Circulation - Spring 2016 by Circulation Magazine

Creativity in Full Bloom SPRING 2016

MISSION STATEMENT Circulation is the student-run journal of the Information School at the University of Washington. We seek to foster and publish student creative expressions and academic work. We also support student interest in literature, scholarly communication, and publishing through special events and partnerships with organizations within the Information School and beyond.

Staff Co-Editor-in-Chief

Miriam Heard

Co-Editor-in-Chief

Rose Strickman

Academic Editor

Candy Boerwinkle

Creative Editor

Anastasia Tucker

Copy Editor

Alanna McAuley

Blog Editor

Erin Nettifee

Designer

Jyothirmayee Mocherla

Publicity Coordinator

Huda Shaltry

from the

Editors

Take in a deep breath. Do you smell that? It’s spring! Some of you will be graduating at the end of this quarter; some of you may have another year or two left in your respective programs. Whatever the case may be, please take a moment to step outside, get some fresh air, and view the full bloom from winter’s thaw! We have all worked hard, and it shows through the many scholastic achievements our peers have accomplished this year. We wish those of you on the path toward graduation the best of luck in your future endeavors. This term for Circulation brings many new staff to the table. Two veterans remain to share their wisdom about the last term while we continue to stay in communication with the previous members. We thank the past members of Circulation for their intellect and guidance as we forge ahead. The Spring Issue of Circulation marks a new year of ambitious staff eager and ready to connect different iSchool programs in this collaborative format. Speaking of collaboration, this issue features a collaborative effort between iArts and Circulation. It is just one example of many that demonstrates how awesome iSchool students are at sharing ideas and building lasting relationships. Capstone is just around the corner for some of us (think about your buddies in other programs!) and we hope that more social events can create fun atmospheres for everyone to learn about each other and our interest in the information science and technology field. Circulation has a goal to continue to foster “blossoming” relationships across disciplines. As you flip through the pages of the Spring Issue,

think about what inspires your creativity. The Fall Issue of Circulation will be released during the iFair. We hope that the summer months will give you many opportunities to create, explore and develop your talents. And we hope that the end product is something you’d like to share in the next issue! Meanwhile, a special announcement... The 2015-2016 school year is coming to an end, but that doesn’t mean the excitement’s over: Circulation will be sponsoring a Summer 2016 Creative Contest for all iSchoolers! Entering the contest is easy: just email all poems, short stories, reflective essays, photographs or artwork to circulationmag@gmail.com with the subject line “Summer 2016: [Your Name]” before September 1, 2016. We welcome all creative submissions, and encourage you to be as original as possible! Submissions will be judged by their quality, imaginative content, and originality. The first place winner will receive a $50 gift certificate to the UW Bookstore. Second and third place winners will also receive cool swag, and all winners and honorable mentions will be published in the 2016 Fall Creative Issue of Circulation. Don’t wait! Start submitting your work, and grab this opportunity for fame, publication and awesome prizes!

Miriam Heard

Rose Strickman

Circulation, Co-Editor-in-Chief

MLIS Candidate

MSIM Candidate

poetry

Cover photo courtesy of Sam Pattnaik, MSIM

Graffiti Watching

Spring

Naively*

Redacted *

*Submissions were part of an iArts/Circulation collaborative event!

prose

artwork

The Beginning is the End

Untitled *

From the Creative Editor

Life is Hard *

Mt. Fuchsia *

Intersection*

Mr. Squid*

Untitled

Graffiti Watching by Sarah Loftis, Informatics The pillars that hold up the bridge are covered with green painted salmon, leaping across concrete with gaping mouths and eyes that are dissolute. A man looked at me today the way the salmon stare at pedestrians, and when I looked back at him I saw the slow bloom of surprise emerge in his eyes when they met mine and saw that I was afraid. As I walked on I let the heavy asphalt pull down my gaze, let my eyes slip past the stares of strangers and wander the maze of sidewalk until I was lost in the deep cracks of pavement.

Away from the bridge, somewhere near 10th Street, I felt the presence of new color at the edges of my eyes. It pulled me upwards, away from the grey concrete and the dull green crushed glass and the crumpled receipts and the lost hair tie. Someone had painted a row of three cherry trees blossoming pink on the wall. As I stood there, eyes tracing the turns of each black branch, in the freedom to look without being looked at with scrutiny or lust, I forgot these trees were painted with cheap paint on a grey wall, and I would swear felt petals drifting down around me, carried on spring air.

Untitled by Melody Tsz-Way Leung, MLIS

Spring by Hemant Joshi, MSIM An admit letter came running my way, A beautiful campus, a sunny day. Green, lush green trees spread all around, The photographers had nothing left to say. The day the big bird landed, Big, dark clouds had completely surrounded. Riding a long, fast bus into the future, Awe, wonder this place had commanded. But the agonizing darkness chose to stay, Oh my god, there was not a single ray. Terror, gloom glowed in my mind, "Wait for spring," was all I could pray. Days, months, half a year done, How, how I wished I could run? Clouds were like mosquitoes all around, Sucking away mine, they had all the fun. Tormented, sad, I sat in the park, As the sun came piercing the dark. A pinkish-white colored jewel appeared, Oh, what a day! My lips made an arc. The season of sunlight was here, Aah, there was no more fear. How beautiful the cherry blossoms were, "Go to the quad," was all I could hear.

Life is Hard by Roy Le, Informatics

Naively by Fred Garrett, MLIS

Mt. Fuchsia by Lou Wainer, MLIS

Redacted by Ian Hawley, MLIS 12

The Beginning is the End by Rose Strickman, MSIM We drove as far as the car would take us. It was

“Well, we’ve got to be somewhere!” Allie

a surprisingly long way, given the state of the car:

shook her map in frustration, tossing back her

we’d bought it very used, and bits and pieces were

hair. Along with her willowy height, I’ve always

rattling ominously as early as Phoenix. The engine

envied Allie’s hair, so long and smooth and

started coughing as we crossed the California

straight, pure gold. Right now, though, it didn’t

border. A strange smell wafted up from the tailpipe,

help her frantic, starting-to-be-scared

and it’s still amazing to me that we made it all the

expression. “Are you sure you can’t get the car

way to the coast before the whole thing finally

going?”

croaked.

I shook my head. “I’ve tried. This thing’s

“I think we passed Morro Bay,” said Allie, hunched over and squinting at the map in the beam of her flashlight. “We could be up to San Francisco.”

dead.” “Shit.” She threw down the map and leaned back, rubbing her forehead. We’d managed to

“We can’t be. We would have seen signs.” I

pull over before the car died completely, but

pulled my jacket closer and hunched down in the

our efforts went unappreciated: there wasn’t

passenger seat, shivering. Night was falling, and fog

another vehicle in sight, let alone a house or a

was pressing in all around, obscuring the road,

town. I tilted my head, trying to listen for traffic or music or

“but we agreed, when we ran away, that we were going to California to start new lives. Not get broken down and stranded in the middle of the woods!”

something; my hearing has always been good. But there was nothing. We were all alone,

in a broken-down car, in a creepy forest. At night. “It’s okay, Allie,” I said, trying for some positivity.

making the redwood forest ghostly, the vast dusky

“We’re away, aren’t we? In California! Like we

trunks looming like giants. I could hear unseen

said we would.”

waves crashing dully on a distant shore. It sure wasn’t my idea of Sunny Cal.

She glared at me from under her own hand. “Hate to break it to you, Lynn,” she said

scathingly, “but we agreed, when we ran away, that was just fine by me.

we were going to California to start new lives. Not

Allie didn’t agree. “Damn, it’s cold,” she said,

get broken down and stranded in the middle of the

thrusting her hands into her hoodie pockets and

woods!”

shivering. “Who would expect California to be so

“Well, it’s still better than home, isn’t it?”

fucking freezing?”

She sank down in her seat. “Not if some mad woodcutter with an axe comes along to smash our heads in.”

“You know, we could have stopped in L.A.,” I said. “But you said we had to keep going.” “L.A. is where everyone stops. They would have

“Come on: it’s California, not Wisconsin.”

found us.”

She stared dully at the windshield. “We can’t call the police.” Her voice was flat.

“They would not.” It was a five hundred milelong argument. “L.A. is the perfect place to lose

“I know.” I grabbed the flashlight from her and

yourself. Big city, great climate. Plus, movie

unlatched my door. “Let’s try and find some help.

industry. You could’ve gotten a part in something

There must be people nearby.”

and I could’ve written script. They never would’ve

“Great,” she mumbled. “So we can go to some crazy backwoods person’s cabin and get stabbed to death by their psycho wife.” Allie’s watched too

spotted us.” “Uh-uh.” Allie shook her head firmly. “Anyone else, yes. Them, no.”

many episodes of Bates Motel.

I sighed. She was right. “Well, They probably

“Or be sacrificed to the Old Gods in the black

won’t think to look for us here. That’s something,

and empty chasms

between universes.” I’m a Lovecraft

isn’t it?”

We bit our lips, anxieties seeping back: what if it was a nest of psychos?

“Huh!” We trudged on in silence for

a minute. Allie sighed. “Yeah. It’s something.” She slipped an arm around my waist and kissed my cheek. “Sorry to be

fan. “Come

such a grump.”

on, Allie: it’s

I smiled. “It’s okay. You’re under

either that or spend the night in the car. Again.”

stress.”

She sighed, but got out: she was as sick of

“We both are.” She released me, and we walked

sleeping in that supremely uncomfortable car as I was. She locked the doors, and together we trudged

up the road.

on in silence for a while. “I still think we should have gone to New York.”

Allie sounded so miserable.

Actually, it wasn’t that bad once we got going. It

I sighed. “Allie, you know we never would’ve

was cool, but not that cold: just enough to make

made it. We’re down to our last hundred bucks

walking feel brisk and nice. The redwoods towered

already, and the car’s dead. No way could we have

over us, and the fog made things creepy, but also

gotten to the East Coast.”

kind of magical: I could imagine unicorns and

“We could’ve hitchhiked or something.” She

dragons and werewolves among those trees. The air was mumbling, stumbling on the ripped-up old was moist and comfortable; a gentle breeze rustled

asphalt. “They never would’ve looked there. We—”

dimly. A more different scene from Alberta,

She broke off, suddenly alert. “Is that a light?”

Arizona, could hardly be imagined. Frankly, that 14

I looked up eagerly. “It is!”

I ran forward, and even Allie hurried, fears

after a second, we edged in.

forgotten. It was a light: a steady warm yellow glow.

Inside was kind of nice: lots of hand-woven rugs

As we got closer, it got better: it wasn’t just a car

and ceramics, and pictures and playbills on the

light, but a light from a large rectangular window.

walls. We went through the front hall into the

In a house! A little house in a clearing, by the side of

warm, lighted living room, and my fingers twitched

the road, made of planks.

involuntarily: that room was lined with books, floor

We slowed down as we neared, stumbling to a

to ceiling, every shelf crammed. I was so busy

halt. We bit our lips, anxieties seeping back: what if

lusting after them that I didn’t notice the room’s

it was a nest of psychos? Or weird backwoodsmen?

occupant until Allie nudged me sharply in the ribs.

My hand found Allie’s, and we clung together for minute.

I took a deep breath. “Come on. We can always run away.” Allie nodded tightly, and we went up the steep

There, in an old rocking chair, under a pile of blankets, was another old lady. She was in even

worse shape than the first: completely wrinkled and crumpled, chest barely rising and falling. She was attached to a tall metal medical stand, via a tangled

steps of the porch and creaked our way to the tall,

net of cords and tubes. Still, her face turned to us

elaborately carved door.

and she smiled.

I looked around, but there was no doorbell. I hesitated a minute before knocking.

“Hello, girls.” Her voice was old and frail, a little push of air.

“Hold on, dear,” said this cracked old voice from the house, and it was a long time before the

“Jesus,” muttered Allie, well under her breath. “What the fuck is this?”

door opened.

Meanwhile, the first lady was bustling around

“Well!” said the door-opener. “Look who it is!”

us. “Sit down, dears, sit down. I’ll get some food

She was the oldest woman I’d ever seen. I mean,

from the kitchen. Just try not to disturb Alison’s

really ancient. She’d started out short, but was

medicines, will you?” She indicated the side table by

hunched even lower over a cane. Her hands were

the sick lady, showing a crowd of bottles and official

like withered old brown roots, and her hair was

-looking boxes. “I know it doesn’t look it, but they’re

white floaty wisps. But she was smiling up at us,

in strict order.” She started bustling off. “Wait here,

showing fake white teeth, and her dark eyes were

I’ll bring cookies.”

warm.

I half-turned. “Here, let me help—”

“Hi, girls!” she said, all chirpy. Allie and I exchanged glances. If she was an axe

She waved me off. “No, dear. I can manage. It doesn’t matter now.”

-wielding psycho serving as Cthulhu’s priestess, she

She teetered off down the hallway.

was obviously way past retirement, so we were

“‘It doesn’t matter now?’” echoed Allie. She was

probably safe. Still, her smile and delighted gaze

staring after the first old lady, eyes wide. “What

were weird. Almost like she was expecting us.

does that mean?”

“H-hello,” I stammered. “Look, I’m really sorry

I had no idea. I turned to the second old lady.

to bother you at night like this, but our car broke

“Hi,” I said, loudly and clearly. “We’re sorry to

down and—”

disturb you like this. I’m Lynn, and this is my sister,

“Oh, it’s all right!” She waved a root-hand and

Allie. Our car broke down.”

almost knocked herself over. “It happens, it happens. Here, come in.” She tottered aside, and,

“Too bad, Lynn.” The old lady’s voice was vague but calm. “That’s too bad.” She smiled and gave us

the slightest nod. “Glad to see you, though. I’m

something about the blond actress…I glanced at

Alison.”

Allie, golden hair glowing in the lamplight. She was

Allie was surprised into ejecting, “Hey! That’s my name!”

staring, too. “Starlight Theatre…?” she said slowly. “I’ve

“Of course it is.” Alison gazed benevolently at Allie. “What brings you girls out here tonight?”

never heard of them.” “Well, of course you haven’t.” Alison said it like

“Well, we were—uh—on a road trip,” I said,

it should be obvious. “Hasn’t been built yet.”

stumbling through our cover story. Normally I was

“What?”

much better at this, but I was a little freaked. “And

“Cookies here!” It was Joanne, staggering back

our car broke down,” I finished with relief. This, at

with a tray of cookies balanced precariously in one

least, was true.

hand. She stumbled, and the tray slanted perilously.

Alison nodded serenely. “Two girls in trouble. Well, we’ve been there, Joanne and me.”

I jumped up to grab it. “Thank you, Lynn,” she said breathlessly as I placed it on the coffee table.

“It’s nothing…Lynn.” Joanne’s voice lingered oddly on my name, just as her eyes lingered on my face.

“How did you know her name?” Allie demanded. She still hadn’t sat down, eyes darting around. “I’ve got good ears. I heard you introduce yourselves,” Joanne said. She made her way to a chair close to Alison’s and sat down with a grateful huff. “Eat up, girls, you must be starved.” We were. Even Allie unbent enough to sit down

“Uh—is Joanne your friend’s name?” I sat down

and grab a cookie. The tray was crowded with all

on the sofa, gingerly. Allie stayed standing, staring

our favorites: chocolate chip, shortbread, sugar. I

at the pictures on the wall.

ate slowly, savoring every bite. It had been so long

“She’s my sister,” said Alison. “We’ve lived here

since we’d had anything approaching home-baked.

for years.” Her eyes found Allie. “Looking at my old

Joanne and Alison watched us eat approvingly.

poster, huh?”

“Good appetites,” remarked Alison.

Allie snapped her eyes away from it. “What? No!”

“Well, of course,” said Joanne. “They’ve come a long way. It hasn’t been an easy trip.”

“Yes, you were,” said Alison imperturbably. “I’m

I swallowed and nodded. “No, it wasn’t. And

glad. It’s one of mine.” She nodded at the picture,

now we’ve broken down. Thanks so much for your

and, almost against our will, we both turned to look

help.”

at it. It showed a stage, the spotlight fixed on a

“It’s nothing…Lynn.” Joanne’s voice lingered

beautiful blond woman in a romantic black

by Miriam oddly on my name, just asHeard her eyes lingered on my

costume, swooning into the arms of a devastated-

face. “Not much we can do about the car, though. I

looking black man in white.

used to be a good mechanic, but I’m a little old for

“Othello,” Alison said with great satisfaction. “I was Desdemona. Starlight Theatre Company.

that now.” “Don’t worry; it’s beyond redemption.” I sighed,

Brought the house down, every performance.” She

our troubles descending on me once more. “I guess

sighed. “Years ago, now.”

we just need a ride to the nearest town or

I looked hard at the poster. There was

something. Someplace we can—” I was about to say 16

hitchhike, but caught myself. “Uh, get help.”

Joanne and Alison exchanged glances, eyes

remember the last time I’d felt safe.

“We’re safe now.” Allie was sitting bolt upright,

flicking toward each other. “Are you girls in

two splotches of color on her cheeks. “Perfectly

trouble?” said Joanne, suddenly serious. “I mean,

safe,” she repeated, jerkily.

worse than a broken-down car.” Allie and I looked at each other, panicked. I noticed something on the bookshelf behind Allie’s shoulder. “Hey—that author has the same name as you,

Joanne gave her an ironic glance. “You are, you know,” she said gently. “We’re not going to hurt you—even if we could, which we can’t.” Alison interrupted here, with a sudden coughing fit. Her frail little body shook, jerked and

Joanne.” It was lame, but it was all I could think of.

leaping about with the force of her coughs. Her eyes

“Joanne Dartry.”

were watering; a claw-like hand clutched to her

Joanne turned to the bookshelf and chuckled, a surprisingly clear sound. “That author is me, dear,”

gaping mouth. I jumped up, but Joanne was already levering

she said proudly. “Those are all books I’ve written.

herself up. “Sit down, dear; I’ll handle it.” She made

Some of them have won prizes, you know.”

her way to Alison’s side, where she fussed with the

“Wow.” My eyes ran over the spines. Fog Over

bottles and cans of medicine. She handed Alison a

Water…Murder at Innismore…The Dead of Night… single white pill and a glass of water. “Here you go, Strange Interlude. They all sounded like the kind of Allie. Take that…” books I dreamed of writing. And so many. “That’s amazing.” “She’s written plays, too,” added Alison in a

Somehow, Alison got it down. Her coughing slowed, and she took a deep breath. She fixed us with watery eyes. “Don’t worry about me.” Her

cracked old whisper. “I even performed in some of

voice was hoarse and even frailer than before. “I’m

them.”

just dying, that’s all.”

Allie and I exchanged wistful looks. “That

“Really, Allie, don’t say things like that.” Joanne

sounds wonderful,” said Allie softly. She looked so

fussed some more, tucking the quilts in around her

sad. I think I did too; I know I felt that way. It

sister.

sounded so wonderful, so impossible. So far from where we were now. “It won’t last forever, girls.” Joanne’s voice broke our reverie. Blinking, Allie and I turned to her. “What?”

She smiled at us, a little brown bird. “The bad things,” she said. “I know it seems like they’ll last forever, but they won’t. You’ll be free, and happy.” “Look at us,” Alison spoke up. “We were in a bad way, too, when we were your age. But then we

“It’s true, though.” Alison settled back, still gasping a little. “Not long for this world. But that’s okay—I’ve had fun with it!” She laughed faintly, and her eyes traveled to Allie. “Remember that, Allie: there’s always fun to be had. Isn’t that right, Lynn?”

“True, Alison,” said Joanne, tottering back to her chair. “Very true.” My head jerked up at this. “Lynn? I thought your name was Joanne.” “My pen name, dear,” said Joanne. “Had to

inherited this house.” She gave the room a fond

have one. I started writing quite early on, you see,

look. “Things got better after that.”

to support us, and I didn’t want Them finding us, as

“We just needed a place to start over,” Joanne nodded. “Someplace safe.” “Safe…” I echoed. What a concept. I tried to

I’m sure you understand.” Her dark eyes twinkled at me. I stared. Them? These sisters had had a Them,

too? And hadn’t Joanne called Alison…Allie?

knew, it seemed obvious: the face, the eyes. The

“Lynn…?” Allie’s voice was strangled.

height if she’d been able to stand up straight…

“What?” I turned to her. She was staring at the

“You’re—you’re—”

poster again, face completely ashen, eyes bugging out.

“It’s all right, dear,” said Lynn, kindly. She heaved herself up, and we both flinched. “It’s going

“Lynn,” she croaked. “That poster.”

to be all right, I promise. We’ve had over seventy

“What about it?”

years to plan this, after all. You’ll find the house has

“The date!”

been transferred to your joint ownership, all tidy

“The date…?” I looked at the bottom of the

and legal. Go see a local lawyer: Blanca Rodriguez,

picture. There, in large white letters, were the

up in town. We buried some jewelry in the

words: Starlight Theatre, 2025-26 Season.

backyard, too, under the smaller redwood. Take it into town to sell—I suggest Singh’s.”

Within seconds, we were all alone in a bare little room, filled with blackness, the fog pressing in on the bare windows.

“And you should definitely audition for the play in town,” Alison—Allie—said to Allie. “It’s the first step.” Neither of us could speak. We clung to each other, frozen on the sofa. Allie sighed and shook her head. “Look at them.

“2025?” I said. “But that’s…” I trailed off,

Do you think they’ve taken in a single word we’ve

remembering what Alison had said, about the

said, Lynn?”

Starlight Theatre not being founded yet. Alison… Allie. Joanne…Lynn?

“Probably not,” said Lynn with a little laugh. “But they’ll figure it out. Are you ready, Allie?”

“That poster,” said Allie, slowly, “does not

Allie held out a wizened old hand. “Whenever

exist.”

you are.”

I looked back at the poster. At the date. Allie was right, I realized. The poster didn’t exist.

Lynn gave us one last smile. “Good bye, girls.” And she took her sister’s hand.

Not yet.

They both vanished. One minute there; the

Slowly, I turned to the old ladies. “We’ve gone crazy,” I said, voice all calm with shock.

next, gone. The room blinked and whirled around us. The

For a moment, the two old ladies just looked at

sofa disappeared beneath us, sending us crashing to

us. Then Alison sighed.

the floor. Clutching each other, we gaped as books “Honestly, Lynn,” she said, turning to her sister, and pictures and ornaments and pieces of furniture “look at them! You’d think we were about to eat winked out of existence, like a deterioration film set them or something. My god, we were a sorry pair at

on fast forward. Within seconds, we were all alone

that age.”

in a bare little room, filled with blackness, the fog

“Well, of course we were,” Joanne—Lynn said. “Run away from home, a broken-down car, and

pressing in on the bare windows. We leaned together, gasping, blinking against

then a midnight conversation with two weird old

the sudden dark. “That…that…” breathed Allie. She

ladies? Really, I think we held up pretty well, under

collapsed against me, half-falling across my lap.

the circumstances.”

“That was impossible.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Now that I

I held her close, her heart pounding wildly. We

Special Thanks

were quiet for a minute.

“So—you think there really is jewelry buried in the backyard?” I said eventually.

by Anastasia Tucker, MLIS

Allie jerked away from me. “Lynn! You’re not thinking of—of doing what they said, are you?”

As a new addition to the staff of Circulation, I’d like to tip my hat to the current editorial team, offer sincere thanks to iHeart Poetry and iArts for their gracious collaborations for this issue (with special thanks to Lou Wainer and Melody Tsz-Way Leung), and, of course, applaud the iSchool student body for submissions and support. From cherry blossoms to graffiti, and beginnings and endings, I thank you and look forward to sharing your work in the coming year.

“Why not?” Something was rising in me, a strange sensation. Something I hadn’t felt for a long time. Hope. “Do we have a better plan?” Allie stiffened, as though about to protest, then sagged. “Not really.” “Why not stay here?” I said, warming to my

theme. “It worked for them—us—didn’t it?” “Lynn,” said Allie, urgently, “we were just in a— a time warp! How can you even think about doing this?!” “Come on, those were actually some cool old ladies. I wouldn’t mind being them, would you?” “Lynn, this is crazy!” “Maybe it is.” I found Allie’s hand and took it. “But maybe that’s okay. Come on, don’t you want to play Desdemona?”

Anastasia Tucker, Creative Editor

An abrupt laugh escaped Allie; short, but it was something. I pulled her to her feet. “Let’s go get our stuff from the car. We can camp out here tonight, figure the rest out tomorrow.” I led my sister through the dark, abandoned house. The floorboards creaked beneath our feet, and a musty smell breathed off the walls, but all the windows we passed were intact and I could tell it was basically in good condition. I shrugged. It

seemed as good a place to stop as any. And already my mind had wandered, back to those books Joanne had written. The books she said had won prizes. Some of which she had written right at the beginning. The beginning was now, here at the end. And I thought I might start with Strange Interlude.

Intersection

by Anastasia Tucker, MLIS

Mr. Squid by Mia Klaus, MLIS

Untitled

by Vivyan Woods, Informatics

call for submissions

Fall 2016 Submission Guidelines

Theme Circulation will be sponsoring a Summer 2016 Creative Contest for all iSchoolers! Submissions will be judged by their quality, imaginative content, and originality. The first place winner will receive a $50 gift certificate to the UW Bookstore. Second and third place winners will also receive cool swag, and all winners and honorable mentions will be published in the 2016 Fall Creative Issue of Circulation. Don’t wait! Start submitting your work, and grab this opportunity for fame, publication and awesome prizes!

Inspiration Ideas can come from anywhere. We welcome all creative submissions, and encourage you to be as original as possible!

Contact Send submissions with the subject line “Summer 2016: [Your Name]” to circulationmag@gmail.com. You can also follow us on Twitter @circulationmag. Like our Facebook page, UWLiteraryMag. Read our blog at circulationmag.wordpress.com.

Deadline Please have your work in by September 1, 2016.