Washington Writers' Publishing House
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WWPH WRITES 118... and this week, on April 1st, our full-length manuscript contests open. DC, Maryland, and Virginia writers submit your manuscripts of poetry, fiction (novel or short story collection), or literary nonfiction (essay, memoir, or hybrid). Deadline is June 30th. $1,500 in prizes. All publication costs. Editorial and promotional support. Most of all, an opportunity to be a pressmate at your Washington Writers' Publishing House. Details below.
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Plus, your WWPH WRITES is seeking poetry and prose submissions for our summer and fall issues. A very limited number of spots are still open for 2026. Send us your best!
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In April, your Washington Writers' Publishing House will be participating in two area writer conferences. It's a perfect time to connect with us in person. See below for more details and registration links.
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In May, we launch Capital Love, featuring 55 writers on the power of love and connection in these divisive times. More news on readings and events to celebrate the second in our series of 'Capital' pocket-sized books coming soon (so keep reading and sharing WWPH WRITES).
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But first: Read on to the heartfelt poetry of K. Rose Dallimore and Serena Agusto-Cox, and the raw, heavy metal-inspired flash creative nonfiction of a new voice on the DMV literary scene, Carter Beebe.
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Caroline Bock & Jona Colson
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K. Rose Dallimore is a poet, playwright, and disability activist based in Washington, D.C. Her work has appeared in Cripple Media, Josephine Quarterly, Rough Cut Press, and Anodyne, among others. Her chapbook, Intake, is available via Bottlecap Press.
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Serena Agusto-Cox, a Pushcart Prize nominee, editor at The Mid-Atlantic Review published by DayEight, coordinates poetry programming for the Gaithersburg Book Festival. To help poets, she reviews and markets collections through Savvy Verse & Wit and Poetic Book Tours, respectively. Also find her at: https://savvyverseandwit.substack.com/
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HARMONY THROUGH BRUTAL NOISE
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On a hot July afternoon, I was on edge driving into DC with nothing but a dark, obscure poster I’d spotted on Instagram leading me. It was a promo for a local hardcore show, with four bands I had never heard before on the billing: Phantom, Early Grave, Corvo, and Pray to be Saved. I had no idea what I was getting into and had decided to go without much thought. Alone. I wasn’t going to chicken out with the same old excuses of having no energy or no one familiar with the scene to hold my hand.
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I had on constant blast records like Gojira’s From Sirius to Mars (progressive metal), Dystopia’s Human = Garbage (crust punk), and Death’s Symbolic (death metal). I was enthralled with the diversity available under the metal/hardcore label. I had only been exposed to “dad metal,” like Metallica and Black Sabbath, and other music that was just embarrassing – look up “TX2,” and you’ll get the gist. I’m someone who loves to explore various music genres and enjoy what they offer, so I had never completely written off this category of music. I had also been into some harder stuff since middle school. I couldn’t go a day without praising my beloved Death Grips, who are certainly grating on the ears but more electronic and experimental than metal, despite my friends’ apparent disinterest. But the more intense stuff, the real real stuff, was hard for me to sink my teeth into. Records like Nails’ Unsilent Death, Cryptopsy’s None So Vile, or Orchid’s Dance Tonight! Revolution Tomorrow! was incomprehensible to me. On several occasions, I found myself asking, "How do people actually like this stuff?"
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Perhaps I was particularly angry or emotional that day, and the noise resonated with my mood, or I had made myself like it through sheer will. Regardless, it wholeheartedly changed my perception of what music could be and what it means to be a musician. It was brutal, honest, and filled my mind with such extreme emotion. The next closest thing for me at that point was post-rock pieces I adore, which utilize a more orchestral, slow-burning approach to huge apexes that made you feel as though the world was condensed into a twenty-minute song. I came to recognize that these hardcore records were just as much in tune with the human condition. Though, of course, they took a more merciless approach. Besides love, anger is what really connects people. Anger at how things are. Anger at how things could be. You see it in our politics and in how we interact online: spend any considerable time-consuming political content online and tell me you aren’t seething, or at least frustrated. Many of the connections we form are enabled by a common animosity.
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That’s what I found at that house on that hot July afternoon. A common love to hate. A shared need to vent out frustration and do good. I’d come to find out that the show was a benefit for the Baldwin house, a community housing project aimed at stabilizing rent for at-risk DC residents. Like a starved stray dog, I crept up hoping for scraps. I’m sure my face was cold, and my hands were trembling. I got situated and found the person working the door. The recommended price was between $10 and $20. I paid twenty. I looked inside and found people in their groups, anticipating the performance. Everyone was garbed in black, red, and camouflage— a sure sign that you’re going to see screaming and moshing. Patched on their clothing was bands they’ve come to love, local and well-known alike. They had no withholdings toward displaying what they’re about. Nor did the performers. They played loud and riled the tightly packed congregation into a sweaty fervor. The space for standing was barely a room-wide, and I imagined it would be where the dining table would go if this house had been born into civilized society. But we were there, vultures over a fresh kill, enthralled by this brutish display. And I came to see where my passions had led me: among these folk who love their neighbor, love to support local musicians, and hate that this world is not how it should be—a hatred so strong it drives you to screaming rather than singing, thrashing rather than dancing, and I felt content.
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Carter Beebe is an accounting student at the University of Maryland. Born to a military couple in Washington State, he has since lived in the Netherlands, Virginia, and now Maryland. His father, Aaron Beebe, is co-founder of Plastikcomb Magazine, an independent contemporary art publication.
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WWPH SUBMISSIONS OPEN APRIL 1st
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Books & Authors
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Curious if WWPH is the best place for your manuscript? Check out our books and authors here (and it's always good karma to buy a book from a small press that you are thinking of submitting to! We have an updated and detailed FAQ for you.
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The Washington Writers' Publishing House aims to publish books that reflect the rich diversity of our region and represent literary excellence on a national level.
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APRIL WRITING CONFERENCES...
On Saturday, April 11, your WWPH will be front and center at the first-ever Pages & Possibilities: A Creative Writing Symposium at Hagerstown Community College in Hagerstown, Maryland. A chance to learn all the basics of writing and publishing your book, stories, or essays. More details and registration here
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THINGS WE LOVE
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Award-winning WWPH Books by women writers. Available everywhere books are sold!
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Capital Love, featuring 55 writers and 56 works of poetry and prose on the power of love as an antidote to hate, is set to be published in May... and it will fit into your pocket!
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WWPH WRITES is currently OPEN FOR SUBMISSIONS. We are reading for the second half of 2026.
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Poetry. Prose under 1,000 words. $25.00 contributor payment. Limited spots open. Don't wait to submit!
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The WWPH PRIDE Poetry and Prose contest is coming back! Submissions open in mid-April. Cash prizes and publication in June. Keep reading WWPH WRITES for details. Need inspiration?
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Prose editor, WWPH Writes
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Poetry editor, WWPH Writes
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Copyright © 2025 The Washington Writers' Publishing House, All rights reserved.
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