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Cover art "Forced Direction" by Carrie Jehle
Two Poems
by Joanna Grant ¤ Poetry ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
No Poems About Cats Please more»
The Bather more»
by Joanna Grant ¤ Poetry ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
No Poems About Cats Please more»
The Bather more»
Two Photographs
by Kerstin Demata ¤ Photography ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
Hanging more»
Leap more»
by Kerstin Demata ¤ Photography ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
Hanging more»
Leap more»
Two Photographs
by Carrie Jehle ¤ Photography ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
Mending Nets more»
Near Water more»
by Carrie Jehle ¤ Photography ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
Mending Nets more»
Near Water more»
Ode to the Girl the Serves me White Chocolate Mocha
by Ben Nevala ¤ Poetry ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
more»
by Ben Nevala ¤ Poetry ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
more»
Long Distance Traveler
by James Pfannkuche ¤ Art ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
more»
by James Pfannkuche ¤ Art ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
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Two Photographs
by Johannah Marie Munck ¤ Photography ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
Dirty South more»
Boots more»
by Johannah Marie Munck ¤ Photography ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
Dirty South more»
Boots more»
For as Far as the Eye Can See
by David M. Drasheff ¤ Photography ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
more»
by David M. Drasheff ¤ Photography ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
more»
Breakup Haiku's
by Ben Nevala ¤ Poetry ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
more»
by Ben Nevala ¤ Poetry ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
more»
Two Poems
by John C. Wilson ¤ Poetry ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
Humanity more»
Lost Forever more»
by John C. Wilson ¤ Poetry ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
Humanity more»
Lost Forever more»
XXIII,X
by Andrew Milacci ¤ Poetry ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
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by Andrew Milacci ¤ Poetry ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
more»
The War over Freshman Comp.
by Andrew Milacci ¤ Essay ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
I can still see the trails of Bic-pen-red blood trickling across the pages of the essays I wrote as an
undergraduate: Redundant, find a synonym (slash)—Informal language (hack)—Unclear wording (gouge)—
Weak thesis (thrust). These were the moments when I could not look at one of my professors for fear that I
might become the worst version of myself, the side that would take that stogy old man’s high-and-mighty
pen, the one with the ink eraser on the cap that he will never use, and find some excuse to give him an
emergency tracheotomy.
more»
by Andrew Milacci ¤ Essay ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
I can still see the trails of Bic-pen-red blood trickling across the pages of the essays I wrote as an
undergraduate: Redundant, find a synonym (slash)—Informal language (hack)—Unclear wording (gouge)—
Weak thesis (thrust). These were the moments when I could not look at one of my professors for fear that I
might become the worst version of myself, the side that would take that stogy old man’s high-and-mighty
pen, the one with the ink eraser on the cap that he will never use, and find some excuse to give him an
emergency tracheotomy.
more»
The Air is Getting Thinner
by Gavin Broom ¤ Short Story ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
IT'S ALL A FACADE is written in huge, blood red letters across the hotel bed sheet and India Fargo stands
behind it as though she's about to perform a magic trick. The spotlights from the cops on the ground and
the hovering news choppers just add to the theater. On a ledge outside her fifteenth floor window, wearing
a grimace that might come from determination or fear, India is back where she belongs; center-stage.
more»
by Gavin Broom ¤ Short Story ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
IT'S ALL A FACADE is written in huge, blood red letters across the hotel bed sheet and India Fargo stands
behind it as though she's about to perform a magic trick. The spotlights from the cops on the ground and
the hovering news choppers just add to the theater. On a ledge outside her fifteenth floor window, wearing
a grimace that might come from determination or fear, India is back where she belongs; center-stage.
more»
Construction of a Lie
by Boyd Taylor ¤ Short Story ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
A fraud, a con, a liar, a cheat, call me what you want but I have live a greater life than you. I have seen the
world and seen my name in books. You may not approve of what I’ve done along the way, but at least I
have achieved something. So curse me for my crimes, the lord knows I have committed many, but when
you set down your book I want you to ask yourself something. What have you done?
more»
by Boyd Taylor ¤ Short Story ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
A fraud, a con, a liar, a cheat, call me what you want but I have live a greater life than you. I have seen the
world and seen my name in books. You may not approve of what I’ve done along the way, but at least I
have achieved something. So curse me for my crimes, the lord knows I have committed many, but when
you set down your book I want you to ask yourself something. What have you done?
more»
Jana Mari
by Carrie Briggs ¤ Short Story ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
I could never forget the first time that I saw her. I was seventeen, working as a deckhand on a small freight
schooner. She was at the far end of the port, a stark contrasting beauty to all that surrounded her; deep tan
with yellow and green hugging the curves of her body, her white hair blowing softly in the wind, and though
I’d never been close enough, I knew it to smell of the sweet salty air. I never saw her eyes, but I imagined
them to be emerald as if the sea itself had settled into her.
more»
by Carrie Briggs ¤ Short Story ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
I could never forget the first time that I saw her. I was seventeen, working as a deckhand on a small freight
schooner. She was at the far end of the port, a stark contrasting beauty to all that surrounded her; deep tan
with yellow and green hugging the curves of her body, her white hair blowing softly in the wind, and though
I’d never been close enough, I knew it to smell of the sweet salty air. I never saw her eyes, but I imagined
them to be emerald as if the sea itself had settled into her.
more»
A Taste for Compassion
by Carrie Briggs ¤ Short Story ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
There was a low moan coming from a narrow alley as I walked by. Then, a brief movement followed by a
shush and a dying lullaby. I stopped just in the shadow, eyes straining to see something in the darkness.
The lullaby turned into a sickening cooing sound that on any other day may have reminded one of a
flirtation with the moaning being.
more»
by Carrie Briggs ¤ Short Story ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
There was a low moan coming from a narrow alley as I walked by. Then, a brief movement followed by a
shush and a dying lullaby. I stopped just in the shadow, eyes straining to see something in the darkness.
The lullaby turned into a sickening cooing sound that on any other day may have reminded one of a
flirtation with the moaning being.
more»
Dust and Bananas
by Carrie Briggs ¤ Prose ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
All that was left was some dust and a half-eaten banana. Then again, what more is there after the day that
your heart is shattered? It was my own personal Grey Gardens. I stood in the middle of the tiny living
room, eyes fixed on the banana, waiting for the raccoons to move in.
more»
by Carrie Briggs ¤ Prose ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
All that was left was some dust and a half-eaten banana. Then again, what more is there after the day that
your heart is shattered? It was my own personal Grey Gardens. I stood in the middle of the tiny living
room, eyes fixed on the banana, waiting for the raccoons to move in.
more»
Randagi
by Kerstin Demata ¤ Short Story ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
Life was weird. I’d had flashes of insight over those three years, mostly while under the
influence of light recreational drugs, mostly in hideously inconvenient situations, in which I’d
suddenly leap into a parallel universe of total objectivity and think to myself, “This is odd.” I’
d say, though, that the night I spent flying down the Autostrada in Lee’s battered Fiat,
strapped to the passenger seat with two crisscrossed bungee chords digging into my torso,
bound for the Austrian border, refugees running like mad from absolutely nothing…I’d say
that’s when the feeling became more of a permanent state of mind.
more»
by Kerstin Demata ¤ Short Story ¤ Issue One ¤ 11.10.09
Life was weird. I’d had flashes of insight over those three years, mostly while under the
influence of light recreational drugs, mostly in hideously inconvenient situations, in which I’d
suddenly leap into a parallel universe of total objectivity and think to myself, “This is odd.” I’
d say, though, that the night I spent flying down the Autostrada in Lee’s battered Fiat,
strapped to the passenger seat with two crisscrossed bungee chords digging into my torso,
bound for the Austrian border, refugees running like mad from absolutely nothing…I’d say
that’s when the feeling became more of a permanent state of mind.
more»
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suggestions please contact us.
Downloadable version of Vanilla
Issue One will soon be available.
Please keep checking back.
If you are interested in a
hard-copy of Vanilla please
contact us at:
editors@vanillapress.org
Submissions for the January
issue of Vanilla are now open.
If you have any questions or
suggestions please contact us.
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A place that tears down form and opens into a world
of freedom. A place that one may call home. May
these pages be your sanctuary, a corner of relaxation,
of inspiration. May you find here a friend, a neighbor,
a companion with which to wish with on a day that you
feel alone. May our words and images surround you
and leave the subtle taste of Vanilla on your lips.
the editors
written and sketched and etched into the back of a
lens. Thank you for seeing our vision and helping
us build the walls of this place for others like you,
like us. A place that embraces creativity and passion.
A place that tears down form and opens into a world
of freedom. A place that one may call home. May
these pages be your sanctuary, a corner of relaxation,
of inspiration. May you find here a friend, a neighbor,
a companion with which to wish with on a day that you
feel alone. May our words and images surround you
and leave the subtle taste of Vanilla on your lips.
the editors