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Congratulations to our 2024 Fiction Contest Winner, Luanne Gauvreau!

We're excited to announce that Luanne Gauvreau is the winner of our 2024 Fiction Contest and $2000 prize! Her story "Roses for Bodies" will be featured in the upcoming Winter issue of The Fiddlehead (FH 302).

Luanne Gauvreau lives in Ottawa where she is a writer and editor, in body and spirit. “Roses for Bodies” is drawn from a novel in progress exploring the nature of work and art in a world so in need of real action. 

2024 Fiction Contest Shortlist!

The Fiddlehead is excited to announce the finalists of our 2024 Fiction Contest, judged by Zilla Jones! The winner of the $2000 contest prize will be announced in January and the winning essay will appear in the Winter 2025 issue (302). Thank you to all who entered and congratulations to the following fifteen finalists!

2023 Ralph Gustafson Poetry Contest Shortlist Announced!

The Fiddlehead is pleased to announce the finalists of our 2023 Ralph Gustafson Poetry Contest, judged by Kirby, Sadiqa de Meiher, and Rebecca Salazar! The winner of the $2000 contest prize will be announced in early April 2024 and the winning poem will appear in the Spring 2024 issue (299). Thank you to all who entered and congratulations to the following fifteen finalists!

Poetry Weekend: A Fall Harvest of Poets

While I’m happy to write, I’m just as pleased to read. This is what Poetry Weekend means to me. My poems, my friends’ poems, the moving words of professionals and colleagues and artists are all the better heard echoing from the walls of Memorial Hall. I’ve only attended in-person twice; I started reading my own work during the Zoom years. I’ve been writing my whole life but poetry only for three years, and I know I have so much to learn and catch up on. This makes two days of poets and their work so valuable and so fulfilling.

Jack Wang: Fiction Contest Editorial

One summer, the narrator of “Husbands” arrives at an all-girls camp in Maine, her body gangling and conspicuously mature, yet she still carries a “little layer of baby fat which unfortunately had not melted away in the fires of puberty.” Thus, Emma, like all her thirteenand fourteen-year-old bunkmates, stands on the perilous threshold between childhood and adolescence. In the fog of that time, they begin to play a seemingly innocent game. “The game didn’t start with the bad stuff, that came later,” the older narrator, now married, tells us.

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