poems, 19 stories, and 5 essays.
We also nominated great work for prizes last year:
For the Pushcart Prize (work published in 2016), we nominated:
And for the Best of the Net (work published online July 2015-June 2016), we nominated:
We wish all our nominees the best. We’re so proud to have worked with them and to have published their writing in apt.
Speaking of, we’re currently working to bring you our seventh print annual at the end of this month, and it’s going to be stellar. It’s 134 pages of long-form stories and poems by Doug Paul Case, Sonja Condit, Gregory Crosby, Krysten Hill, and Joanna Ruocco! You can (and should) order it now, because it’s the easiest way to support the work we do all year at apt. Or, if you’d prefer, you can order a subscription and get every issue for the next three years.
Here’s a glimpse of the front cover of issue seven:
It’s difficult to write about what we’ve accomplished last year and not acknowledge the threats we face this year. To summarize our collective concerns, I’ll close with the editor’s note that we’ll run in issue seven, which I wrote in November, but still holds true.
Each print issue of apt represents a year worth of work. When I started reading submissions last March, when I accepted the first pieces you’ll see after this note, I lived in a very different country. Geographically, it’s the same. But psychically, it’s been maimed. I’m afraid for what’s ahead, and I write from what most would call a “blue bubble,” far removed from the violence that many Americans face in the wake of our presidential election. But the dread I feel colors everything. The dread over what was not a lost, but a stolen, election. And don’t misunderstand. I voted in and lived through the presidential election of 2000. I know the difference between disappointment and fear.
I mention this here because we’ve always supported writing that respects women. Everyone has an opinion about Hillary Clinton, and regardless of what yours is, we can all agree that the election—indeed, the entire campaign cycle—was stolen from her. She didn’t get to address all the ways in which she planned to make our country better. Instead, she had to bicker with a man-child who spouted the worst sort of rhetoric, the worst sort of writing, in order to validate a small part of the US population’s hatred for a woman who wanted to make sure that more Americans had access to a peaceful existence. NB: That’s not a president’s job, per se. But that’s what she campaigned on: equality. And fuck, look at what we have instead.
The First Amendment is being threatened. Our method of voicing dissent. Our right to demand that we, as humans, can govern our own lives. That women can govern their own bodies, as just so happens in every story and poem in this issue. Whether overtly or less so, women are front and center here. As daughters, as teachers, as waitresses, as orphans, as targets—women get shit done. For us and for themselves. And so often, they don’t get praise, but when they don’t, they don’t call foul. Because they (we) know it’s more important to get back to work.
I dedicate this issue to two women: Hillary Rodham Clinton, and our first female president. Whoever she is. She exists. I can only hope she’ll be qualified as HRC. We need that now, still, and even more so going forward.