The other day one of my students asked me if I knew of any literary journals published in Charlotte, so I happily told her about Litmosphere, the literary journal published by Charlotte Lit. As she wrote down the information that I shared with her about Litmosphere, she said, “That’s a cool-sounding name.” I agree.
Some of my favorite words start with lit, such as literature, literary, literacy, and literati. They all derive from the Latin word littera, which means letters. I also like the word sphere. This word has connections to the Latin word sphaera, which means, “globe, ball, or celestial sphere.” Thus, for me, the name Litmosphere conjures up a vision of a celestial sphere with letters zooming around, forming words, phrases, poems, and stories. Well, I am happy to report that the new spring 2025 issue of Litmosphere completely matches my vision of a literary, celestial sphere.
I contacted Kathie Collins, the Editor-in-Chief of Litmosphere, and asked her for more information about the latest issue. Here is what she sent to me:
Mark, thanks so much for asking about Charlotte Lit’s spring issue of Litmosphere. There are some thrilling (and a few chilling) voices in this issue, each of which is paired with a painting by A. J. Belmont, an outstanding contemporary artist from New Hampshire. Our issues are never themed, but Paul and I usually find a feeling tone emerges among the pieces we select for publication. While this issue’s subject matter is broad, the overall feeling is one of estrangement, and Belmont’s emotionally captivating deconstructions of his subjects—spaces, sleep, and key memories—perfectly capture its mood.
The opening lines of Richard Allen Taylor’s poem “Tour Guide” are a good example of this disorientation: “If you need a guide through the territories / of loneliness, take me. I know these lands, / speak the language…”. Likewise, Erin Slaughter’s “The Killing of Snakebird” presents us with the longing for a re-ordering of an inner landscape that’s become unrecognizable: “I tire of my own mythology. I wake up alive / past the end credits, unsure which story / I’m in.”
These rich explorations of strange worlds, inner and outer, are evident in the issue’s other categories, too. In her essay “Educación,” Justine Busto orients herself in Satillo, Mexico by learning to move more slowly; while Jeremy Schnee, in his outrageous “The Young Master Wannabe,” finds glory in moving fast. In her flash story “Twenty-three and None,” Deborah Davitt imagines what it might be like to come from nowhere. And, among this issue’s short fiction stories, we wander through multiple surreal landscapes, stories that attempt again and again to answer the question, “who will I be next?” In the final lines of her epistolary story “Tenure,” Amelia Dornbush explains to her imagined reader, “Most of all, I hope that you understand that until and past the End, we loved. That is how Maria and I chose to die. And it is now how I will choose to live.”
This issue is rich in its strangeness and full in its declaration of love. Mark, we hope your readers will explore some of these strange and fantastic landscapes by taking some time to read a few poems and a story or two. The entire issue is free to read. Let us know what you think!
To read the spring 2025 issue of Lithosphere, please click of the following link: https://litmosphere.charlottelit.org/issues/2025spring/
I congratulate Kathie and all the good folks at Charlotte Lit on the release of the latest issue of Litmosphere. With the publication of each issue of Litmosphere, Charlotte Lit makes an important contribution to the larger literary sphere that I call Storied Charlotte.