CLOVES Literary publishes prose of 500 words or less. “We want your nostalgia, trauma, and painful memories. Make us wish we had an entire carton of Djarum Blacks that we could chain smoke until our chests hurt and our throats and tongues were numb and the entire surfaces of our lips and mouths were coated in sweet clove oil that made us forget for as long as it lasted. We publish one piece every Friday. We accept only micro prose pieces; we don’t care about genre. 500 words or less. Serious or satire, as long as the satirical tone comes with an undercurrent of pain. Submissions open sporadically and will be announced on Twitter and the website when they do.” Read the complete guidelines here.
SQF: Why did you start this magazine?
Adrienne Marie Barrios: I started CLOVES for two reasons: the nostalgia and pain associated with wanting things that were/never were/never could be and the desire for something informal and pithy—the antithesis of Reservoir Road, my first journal. It came about one night when a group of us were chatting on Twitter about smoking clove cigarettes back in the day and how we can’t even get the ones we used to love; they’re different now, gone forever. Those memories and that realization: that ache for what was and can never be again: that’s what CLOVES is all about.
SQF: What are the top three things you look for in a submission and why?
AMB: I look for sharpness, emotion, and unflinching openness. Much like Reservoir Road, CLOVES is not about being saccharine or beautifully wistful. It’s about pain. It’s about longing, in various forms, that you feel at a bone level. It’s about getting right to the point and making sure that point cuts deep. I’ve seen a lot of people talk about how bearing trauma is getting old, or that using that word has become a token phrase among the literary community. But the world has not gotten softer or kinder or easier to live in. The world has grown more dangerous, sharper, less kind, unwelcoming. We will all continue to have trauma, and sometimes writing and reading about that in the most honest ways possible is how we get by.
SQF: What most often turns you off to a submission?
AMB: A particular spin just for the sake of it—sex for the sake of sex, death for the sake of death, violence for the sake of violence. Each element needs a purpose. I feel this way about all writing, whether I’m reading as publisher or consumer. If the writing comes across as a shock-value piece or if it’s obvious that the writer is trying to align to what they think I want, I probably won’t like it. It needs to be authentic.
I’d also say the opposite is true: avoiding things for whatever reason. Alluding to sex or death or violence or trauma without really talking about it, without going there. I’ll pass. I want to get hit in the chest with these words, not wonder what the writer meant to say.
SQF: Why a limit of 500 words?
AMB: Writing is hard—we all know that. It’s hard to write long pieces that keep the reader engaged over a period of time, and it’s hard to write the short pieces that somehow bypass the introductory shit and yet still tell the reader what’s going on. But that’s what I want, and that’s why 500. It’s a soft limit, really. But it’s about cutting through the bullshit and getting straight to the thought or the memory or the feeling. One of the best pieces I’ve seen so far that exemplifies this is “David” by Jonathan Cardew—fewer than 100 words that will shatter your heart.
SQF: This is a new publication. What have you learned so far from the experience?
AMB: I thought that publishing just one small piece each week would be easier than publishing full issues a few times a year. What a joke! None of it is easy. I’ve also learned that sometimes I go too fast and I need to slow down with regard to acceptances. I need to think about things more.
SQF: What one question on this topic do you wish I'd asked that I didn't? And how would you answer it?
AMB: Perhaps you could’ve asked me if I feel I’m contributing positively to the community, and I would have said I don’t know. I would have said I’m contributing honestly. And that’s all I want from the writers.
Thank you, Adrienne. We all appreciate your taking time from your busy schedule to participate in this project.
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