Call for Submissions

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Photo by Alex Pappalardo

Time is running out! El Portal is currently accepting submissions for its Fall 2017 issue, but there’s only three days left! Fiction, nonfiction, flash fiction, poetry, photography, and art are all welcome internationally. Simultaneous submissions are welcome. Deadline 11:59pm, March 31st.

For Terms of Submission: Click Here

For Submission Guidelines: Click Here

The Spring 2017 issue is well on its way. Additionally, we recently released our Fall 2016 issue, which we’re proud to say is our best yet and includes a very talented array of writers, poets, photographers, and artists.

To check it out: Click Here

To check out previous issues of El Portal: Click Here

If you have any further questions about El Portal or the submission process, please feel free to email the editor at el.portal@enmu.edu.

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Call for Submissions

IMG_0306 (1)

Photo by Dr. Linda Sumption

Time is running out! El Portal is currently accepting submissions for its Fall 2017 issue, but there’s only a week left! Fiction, nonfiction, flash fiction, poetry, photography, and art are all welcome internationally. Simultaneous submissions are welcome. Deadline 11:59pm, March 31st.

For Terms of Submission: Click Here

For Submission Guidelines: Click Here

The Spring 2017 issue is well on its way. Additionally, we recently released our Fall 2016 issue, which we’re proud to say is our best yet and includes a very talented array of writers, poets, photographers, and artists.

To check it out: Click Here

To check out previous issues of El Portal: Click Here

If you have any further questions about El Portal or the submission process, please feel free to email the editor at el.portal@enmu.edu.

This Is West – Things Lost

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The diner was a little sweaty this time of year. The heat in the kitchen was unbearable, the parking lot burned hot as a frying pan, and flies clung to the outside of the windows in small swarms, delicate legs in the dozens crawling around in what little shade the sills had to offer, granting the illusion of grime. Customers complained sometimes—they always did—but there was nothing to be done about it. The smell of greasy food and sugary drinks drew them in. The pesticides didn’t keep them out.

Ella covertly wiped the sweat from her brow before stepping out of the kitchen and back onto the floor. The AC kept the main room cool most days. When the temperature vaulted up over 95 degrees it got a little tepid. At 100 degrees most started to complain. It was 104.

The floor was more or less empty. A few people sat along the wall in booths, drinking tall, cool glasses of soda and tea and water with lemon. A young man chatted up one of the waitresses and a couple Ella had seen a time or two sat silently on opposite sides of the booth, looking in different directions. Ella had seen a dozen lives change over supper. She wondered if they’d still be wearing rings next time they came in.

Hal—an older man and a regular—sat in his favorite booth in the back, tapping his fork against the side of his glass not out of rudeness to get her attention, but as a tick he couldn’t control. She’d hated him at first. Now he was one of her favorites. But today he seemed disquiet, staring out the window at the clouds gathering on the horizon.

It was supposed to rain that night. An end to the drought at last.

“Over in Arizona we used to get these real big thunderstorms,” he said when she made her way over to his table to check on him. They were pals by now. She knew exactly what he’d order because it was always the same. In turn, he asked after her kids. “Always worried it might be the big one. The ground gets too hard and dry; the water just stays on top. Floods the place out. My house got flooded three or four times that way.”

Ella remembered dancing in ankle-deep water outside her own house as a child—a little shack tucked back and down from a street without a curb. Any time it rained more than a little, all the water from the entire street would pool in her front yard. As she got older, it scared her more and more. Sometimes the steps disappeared. Sometimes the water went up to-mid calf, only stinted from flooding her home by the high foundation it sat on and the slow drain of water into hard earth.

Brown water, sprinkled with floating patches of dry grass. When she pulled her feet out to step back up onto the porch, her legs would be plastered with debris. The air was electric. The air was alive. She was so, so young.

“It doesn’t happen much here,” she said and stared out at the clouds now, too. Giant, white, fluffy. But tonight they would bring lightning and thunder. The radio had been screeching shrill flash flood warnings all afternoon. “We get a little flooding, but nothing like you see on TV.”

She patted him on the shoulder in a comforting gesture, but he kept staring out at the sky, where the street seemed to shimmer in waves of thick, exhausting heat.

(Fiction and Photography by Kayleen Burdine)

Call for Submissions

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It’s that time again! El Portal is currently accepting submissions for its Fall 2017 issue. Fiction, nonfiction, flash fiction, poetry, photography, and art are all welcome internationally. Simultaneous submissions are welcome. Deadline 11:59pm, March 31st.

For Terms of Submission: Click Here

For Submission Guidelines: Click Here

The Spring 2017 issue is well on its way. Additionally, we recently released our Fall 2016 issue, which we’re proud to say is our best yet and includes a very talented array of writers, poets, photographers, and artists.

To check it out: Click Here

To check out previous issues of El Portal: Click Here

If you have any further questions about El Portal or the submission process, please feel free to email the editor at el.portal@enmu.edu.

Call for Submissions

IMG_7723 (1)

Photograph by Jade Smith

It’s that time again! El Portal is currently accepting submissions for its Fall 2017 issue. Fiction, nonfiction, flash fiction, poetry, photography, and art are all welcome internationally. Simultaneous submissions are welcome. Deadline 11:59pm, March 31st.

For Terms of Submission: Click Here

For Submission Guidelines: Click Here

The Spring 2017 issue is well on its way. Additionally, we recently released our Fall 2016 issue, which we’re proud to say is our best yet and includes a very talented array of writers, poets, photographers, and artists.

To check it out: Click Here

To check out previous issues of El Portal: Click Here

If you have any further questions about El Portal or the submission process, please feel free to email the editor at el.portal@enmu.edu.

This is West – The Adventures of Toast Girl

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I found Jeanie playing hacky-sack with a circle of friends outside the theater building before school started and asked her to walk with me.

“This is going to be strange, and kind of embarrassing, but I have to tell you something,” I said as we walked.

“Claudia, you can tell me anything,” Jeanie said, concerned.

“OK,” I said, halting and looking around to make sure no one was listening. I took in a deep breath. “I can predict the future by reading the patterns in toast.”

“Toast?” Jeanie asked.

“Yeah. Toast patterns.”

“Like, bread toast?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, Jeanie. Toast.”

Jeanie blinked at me, then shook her head. “That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard.”

“I know, but just listen,” I said, rubbing my thumb over my forearm. “This morning when I was having my breakfast I saw something bad. You can’t go to chemistry second period today. Seriously, something bad is going to happen.

“Wow.” Jeanie rolled her eyes. “That’s one of the more creative excuses I’ve heard for skipping class.”

“This isn’t about skipping class. It’s about avoiding danger,” I said.

“Sure, sure. The danger your toast told you about,” Jeanie said.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets and sighed.

“So, what?” she said, smirking. “Every morning you have a slice of toast and a peek into the future?”

“Yeah. Most mornings,” I said.

“If you can tell the future that way then why don’t you just eat toast all the time?” Jeanie asked.

“Well, bread is fattening,” I answered. “But that’s not the point. Please listen, Jeanie. You can’t go to chemistry class. Promise me.”

I pleaded to her with my eyes more than my words. Jeanie’s smile shrunk and she placed her hands on her hips.

“OK, Claudia, what happens?” she asked with a flick of her wrist.

I moved closer to her.

“I don’t know why, but Linda and Caroline are going to get into a fight,” I said, barely above a whisper. “I didn’t see exactly what happens, but I saw glass breaking and people getting hurt. You were one of them.”

“Pfft, Claudia,” Jeanie said, backing away. “You’re being crazy.”

“I knew you’d say that. I knew you’d react this way. This is why I’ve never told anyone,” I said, now rubbing my hand aggressively over the opposite arm. “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true.”

“Wait,” she said, “so no one else knows about your toast powers?”

“Um, no. You’re the first person I’ve told,” I said.

“Awe,” Jeanie said, placing her hands over her chest. “That’s so sweet.” Then she shook her head. “No, what am I saying? This is ridiculous.”

She turned to walk away, but I stepped in front of her and placed my hand on her shoulder. “Please, Jeanie, you have to believe me. Or don’t believe me. Whatever. Just don’t go to chemistry today. Please?”

“Claudia,” Jeanie said, taking my hand off her shoulder. “You’re freaking me out.”

Jeanie walked past me back towards the theater building.

“Jeanie, wait!” I chased after her. “Look, you know how I always know which TV shows are gonna get cancelled? Well that’s how I know.”

“Uh-huh,” she said and kept walking.

“Remember when we were at the county fair? I totally knew Travis was going to crash that go-cart.”

“Everybody knew Travis would crash that night,” Jeanie said.

As we neared the front door, I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her towards the bike racks.

“OK. OK. Jeanie, seriously listen to me,” I said and let go of her arm. “Two weeks ago your cousin Alex died. When your mom told you, all you could do was sit and watch TV. You didn’t cry or anything. You were just numb. For hours you just watched Gunsmoke reruns until you decided to get something to drink. But your fridge’s ice machine wouldn’t work and you got so angry you broke off the lever and fell to the floor. I know this because I saw it in the toast.”

Jeanie looked to the ground and brushed her hair with her fingers for a moment before looking back up to me.

“Is this for real?” she asked.

“Really for real,” I replied.

“You can tell the future?”

“Yes.”

“Through toast?”

“Yes.”

Jeanie breathed deeply and nodded. “Okay then. We have to do something.”

“We can’t do anything. We can’t change the future,” I said.

“But you’re changing the future by telling me, right?” she asked.

“I guess. I don’t know.” I shook my head. “I don’t usually mess with this stuff. I just couldn’t let you go there today.”

“Well we have to try,” Jeanie said. “What if Linda and Caroline kill each other? We have to stop that fight.”

“I don’t know, Jeanie,” I said, letting my hand fall limp from rubbing my arm.

“Yes you do, Claudia,” Jeanie said, placing her hand on my shoulder now, smiling. “You were given toast powers for a reason. Maybe this is the reason.”

I smiled back. “Maybe. But what can we do?”

“I don’t know, Toast Girl, but we’ve only got through first period to figure it out.”

(Fiction and Photography by Wesley Martin)

This is West – A Breath

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“Sunset in Lugansk” by Alex Chupryna, retrieved from Wikimedia Commons

Darren knew the moment he opened his eyes that it was too early to be awake. Pale light illuminated the dusty blinds, but did nothing to combat the morning darkness. The old radio beside the bed pronounced the time in blue: 5:47 a.m.

For a moment he stared up at the ceiling and took in the stillness. It’d been years since he last came home, years since he’d slept in this bedroom and woken up with his parents down the hall. They slept in separate bedrooms now; no sense in sharing at their age. In the room that’d once been his sister’s, his mother’s oxygen machine wheezed gently behind a closed door, pumping air into lungs that could no longer be trusted. He imagined his father was already awake downstairs, hunched over his coffee.

Darren sat up, pushed the old quilt aside, and placed his feet on the chilled wood floor. It was a motion he’d repeated every single day for nineteen years, yet now he marveled at the oddity. He knew this room inside and out; knew better than anyone that there were still probably stickers on the inside of the closet door and that he’d once hidden a dirty magazine behind the loose bit of wall paneling now hidden by a dresser. It was the newfound emptiness that skewed the space and made it unrecognizable. Nothing from the old days seemed to remain.

Careful to be quiet—though he imagined his mother couldn’t hear much over the machine strapped to her face—Darren snuck down the stairs, skipping the sixth step out of habit because it probably still creaked. The kitchen light wasn’t on. His father must still be sleeping.

He fumbled around the kitchen by what little light had begun to leak in through the window over the sink. The coffee dripped sluggishly into the pot as it brewed. He watched the dark liquid rise behind the glass and, when there seemed to be enough, he poured himself a cup that wasn’t quite two thirds full. The tendrils of steam rose like phantoms.

He unlocked the back door, wincing as it creaked, then slipped outside and took a seat at the ancient picnic table. The sky was pale blue, lingering on the edge of darkness. His arms and legs were uncomfortably chilled by the morning air. This, at least, stirred some memories.

The old tom cat that’d greeted him when he arrived the day before slunk up onto the patio and snaked its way between his legs.

“Are you taking care of them?” he asked.

The cat sat down under the table and stared back with big yellow eyes.

(Fiction by Kayleen Burdine)

Call for Submissions

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It’s time! Today’s the submission deadline for the Spring 2017 issue of El Portal, so make sure you get your potential publications sent to us by midnight. The next submission period won’t begin until January, so this is your last chance for awhile! Fiction, nonfiction, flash fiction, poetry, photography, and art are all welcome internationally. Simultaneous submissions are welcome. Deadline 11:59pm, October 31st.

For Terms of Submission: Click Here

For Submission Guidelines: Click Here

Additionally, we recently released our Fall 2016 issue, which we’re proud to say is our best yet and includes a very talented array of writers, poets, photographers, and artists.

To check it out: Click Here

To check out previous issues of El Portal: Click Here

If you have any further questions about El Portal or the submission process, please feel free to email the editor at el.portal@enmu.edu.

This is West – Fortunes

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“You gotta be shitting me,” Gulliver said for maybe the third time since striking up a conversation with the Asian guy whose car broke down along the freeway near the store. “You traveled all this way, halfway around the world, just because of some fortune teller? That’s one of the craziest damn things I ever heard.”

Edmond couldn’t help but overhear the conversation, or at least Gulliver’s half of it, while restocking the beef jerky on the opposite side of the shop. Fortune teller vaguely registered through Edmond’s zombie-like state, but over the years Edmond had come to tune out most of things Gulliver lauded over with the customers.

The Asian guy laughed and said something Edmond couldn’t make out, but he could tell the guy had an accent.

Edmond checked his watch. Only forty-two more minutes before he could go home and binge on some National Geographic.

“So what kind of treasure are you expecting to find out here?” Gulliver asked the man.

Fortune teller. Treasure. Edmond stopped hanging the jerky packages and listened.

“I don’t know for sure. Gold and jewels, maybe,” the man said. “But she also said I’d find treasures worth far more than anything I could imagine.”

Edmond jutted up from the aisle to face the foreign traveler. Mid-twenties, wearing a polo and khakis, grinning like he just got off an amusement park ride.

“And you believed that?” Gulliver gawked. “Sorry, buddy, but it sounds like a scam to me.”

“Maybe.” The traveler shrugged. “However, I paid the fortune teller nothing. She told where to find the treasure in exchange for ten percent of what I find. Why would she do that?”

Edmond glided out the jerky aisle, intently watching the two men chat at the counter.

“Well, you got me there.” Gulliver said. “But not everybody would just up and leave like you did.”

The traveler’s grin faltered momentarily. “Well, it wasn’t as easy as that,” he said.

Gulliver pointed out the front windows to a tow truck coming down the freeway. “Buddy, you’re ride is here.”

“Wonderful,” the traveler said. “Hopefully it won’t cost a fortune to get that thing fixed, cuz I haven’t found mine yet.”

The two men laughed. Edmond stared wide-eyed at them from the slushie machine. The traveler thanked Gulliver for the phone call and the company, then moved for the door.

“Hey,” Edmond called out. The man stopped and turned around.

“Where are you from?” Edmond asked as he walked towards him.

“Japan.”

“From Shinshiro?” Edmond said.

“I-yeah.” The traveler cocked his head at Edmond. “How did you know?”

Edmond stopped directly in front of the man, next to the sunglasses kiosk. Their reflections bounced back at them from the dozens of lenses.

“I saw a fortune teller once. She told me that if I traveled to Nagashino Castle in Shinshiro I would find a great treasure.”

“Oh,” the man nodded. “But you didn’t go.”

“No. I didn’t.”

The tow trucks horn honked.

The man looked Edmond in the eyes, then left the store.

“Holy Hell, Edmond,” Gulliver said. “What was that about?”

Edmond watched the traveler hop into the tow truck and vanish down the freeway.

“Gulliver,” Edmond said. “I quit.”

(Fiction by Wesley Martin)

El Portal – Fall 2016

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Readers can now access the PDF version of El Portal’s Fall 2016 issue. Click on the image above to access the PDF file. If you have any questions about the Fall 2016 issue, please feel free to contact the editor at el.portal@enmu.edu.

Full List of Contributors:

An Interview with Joseph Somoza

Juan Carlos Pérez-Duthie “Certain Things Are Likely”

Gaylord Brewer “The Art of the Blackout”

Gaylord Brewer “Living Crèche”

Mary Murphy “The Last Guardian”

Nicole Ferraro “Burn Holes in My Favorite Sweater”

Tom Sheehan “Charlemagne Killabrew, Civil War Veteran”

Laura Coe Moore “The Hand

Jack Buck “Back in 2003 When Watching Four TV Shows in a Row Was Considered an Insane Amount of TV Watching by an Individual”

J. Tarwood “The Getaway”

Katelyn Ross “The Nothing You Left Behind”

Iris Esquivel “A Scream! Somewhere in the Nebula”

Robert Joe Stout “What Are They Saying?”

David White “Boots”

David White “Train Station”

Don Mitchell “Grulla I”

Kaitlyn Roberts “Arches National Park”

Kaitlyn Roberts “Into the Abyss”

Michaela Browder “Untitled”

Haley Madden “The Astronaut’s Rainbow”

Aaron Pappalardo “There is a Machine”

Carol Oberg “Dusting Life”

Glen Sorestad “We Are All Refugees”

Glen Sorestad “Please, Tyler, Please!”

Julia Simmons “Eyes Open”

D. Shawn Hunton “The Town and the City”

Dane Cobain “Don’t Forget the Lemmies”

Lonnie Berry “The Cost of a Mule”

Marc Cioffi “Another Poem of the American Road: A Song Against Forgetting”

Jay Frankston “The Logger”

Enzo Scavone “Someone I Know”

Emmy McCray “Substitutes in the Case of Necessity”

Emmy McCray “First Aid”

Wesley Martin “Grubber Ludwig”

This is West – Lawrence of New Mexico

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In 1855, the US Army created the United States Camel Corps in hopes the foreign animals would serve the country’s expansion westward. By 1863, the project disbanded and the camels were released into the wild of the American Southwest.


Lawrence, of New England, peddled his bicycle across the empty desert road. Patches of fine red dirt swirled across the pavement, occasionally being sliced by the bike’s tires. In the east, behind him, a storm brewed. But where he rode now was as hot and dry as ever. He’d have been more thankful for the breeze if it wasn’t for the dirt pelting against his skin.

Why am I here? Lawrence thought for the thousandth time since departing on his biking tour, his supposed vacation. I don’t belong here. Biking in the desert was so different from biking in the forested hills back home. His body was performing the exact same motions, but his mind refused the peace that normally came with the peddling.

He’d too hastily accepted the new job out here in New Mexico. Months had passed without him ever really fitting in at work, or really making any friends. His new residence just wasn’t home. So he decided to do a three-day biking trip, an activity he had loved back north, but it just wasn’t the same in the desert.

Just keep pedaling, he told himself. Truthfully, he felt more like stopping and turning around. But he was already out here. Going back would be pointless. Just keep pedal- Oh, forget it.

He halted the bike and rehydrated. As he drank from his water bottle, he spotted a blur in the distance off the road. He shielded his eyes from the sun. The blur was a reddish brown and took on a horse-like shape as it drew closer, only it was larger than a horse and didn’t move like a horse.

Lawrence’s adrenaline spiked, realizing he was out here alone and defenseless. I don’t belong here. He readied the bike to speed off, but his curiosity demanded he stay. Steadily, the reddish brown beast drew closer revealing it had long spindly legs, a curved neck, and bushy mane around its collar. A hump protruded from its back.

Lawrence blinked in amazement as the camel continued its trot across the desert towards this lone isolated part of the bike route. Where did you come from? Why are you out here alone?

The camel stared back at him with glassy eyes, as if wondering the same thing about Lawrence. He and the camel maintained eye contact as its thick black hooves clacked onto the pavement, just ten feet in front of Lawrence.

How had this exotic creature come to be so far from where it belonged? Yet, the camel didn’t seem to question its location. It was here, therefore it belonged here.

The camel crossed the road and pressed onward through the desert. Lawrence watched the majestic mysterious animal hoof off into the distance until it was once again a blur on the horizon. After a moment, he resumed pedaling westward.

(Fiction and Photography by Wesley Martin)

This is West – A Withered Reflection

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“Marks of the Wind in a Puddle” by Malene Thyseen, retrieved from Wikimedia Commons

The lingering heat ruined the rain. There was no torrential downpour sweeping in on a cool wind. It didn’t cleave the sunbaked summer in two. It didn’t arrive with low, auspicious thunder and purple bolts of lightning. Instead, it fell in unsatisfying specks for days, exacerbating the already oppressive humidity, clogging every throat and drawing the sweat from every pore. It rushed down the street in brown torrents, pooling in the lowest intersections, and helped tires to grind asphalt into fresh potholes. The weeds had already begun to triple and the sodden, sucking earth didn’t yet allow for mowers to grind them back into stumps.

He woke up each morning with the sheets clinging to his body and showered only to sweat again within the hour. He suddenly favored juice over coffee, welcoming the cool slide of citrus down his throat each morning as the briefest possible reprieve. He dressed in shorts every day, but even that wasn’t enough to keep the sweat out from behind his knees, from beneath his arms, from sliding down the nape of his neck. His front door was sticking, suddenly, in a way it hadn’t before, bloated by warmth in its frame and he sighed when he realized the particularly large, ugly orb weaver that’d made its web between his porch light and the awning hadn’t yet been knocked away by the stuttering downpour.

He felt like he hadn’t been able to breathe in weeks.

The house on 14th Street, the house that wasn’t his own, seemed to have taken the weather to heart. The trim running beneath the gutter looked more chipped than ever; he’d been meaning to repaint it for the last four years. He would mow the grass just as soon as the lawn dried out, but for now the Yellow Mustard was slowly creeping ever-higher, halfway to his knees and sure to be taller when he showed up again tomorrow. Rain’s phantom speckled the sidewalk and his skin in tandem.

A withered reflection behind the door groaned when he stepped inside, shifting in the old brown armchair with the worn-down and fraying arms, looking older than it had just hours ago. His father had recently begun to sleep there, when walking to his bed had become too grand an effort. The carpet beneath his father’s feet was stained with every substance imaginable. For half a decade it’d increasingly become the solitary site of his life’s every moment, spent wiled away in front of an ancient television sat atop a rickety end-table drawn close to account for failing eyes. The numbers on the controller had worn away completely months ago.

He took a seat on the sunken sofa, next to a toppling stack of old newspapers, and sucked in a lungful of dust. A piece of him wondered if he’d begun to visit too often. “You alright?”

His father grunted, pulled in a labored breath. “Been better.”

(Fiction by Kayleen Burdine)

Welcome Back! (Now Accepting Submissions)

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Photo by Dr. Linda Sumption

El Portal is officially back from its summer vacation! Be on the lookout for the return of This is West this Friday, August 5th.

We’re also now accepting submissions for the Spring 2017 issue! Fiction, nonfiction, flash fiction, poetry, photography, and art are welcome internationally. Simultaneous submissions are welcome. Deadline October 31st.

For Terms of Submission: Click Here

For Submission Guidelines: Click Here

With the start of the 2016-2017 school year on the horizon, the Fall 2016 issue is well on its way to publication and is full of excellent works by very talented authors. In the meantime, why not check out our previous issue?

El Portal Spring 2016 can be found here.

El Portal – Spring 2016

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Readers can now access the PDF version of El Portal’s Spring 2016 issue. Click on the image above to access the PDF file. If you have any questions about the Spring 2016 issue, please feel free to contact the editor at el.portal@enmu.edu.

Full List of Contributors:

Phillip Parotti “Antiquarian Mishaps”

Stephen Cloud “Pop Runs Out of Gas, and Mom Says I Told You So”

Paula Friedman “Photograph, Chavez Ravine: 1948: Girl Brushing Sister’s Hair”

Paula Friedman “Little Mexico”

Kristin Kaz “on the train the people wave at you”

Gabriella Garofalo “She hurled you to a land where”

Lucas Smith “Orange County, Viceroyalty of New Spain, 2002 A.D.”

Gloria Keeley “Behind the House”

Tracie Campbell “Shattered Dishes, Broken Lives”

Steve Bellin-Oka “Late April Song”

Steve Bellin-Oka “San Francisco, June 1999”

Ann Howells “Where Tumbleweed Go to Die”

Ann Howells “Dauber”

Carla Ruiz “Untitled 1”

Carla Ruiz “Untitled 2”

Fawn Hon-Hinton “Flake”

Tasha Vice “Puddles on the Plains”

Tasha Vice “South Florida Mill”

Samantha Pilecki “An Idle Mind”

Lowell Jaeger “Pain”

Lowell Jaeger “At the County Library Used Book Sale Fund-Raiser”

Elena Botts “if you are walking in the garden”

Jack Buck “The History of Furniture and Wood Flooring in East Texas”

Mark Trechock “Directions”

Mark Trechock “Hash Browns”

John Walser “A Love Supreme”

John Walser “Telemachus”

Jason Namey “And the Clay Was Not Redder”

Atri Majumder “Immature”

Atri Majumder “Frozen Whirl”

Starlin Waters “One would think a fountain would have”

Chelsea Morse “Drought”

Call for Submissions (Last Chance!)

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Photo by Dr. Linda Sumption

There’s just a little over 24 hours left until the deadline for this semester’s issue of El Portal, so get them in quick! Fiction, nonfiction, flash fiction, poetry, photography, and art are all welcome internationally! Simultaneous submissions are welcome. Deadline March 31st.

For Terms of Submission: Click Here

For Submission Guidelines: Click Here

Be on the lookout for the Spring 2016 issue, which should be releasing next month. In the meantime, check out the Fall 2015 issue, which we’re proud to say includes a very talented array of writers, poets, photographers, and artists.

To check it out: Click Here

To check out previous issue of El Portal: Click Here

If you have any further questions about El Portal or the submission process, please feel free to email the editor at el.portal@enmu.edu.

Call for Submissions

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Turn out’s been great so far, but that doesn’t mean we’re done yet! If you’re interested in submitting a piece for the Fall 2016 issue of El Portal, there’s only five days left! Fiction, nonfiction, flash fiction, poetry, photography, and art are all welcome internationally! Simultaneous submissions are welcome. Deadline March 31st.

For Terms of Submission: Click Here

For Submission Guidelines: Click Here

Be on the lookout for the Spring 2016 issue, which should be releasing next month. In the meantime, check out the Fall 2015 issue, which we’re proud to say includes a very talented array of writers, poets, photographers, and artists.

To check it out: Click Here

To check out previous issue of El Portal: Click Here

If you have any further questions about El Portal or the submission process, please feel free to email the editor at el.portal@enmu.edu.

Call for Submissions

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Photo by Dr. Linda Sumption

Did you know El Portal has been published since 1939? Get in on our long publication tradition and submit to the Fall 2016 issue! Fiction, nonfiction, flash fiction, poetry, photography, and art are all welcome internationally! Simultaneous submissions are welcome. Deadline March 31st.

For Terms of Submission: Click Here

For Submission Guidelines: Click Here

El Portal also recently released its Fall 2015 issue, which we’re proud to say includes a very talented array of writers, poets, photographers, and artists.

To check it out: Click Here

To check out previous issue of El Portal: Click Here

If you have any further questions about El Portal or the submission process, please feel free to email the editor at el.portal@enmu.edu.

Call for Submissions

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Photo by Dr. Linda Sumption

It’s two weeks until the deadline and El Portal is still accepting submissions for its Fall 2016 issue! Fiction, nonfiction, flash fiction, poetry, photography, and art are all welcome internationally! Simultaneous submissions are welcome. Deadline March 31st.

For Terms of Submission: Click Here

For Submission Guidelines: Click Here

El Portal also recently released its Fall 2015 issue, which we’re proud to say includes a very talented array of writers, poets, photographers, and artists.

To check it out: Click Here

To check out previous issue of El Portal: Click Here

If you have any further questions about El Portal or the submission process, please feel free to email the editor at el.portal@enmu.edu.

Call for Submissions

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The deadline’s fast approaching, but El Portal is still accepting submissions for its Fall 2016 issue! Fiction, nonfiction, flash fiction, poetry, photography, and art are all welcome internationally! Simultaneous submissions are welcome. Deadline March 31st.

For Terms of Submission: Click Here

For Submission Guidelines: Click Here

El Portal also recently released its Fall 2015 issue, which we’re proud to say includes a very talented array of writers, poets, photographers, and artists.

To check it out: Click Here

To check out previous issue of El Portal: Click Here

If you have any further questions about El Portal or the submission process, please feel free to email the editor at el.portal@enmu.edu.

Call for Submissions

Llano_Estacado_Caprock_Escarpment_south_of_Ralls_TX_2009

Llano Estacado, Caprock Image byLeaflet (CC BY-SA 3.0). Found on Wikimedia Commons.

El Portal is still accepting submissions for its Fall 2016 issue! Fiction, nonfiction, flash fiction, poetry, photography, and art are all welcome internationally! Simultaneous submissions are welcome. Deadline March 31st.

For Terms of Submission: Click Here

For Submission Guidelines: Click Here

El Portal also recently released its Fall 2015 issue, which we’re proud to say includes a very talented array of writers, poets, photographers, and artists.

To check it out: Click Here

To check out previous issue of El Portal: Click Here

If you have any further questions about El Portal or the submission process, please feel free to email the editor at el.portal@enmu.edu.