You’re Invited to West 10’s Prose Workshop!

Attention all NYU undergrads: On Thursday, November 3rd, at 7:30pm, join West 10th for a poetry workshop in Seminar Room B at Palladium Hall.

Make sure to RSVP and check out the Facebook event, too!

Bring up to 750 words of fiction/nonfiction to receive some feedback from your West 10th Editors. See you there!

Just a reminder that we are still accepting submissions until December 15th!

From our Editors: the Highs and Lows of Attending a Moth StorySLAM


High: Making plans with a literary-minded friend to attend a StorySLAM and getting excited about the night’s theme—something like “Doubt” or “Haunted” or “Hot Mess.”

Low: Sneaking your phone out during class or work at exactly 3 pm the week before the event, refreshing the page every few seconds, in order to snag tickets before they sell out.

Low: Joining one of two massive lines outside of the Housing Works Bookstore Café nearly an hour before doors open, then flooding inside when they do, desperate to score a seat (or a stair).

High: Hearing the storytellers’ intriguing and hilarious first lines.


Low: Uncomfortably laughing when storytellers tell inappropriate or overtly graphic sexual stories.

High: Hearing the storytellers nail their last lines.

Low: Uncomfortably laughing when the storytellers’ jokes don’t quite hit.

High: Seeing a storyteller take the mic for the first time and deliver one of the best stories of the night.

High: Cracking up at the host’s on-the-spot reactions to the audience’s write-in stories.

High: Noticing the diversity and friendliness of the crowd (though, admittedly, a high percentage of audience members are carrying publishers’ tote bags).

High: Laughing collectively for two hours at the woes of living in New York, at the quirks of being a literature lover, and at the woes and quirks of being a literature lover living in New York.

–Alyssa Matesic, Editor-in-Chief

You’re Invited to West 10th’s Poetry Workshop!


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Attention all NYU undergrads: Our first workshop of the year is coming up! On Wednesday, October 19th at 7:30pm, join West 10th for a poetry workshop in Seminar Room A at Palladium Hall.

Make sure to RSVP and check out the Facebook event, too!

Bring up to two works of poetry (two pages maximum) to receive some feedback from your West 10th Editors. See you there!

Just a reminder that we are still accepting submissions until December 15th!

Join the 2016-2017 West 10th Editorial Board!

Applications are now open for the 2016-2017 Editorial Board!

We are seeking to fill positions on the poetry, prose, art, web, and copyediting boards.

Please direct all questions and completed applications to Applications are due by 5pm, May 27.

Please download and complete the application below:

West 10th Editorial Board App 2016-2017

*Note: please do not apply to the board if you are graduating in December 2016. This is a full-year commitment.

West 10th Launch Party 2016


We are pleased to announce that the 2015-2016 issue of West 10th is complete. To celebrate, we are holding a launch party at the Lillian Vernon Creative Writers House featuring readings by our contributors and a reading by our interviewee, Mira Jacob (acclaimed author of The Sleepwalker’s Guide to Dancing). This event is open to the public and refreshments will be served. Come grab a copy of West 10th!

West 10th Launch Party

April 15, 2016 at 7:00 pm

Lillian Vernon Creative Writers House

58 West 10th Street, New York, NY 10011

Also RSVP to our Facebook event

From our Editors: thoughts about Paris from Audrey


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Reflecting on six years of French class

Audrey Deng is the Copy Editor at West 10th and the Arts Editor at Washington Square News. She is a sophomore studying Comparative Literature and English. Talk to her about Frank Stella’s retrospective at the Whitney, because she’s excited about that.

In my mind, Paris exists in textbook images from high school, a series of impressions divided by semester. In the fall, French class was a sanctuary; we would sip hot chocolate while thinking about what we should/could/would do in the languid conditionnel tense, snow piling outside of the window. We would read about (and later eat) delectable French holiday pastries like Bouche de Noël and fondant cake. In the spring, we flung open the windows and projected images of tulip-lined streets to “La Vie en Rose.” Paris, just saying the word Paris, implied panache. I felt that simply by being in French class, we students sat straighter, spines strengthened by speaking the language of a country heralded for its elegance.

Last Friday, on November 13, I went to my French class where we learned about the subjunctive (il est important que nous brossons nos dents!). I cooked oatmeal, wrote birthday cards, and Paris erupted into frightened chaos. Guns had fired in the Bataclan concert hall of an Eagles of Death Metal concert, along with bombings throughout the city, killing at least 130 people.

The hateful act of terrorism scorches a sad chapter in the world’s history, but humans have been sad before. The sickening feeling comes from the fact that it is becoming frighteningly easy to measure the passing of time not by how light illuminates the earth, but by how shadows shroud the globe in darkness.

I went to a peaceful gathering in Washington Square Park to pay tribute to France, eavesdropping on the sad conversations held through clouds of sad cigarette smoke. Everything seemed sad. People stood sadly, conversed sadly, smoked sadly. Never, in my life, have I heard a sad French conversation take place in real life until that Friday. “Do you know anyone injured or dead?” one would ask another. “No, all safe, thank God. You?” So it went–and it was jarring.

Understanding sadness in another language permanently changes the way one listens and reads and thinks, vous comprenez? It sharpens the vision, tightens the eardrums. Once you have heard those words of death and injury, the language and your history with it, changes. Tenses take on different meanings: the conditionnel is a call to action, the subjonctif is what we want to do, and the imparfait is the way we used to be. And French will never be the same to me.

Il est necessaire que nous soyons gentils. It is necessary that we are kind.

From our Editors: LGBT Novel Recs from Allen Fulghum


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Hi all, I’m Allen, one of West 10th’s prose editors. I’m a senior in Gallatin studying modernism, homosexuality and the First World War. When I sat down to make a short list of my favorite 20th century LGBT novels to share with you all, I realized that I’d chosen at least one representative of each decade from the 1910s to the 1960s—so here are six decades of LGBT literary history, condensed. 

Six decades, six brilliant LGBT novels

Maurice – E.M. Forster (1913)

66ce77a8-5861-4597-ad54-795fc667828eWritten in 1913 but only published posthumously in 1971, Maurice was well ahead of its time in its nuanced depiction of a young man discovering and coming to terms with his sexuality. While Forster carefully examines the difficulties of identity and love, Maurice is ultimately founded on the belief that same-sex relationships have the capacity to be profound, beautiful and happy—a radical thesis for a novel written when men were still routinely arrested and imprisoned for having sex with other men.




Orlando – Virginia Woolf (1928)

d43caa20-84a8-4de0-81e5-6746f1f1a21eSubtitled “A Biography,” Orlando was written as a paean to Woolf’s friend and erstwhile lover, the aristocratic Vita Sackville-West. With typical élan, Woolf transforms Sackville-West into the novel’s eponymous protagonist, a sex-changing immortal who begins as an Elizabethan nobleman and ends as a successful female author in ‘the present day’ (that is to say, 1928). Traversing three hundred years of Orlando’s life, Woolf relentlessly questions conventional notions of history, authorship, gender and sexuality.




Nightwood – Djuna Barnes (1936)

dc0d6d65-ee3c-4182-b604-469e86106307Contained in a deceptively slim volume, Nightwood is a superbly stylized portrait of a doomed lesbian relationship in the bohemian Paris of the interwar years, explicated through the head-spinning speeches of Dr. Matthew-Mighty-grain-of-salt-Dante-O’Conner (who is just as campy as his name suggests). This modernist masterpiece was lauded by T.S. Eliot as “so good a novel that only sensibilities trained on poetry can wholly appreciate it.”





Notre Dame des Fleurs/Our Lady of the Flowers – Jean Genet (1943)

b9f2103a-0cad-446a-9298-e28f205ea50bSimilarly to Nightwood, this novel renders the Parisian underworld in prose so rich and revelatory it practically creates a new class of literature. The lives and loves of its central characters—sex workers, trans women, and teenage murderers, all bearing charming monikers like Divine and Darling Daintyfoot—are unspooled by a capricious narrator who creates the world of the novel while masturbating in his prison cell (!!!).




The Charioteer – Mary Renault (1953)

Renault, having worked as nurse at a British military hospital during the Second World 938fdf19-6cb0-4cac-8085-f7edca07323fWar and later emigrated to South Africa to live with her female partner, was uniquely equipped to write this novel, which follows a British soldier who falls in love twice over as he recovers from a combat wound. With equal measures of heartfelt psychological insight and cutting social observation, The Charioteer struggles with the tensions between idealism and reality, individualism and community, and innocence and experience.



Another Country – James Baldwin (1962)

An earlier novel of Baldwin’s, Giovanni’s Room, is often hailed as a masterpiece of gay literature, but while Giovanni’s Room is a claustrophobic investigation of one man’s psychology, Another Country seems to encompass an era. 2dedb81c-2e50-4c36-8d58-de261d3251ce

The characters are gay, straight, bisexual, questioning and in denial; white and black; working-class and middle-class and destitute and wildly successful. In a rhythm reminiscent of jazz, the novel traces the cast as they move in and out of each other’s lives, coupling and splitting up and getting back together, rising and falling in fortune—but always circling around the specter of a character who commits suicide at the end of the novel’s first act.