Coop Flyer
Learn how to Fly
“Coming of age" is a trope for good reason, it's universal; one day we’re young, the next old, and that space in between subject to endless speculation and reinvention. Deciding when we grew up says more about our current state of mind than its past, the passage of time having given us space to decide the influence of nature and nurture. Yet, everybody had a home, somewhere we found comfort, even for a moment, and those are the stories that resonate from this generation to the next. Flying the Coop encourages you as the artist to decide what that home was, literally, metaphorically, philosophically, or abstracted further from the physical, and when it was left behind for a life beyond it, even if you’re still trying to reach it, or have abandoned it entirely.
Let Your Artwork Spread its Wings!
Creative Writing
Any form of literature that centers home and when it is left behind, whether that be prose or poetry, fiction or nonfiction, essay or research paper, a note to oneself or letter to a parent, we want it. Similarly, digital artwork surrounding such themes would also be accepted and given equal weight in the design of this journal.
While there is a cutoff for submissions in December, we encourage writers to turn their work in early so both sides have enough time to debate over differences in creative vision. Creating spaces for disparate pieces is part of the point in emphasizing the fractured nature of life, but please do engage with the thematic through line.
Editorial Support
Submission Guidelines
Applicants are encouraged to submit their work in the format of a docx, as that would allow most the editing process to be most convenient for either side in terms of suggesting and making edits. Digital artwork should be in png or jpeg formats, though we cannot guarantee the editing process will be as thorough.
The Catbird Seat
Prose spotlight
Poetry spotlight
"Papou's Recipe" - Maia Scavdis
The spinach nearing its expiration date was really the last straw.
Thea was having a difficult day already; she’d woken up late, sniffling with the beginnings of a cold, lost her keys, dropped her breakfast, and been quizzed on a reading she simply hadn’t done. When she finally made it out of class, an hour and seven minutes later, a parking ticket was already tucked behind her windshield wipers, like the universe’s cruel cherry on top. It was almost enough to make her break down in front of the meter. Almost. Thea held back her tears the entire ride home, clutching the steering wheel in one hand, tossing crumpled tissues to the floor with the other. She kept her composure while collecting her mail, climbing the rickety stairs, and retrieving a spare key from under the mat, until she made it inside her apartment, with nothing there to greet her but spinach that was about to expire.
It sat on her counter next to the casualty that was her morning oatmeal, looking sad and slightly deflated from weeks of waiting to be used. She was optimistic when it was bought, planning to use it in a dish that never saw the light of day. It got lost in the back of the fridge, stuffed behind the pickles and yogurt she bought back in January. Now her roommate had taken it out of the fridge as a passive-aggressive reminder. The message was clear enough: do something with this, or it’s gone.
Of course, it was the last day before the leaves in the bag passed on from their long-refrigerated life. They couldn’t have gone earlier, or just a moment later. No, they would expire right when she wanted nothing more than to shut herself in her bedroom and hibernate.
You still have to find a joyful moment, a small voice told her, one that sounded oddly like the sickeningly optimistic chirping that grated at her ears for forty-five minutes a week. The fusing of her conscience’s voice and therapist had to be an indicator that she was going insane. It was either that, or accepting that the shrink had a point, something Thea refused to do.
She would find the stupid joyful moment, but only because of the spinach. If it wasn’t set to expire, she would have lain among the ants on her kitchen floor and given up. But she had to use it, and she liked cooking, so Thea resolved to make spanakopita. What did she have to lose, anyway?
"Palm Leaf Crucifix" - Hayden Sprance
On Sunday there’s mass.
We will worship you and
I will tuck leaves of palm into cork board edges
in preservation
of a moment relived and
remembered once each year.
It's tradition to fold each leaf into a cross,
waiting, listening.
I do it because you did.
My nimble fingers struggle
reaching inside and around each leaf.
I wonder if yours struggled the same, or
if the practice you had helped.
I remember origami at kitchen counters,
stuffing jelly beans and plastic grass into woven baskets
I remember Easter differently but
I am thankful for found religion
I am thankful for us
Within each groove, solemnity grows.
Forever preserved- a reminder of love
across tradition and division.
I will never be a saint,
but your love is holy enough for me.
"Something to Build" - Bella Burcsak
What I first noticed about the Athens area was its walkability, specifically around campus. Where I’m from, walks were either a few minutes of sidewalk to my neighbor’s house or an hour and a half along the highway to Dairy Queen, though that may better be labeled a hike.
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At Ohio University, almost everywhere is in walking distance; food, medicine, coffee, paper towels, and everything else an 18-year-old could want or need is ripe for the picking, and only a matter of that freshman’s finances. I immediately fell in love with the romance of it all: me on a beautiful brick road in my humble college town, the world at my fingertips. I imagined walking home with friends under the glow of flickering streetlights or rushing to class through a perfect breeze under lush maple trees. Cars have no whimsy, walking does.
​
The problem was that I had nowhere to go.
​
How was I supposed to live out the rom-com I’d envisioned for myself since childhood if I had no one to star in it with me?
​
—
​
On only my second day as a resident of Athens, Ohio, I sent a text to my roommate fabricating an appointment to the advising office. I just wanted to walk, even if it was over ninety degrees Fahrenheit, mosquitoes launching themselves at me like I was the first warm body they’d seen all day. I called my mom simply to see if my voice was still working after two days without talking to a single soul, and she did not answer.
"Relief Fills Me" - Sam Rees
Relief fills me
as I escape the bubble
that is
my hometown.
Though our drive provides some respite,
I choose to reflect upon my past.
Upon me, my friends,
relationships lost.
Relationships that endure,
keep me marveling,
amazed at the articulate way
one may feel woe,
Throughout the inevitable turbulent transgressions,
yet willingly they remain /
a kinship throughout.
—
As we travel to the new home that is mine,
sitting next to my mom,
I sift purposely poised,
I feel loss pervade my mind.
Perfectly transparent privation
transposes into
ideation of isolation
from those who care
and love me.
For whom am I without the loving caress
of those who know me best—
What security should I hope to achieve
without the presence of those most prized.
Get in Touch
Every artistic voice deserves a nesting ground and, with your generous contribution of work or desire to appreciate others, we hope to connect with you.
