Amanda Halkiotis is the middle child of a loud Greek family. High school for her was like a cringe-worthy, overly realistic movie: way too long and no sex whatsoever. She then attended The College of Saint Rose in Albany, New York, where she walked cum laude and received the Senior Writing Award. Amanda now lives in Brooklyn and works at a nonprofit child advocacy resource center, spending over half her salary on rent. She can be spotted doing laps around Prospect Park on her bike, zigzagging in between strollers and Rollerbladers like a squirrel dipped in Vaseline. She hopes to attend graduate school in the future to study creative writing. Most recently, her poetry has been published online by The Innisfree Poetry Journal. She has a cat named Arabesque and looks forward to someday owning a horse named Soothsayer.
Ed Higgins and his wife and three whippets live on a small farm south of Portland, Oregon, where they remain unrepentant holdovers from the early 1970s “back-to-the-land” movement. They raise a small menagerie of chickens, turkeys, ducks, geese, pigs, Jersey cows, Nubian goats, an emu named To & Fro, and a rescued potbellied pig named Odious. Ed Higgins teaches creative writing and literature at George Fox University, and his poems and short fiction have appeared in Monkeybicycle, Pindeldyboz, and Bellowing Ark, as well as the online journals Lily, CrossConnect, The Centrifugal Eye, Mannequin Envy, and Blue Print Review, among others.
Matt Jakubowski was born on a remote army base in Virginia, then was quickly hustled overseas and forced to study skateboarding in Germany and Australia, where at age 12 he became the youngest skate rat ever to master all the tricks in the “Bones Brigade” videos. Due to injury he was sent stateside to attend the University of Michigan and learn to write. He later spent three years on staff at the Kalamazoo Gazette — it was really something. Now he's in Chicago, writing and studying at Northwestern. His novel-to-be is called Bulletface.
Cyn Kitchen somehow manages to write amid the incessant interruptions of her cacophonous family. Between her four children, three dogs, two cats, and one cell phone, she can rarely find two quiet minutes to rub together.
Added to that, she lives one block from a train crossing that hosts 100 locomotives a day with blaring whistles that can reach 125 decibels. She doesn't want to turn into a crabby old woman, but she doesn't see any way around it.
Born amongst the corn cousins, Elmers, and strip-mall barons of Indiana, Patrick learned early on in life that something was rotten in Denmark. After mailing many, many postcards to various addresses in the greater Copenhagen area asking after the source of the stench, and after receiving no replies to his repeated queries, he became convinced that it must be the mayonnaise. More by Patrick Russell
Steve Spaulding believes he will have another pull on the whisky bottle, thank you very much — and would there be a spare beer in the fridge? ‘Cause that would be great. He is also a bit deaf in one ear so would you mind speaking up? And don’t hold it against him that he doesn’t remember you; while he can remember obscure characters in movies and comic books on only a single exposure, real people are like the flitting shadows of a strobe-lit room to him. Steve considers it a downright miracle he has lasted as long as he has in such a cruel and unforgiving world and thanks his lucky stars for every breath he draws, and for all the good friends he’s made. Steve wonders what God was thinking, where the surplus went, whether there’s a spare beer in the fridge, and did he already ask that? Because his short-term memory is sort of on the fritz these days. More by Steve Spaulding
Valerie Wetlaufer was born and raised in Iowa. She received her B.A. and MAT from Bennington College. Currently she lives in Tallahassee, where she is an MFA candidate at Florida State University, and shares her home with her cats Vita, Virginia, and Walt. Her work is forthcoming in Bloom and Jumps.
Geary Yonker’s deep-seeded fear of death really keeps him busy. It is not so much a fear of dying as it is a fear of dying without having accomplished anything in his life. He attributes this fear to having been told he was special too many times when he was a kid. The problem started when he began to believe it. This complex has had many manifestations. Originally it served as a defense mechanism when he was an overweight child. When he got a little older it served as great excuse for coasting through high school and college. In 1997, Year 27 of the Great Coasting, he started inviting his friends to an abandoned dairy farm that his family inherited from a great uncle. Nobody is exactly sure how or why but he is convinced that this changed his life and gave him some direction. The actual directions to “The fARM” that he gave his friends led them up interstates, up county highways, and eventually onto gravel roads. After every turn the partygoers were urged to “keepgoing” (bet you thought that we were just ripping off MoveOn.org). Since then “The fARM” has spawned an annual charity event, three mediocre bands, and this ever-evolving website. More by Geary Yonker
keepgoing.org is published quarterly, on the first day of each season. In fact, we control the seasons. If we hadn’t published a Spring issue this year there would never have been a thaw, and the world would now be enveloped in perpetual winter, practically another Ice Age.
Obviously, this is an awesome responsibility.
If you would like to play god with us, as well as see your original fiction, nonfiction, poetry, photography, or music published by this quarterly, there may be hope for you. We do consider unsolicited material for publication. We read every submission with varying degrees of interest and attention and publish those which seem best to us at the time. We won’t publish your stuff if it sucks, unless you know someone on staff.
The submission deadline for each issue is as follows:
Spring: February 21
Submissions received after the deadline for a particular issue will not be considered for that issue. That’s why they’re called deadlines, dummy.
Email your submission to firstname.lastname@example.org. Include “submission” in the subject line of your email, and include the title of your submission and your name in the body of the email so we don’t mistake it for one of the many angry emails we receive from attorneys and immediately discard it.
We ask that you send your submission as an attached file. That’s not too much to ask, is it? Please do not attach files larger than 1 MB to your emaildon’t even try it. For fiction, nonfiction, and poetry submissions we prefer the file to be in Microsoft Word, but we are usually clever enough to work with other word-processing programs.
If your file is not readable, we will return it to you to be resubmitted if the mood so strikes us on that particular day.
Please don’t send us a deluge. Save stuff for later issues. Try to limit yourself to no more than one story or three poems.
We don’t want any trouble. We will not consider simultaneous submissions or material that has been published anywhere else, not even in your crappy, semi-subversive, high-school underground newsletter. We are a non-paying publisher (unless you count all of the good karma and warm feelings your submission will undoubtedly garner you). Copyright belongs to you (the author or artist) after publication, because, quite frankly, what are we gonna do with it?
We do our best to respond to all submissions, but be aware that we are sometimes inundated and other times lazy. If you have not heard back from us after three weeks, please assume that we will not be able to use your submission. We are not responsible for the return or loss of submissions, or much else for that matter.
Permission for Use of Material
We welcome requests for reuse of keepgoing.org material. If you would like to reprint or otherwise pilfer material published in keepgoing.org, please make sure to email email@example.com. Please include the issue number, the name of the author or artist, and information about how you would like to use the material.
Letters to the Editor
We welcome letters from our readers and other crackpots about material published in keepgoing.org, but not from angry lawyers. Please submit mail for our Letters column to firstname.lastname@example.org. For your letter to be considered, you must include your phone number and postal address, but we will not publish this information. We promise.
Feedback and Queries
We welcome feedback on how lovely our web site is and how easy it is to navigate. We also welcome queries about who we are and what the hell we’re doing. Please submit feedback and queries to email@example.com. Somebody on our staff will probably get back to you if they can tear themselves away from writing stupid bits of nonsense like this.