Clockhouse‘s Editorial Director Sarah Cedeño informs us that the submissions and reading period is going very well. The submissions period ends on December 1 at 11:59, so please do spread the word and consider submitting yourself, so long as you are not currently a student in Goddard’s MFAW program. We accept submissions in Drama, Creative Non-Fiction, Fiction, and Poetry—and for your reading pleasure and as something you can point to when letting others know what we’re all about, here’s an excerpt from Edward M. Pinkowsi’s wonderful play Washington, which we were honored to publish in Clockhouse’s 2015 issue. You can find this and other excerpts at Clockhouse’s website and find our submissions guidelines there as well.
Whether or not you submit to Clockhouse or work on its staff, we hope you’re proud of the wonderful literary journal that Clockhouse Writers’ Conference publishes in partnership with Goddard College. If you’re a Goddard MFAW alum, please see the CWC website and consider signing up to to get timely CWC information and otherwise be kept in the loop.
from Edward M. Pinkowski’s Washington:
TED and PATTY are sitting facing each other, on opposite sides of an empty moving subway train. The gentle swaying of the motion makes it appear that both are subconsciously nodding to the other. TED senses the train slowing to approach a stop; he becomes increasingly agitated. He jumps to his feet and begins to pace in the small area between them.
(bewildered) Is this the end or the beginning?
(TED puts his hands over his ears and begins to blabber, attempting to drown out the anticipated loudspeaker stop announcement.)
(repeats several times) My body flies over the ocean my body lives in a green tree my body spills into the ocean oh bring back my body to flee.
(PATTY is equally anxious and intensely focused on TED. She watches his every action and pays attention to every word. She then moves toward him and attempts to make eye contact, but he continues to distance himself from her.
The train finally stops and side doors open, but no one enters. TED continues mumbling, now to himself.
Over the speaker we hear the half-muffled stop announcement from the conductor.)
V.O. TRAIN ANNOUNCEMENT
Some pay to remember—Some pray to forget. Have a pleasant day, Little Shooter.
(recognizing the voice) Daddy???
(The doors close and the train again begins to move. TED immediately stops his rambling and removes his hands from his ears. PATTY now looks into Ted’s tired eyes. TED sadly shakes his head ‘no’ and they slowly make their way back to their seats.)
Looking through wet windows makes everything look . . . runny. Sure, you can try to identify objects—but are you sure?
When you take off in an airplane, and you feel the vibration and the speed and the torque and all of a sudden—in your mouth and between your teeth—you can taste fear. How do you know for sure that you’re not looking at some green screen out the window, making it appear that you’re in the sky, but in reality, you’ve only been towed to a fake airport a couple of blocks away? How do you know for sure? Do you feel the wind slapping your face? How do you know that some high school kids weren’t hired to shake this train so it would appear like we’re moving, but in reality, it’s those runny cars outside these runny windows that are moving and not us? I can’t say for sure, but runny eggs, in my opinion, seem far more trustworthy than runny windows.
We were going to buy the Smoky Wagon, right? You were going to call me ‘Boss’ and I was going to call you ‘Pa.’ We imagined that the early-morning truckers would yell kindly to ya when they walked through the door and say “Hey Ted—for God’s sake, don’t let the old lady cook my hot cakes. She’s a good woman Ted, but she’d starve a field mouse to disrepair.” Then I’d snap my dishtowel in their direction and look angry and pleased at once, and half fuss: “Now you boys just sit down and try to behave. The good Lord gave you two ears and only one mouth, and that’s a pretty good ratio for just shuttin’ up.” That’s when I’d serve them the runny eggs.
(PATTY chuckles sadly, then lets her head fall slightly. She looks at TED.)
We made those kinds of plans, honey. We made plans together.
Latest posts by CWC (see all)
- CWC&R Visiting Professional & Visiting Writer Sessions - May 5, 2018
- Registration Still Open for the Clockhouse Writers’ Conference & Retreat - April 27, 2018
- Recap from Lighthouse Writers’ Conference & Retreat! - March 9, 2018
- Congratulations to the Newest MFA Alumni! - February 23, 2018