ANTHOLOGY - POETRY SUBMISSIONS

Submissions for Edit Red's first poetry anthology ARE NOW CLOSED.

The poetry anthology from EditRed is due for publication in November 2007.

You can find out about our existing anthology below.

“Edit Red have cast their net wide, and come back with quite a catch. This is a collection as diverse as you could hope to find.” The Round Table Review Small Voices, Big Confessions Short Stories / Big Writers Pull up a chair. Lean in close. Closer… Can you hear them? They’re everywhere. Voices that can’t be contained by the boxes around our work, our homes, our families. Voices that shine through the cracks in our everyday lives. Voices with tales to tell. Gathered here are 20 unique tales liberated from niches and crannies around the world. Tales of tragedy and comedy, of loss and salvation. Tales of our shared, common experiences and the magic they hold within. Paperback: 216 Pages Publishing date: November 2006 Price: £8.99 + P&P Special Offer for Members If you are already a member, you can get a free copy of Small Voices, Big Confessions by upgrading to any of our yearly packages. Click here to see options.

Small Voices, Big Confessions > The Authors James Ogle, Tom Sykes, Teri Davis Rouvelas, Matano Lipuka, Digby Beaumont, Brindley Hallam Dennis, Heather Waters, Bernadette Klubb, James Meredith, Eoin Beckett, Chris McIvor, Jimmy Scoville, Aoife Mannix, Penny Feeny, Aliya Whiteley, Peter Budvietas, Grant Perry, Tom Gant, Scott Dille, Anne Leigh Parrish. Edited by Chris Lee Ramsden

Foreword ONE OF THE FIRST SENTENCES I learnt in Danish: ‘Det blæser meget i Danmark.’ (Denmark is very windy.) No kidding. People hurry past, hands tucked in pockets, leaning forward. Someone dances into the street, wrestling with an umbrella that’s been blown inside out. We can hear the grill over the basement window rattling. Alan and I sit in semi darkness. The last candle has burnt down and though there’s firewood to fuel our ornate Norwegian stove, we’re out of matches. Alan has just uploaded a story about how he placed a plastic Danish flag on the peak of the Alpine dog turd that greeted us on the steps of our office this morning. ‘They’ll like that,’ he says, and almost immediately he’s buried in his desktop, fielding one comment after another. He begins to recede, becoming oblivious to the creak of his chair, the hum of his computer. Soon, there’s nothing left of him but a thin vapour trail in the chill office air. The wind is wailing louder than ever. I lean back in my chair and watch people hurry by, their forms shimmering beyond the window pane, which shudders under the onslaught of every blast of wind. And I reflect on the interconnectivity of things. The plastic Danish flag on the office doorstep, that I can still see if I cran my neck; the Norwegian fireplace, black and inert; the wind pushing the breath of millions of Scandinavians across the Baltic Sea; and the whole damned world weaving words that suck us into some other place, a place that exists as a multitude of places collapsed into one singularity. All you need is an interface. All you need is access to the community. Once there, you are connected to the globe. You are interconnected; you are close to everything. I spot a match pressed into the crack between two floorboards. In moments I’m kneeling on the bare planks. I get unidentifiable resinous black stuff under my nails as I prise the match out. Not long afterward, the fire is lit. And the cold street seems far far away.