The Keeping Room is an online magazine for all women writers, poets, and artists.
We are looking to publish your short stories, essays, free writing, poetry, and photo essays that touch on topics related to Women’s Wisdom, Lessons Learned, Self-care, Bodies, Relationships, and Community.
Writers selected for publication will be paid $25
Mom wears orange and smiles at people who thank her, smiles at people who yell at her, and smiles at the man who will soon rob her. Everyone near Mom wears yellow or orange and has matching ball caps striped with white, which makes them visible to my wolves.
Annie bit into the packet of ketchup and squeezed it out over her tater tots. It wasn’t enough so she canined her way into another one.
It’s easy to get used to certain things, like aching shoulders and a sense of floating outside your life, looking down…
The burly sheriff, pressed uniform the color of gravy, knocks on the frame of the tattered screen door…
“When I desire you a part of me is gone…” Anne Carson, Eros the Bittersweet
They drove all day without any music, leaving the Finger Lakes in Sam’s old Honda just ahead of a snowstorm that would close the schools and the airport’s two gates
“Jen, will you spray my mouth?”
“Coming.” Jen stopped scrubbing a pot, dried her hands, and walked into the bedroom.
They ran out of milk three days ago. Looking into the refrigerator for an alternative, Nora saw a white and green carton of orange juice sitting nearly alone …
It wasn’t lying if you planned to tell the truth eventually, that’s what Annie Rae had told herself when she’d made the appointment two weeks ago. She’d needed to do this thing in her own way …
My body holds the history of so many Mississippi summers that a bead of sweat rolls down my back in anticipation. I leave the relative cool of the house…
We saw each other again during a summer storm in the Shenandoah Valley, in the Walmart parking lot. He was returning from a trip to Russia …
Amanda cradles the book in both hands; she can hardly believe it’s here. She has lurked in McIntyre’s second-hand bookstore for weeks, hoping its musty shelves would offer up this prize, but never really expecting it …
Flora stands at the edge of the desert trail, sweat trickling down her back. Scraping her thick chestnut hair back into a high ponytail, she looks forward, her gaze set in determination. Today is the day—she’s going to do it…
The monster first appears in the shape of a small child, on an unseasonably warm winter day in New York City.