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Dog day

It’s my sad duty to inform y’all that this week’s story is the final story for Dog versus Sandwich.

Changes in my personal circumstances, and an increasing squeeze on my time have meant I’ve had to make some tough decisions, and the administrative side of maintaining a weekly website has become more and more difficult to keep up with over the last couple of months. After some internal debate, I made the decision that I would rather close the magazine than put out a product I couldn’t give the attention it needs or deserves.

Small press publishing exists in a constant cycle of birth, death and rebirth. Magazines and webzines come along, survive as best they can, and then die, to be replaced by new projects and bright-eyed, naive new editors. Some may see cause for dismay in this constant entropy, but I see it as a sign of hope. Change is what keeps the small press vibrant, dynamic, and saves it from stagnation.

When I began DvS, I decided to give it a month or two to assess whether there was enough interest to make it worth continuing. The fact that I’ve kept it going for ten months is testament to the enthusiasm of those authors, readers and reviewers who recognised something in the project that they identified with, and who took it into their hearts. Weirdos:-) I’m proud to say it was never possible, even for a second, to think of DvS as “my” project. It has always felt like the product of a very strange, shifting gestalt. I’ve been privileged to connect with a lot of intelligent and talented people, who happen to share my slightly demented aesthetic. I’m grateful to all of you.

DvS may return in some other form, down the track. Or it may not. Whatever the case, I’m immensely proud fo the pieces I’ve published here. I’ve loved them all, I had a lot of fun publishing them, and I hope you all had some fun along the way, too.

Peace,

 

Ben

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Turnaround Times

Also, a note on turnaround times.

Real life has intruded a little in the last few months and our current turnaround time is more like two or three months rather than one month.

I’m aiming to get this down to a faster time soon.

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This week’s story

Forgot to blog before going to Conflux that there’d be no story this Monday. It’s kind of redundant, now that Monday has been and gone, but just so it’s official: there will be no story yesterday.

Normality of sorts will resume.

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Bewaaaaare!

Also, it should be noted that the Dog and Foodstuff will be taking a short break next week, while I train a baby sealion to do my job and occasionally bring me stuffed olives and cheesy pasta.

We will return on the eighth of September. With bells on! (1)

 

(1) There will be no bells.

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A Short Paws

Dog Versus Sandwich will take a short break this week.

Now I know what you’re thinking: “You forgot there were five Mondays in June, didn’t you, Ben?”

Ahh haha! Ludicrous!

Hang your cynical head in shame!

No, this week we take a break to reflect. It’s been a remarkable six month journey thus far. I’m sure we all have our memories. The story with the thing in it. The one about that guy. The Epic sonnets. The one starring Charles Bud Tingwell.

Good times.

At this juncture I’d invite you, gentle readership, to contribute your thoughts. Which have been your favourite stories of the first six months? Remember your feedback will shape the future of the zine, rendering me *not responsible* for any future dislikes you have, so choose well!! I may even let the more popular authors out of my coal shed…

The floor is yours*!

 

(*the floor is not literally yours. It belongs to my landlord. But go ahead and speak if you like)

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pdf link

The pdf link for that last story should be fixed now, for anyone who had trouble with it…

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This story reminds me of something I don’t remember having forgotten… I can’t recall precisely what, but I think you’ll agree that it captures the moment.

Enjoy!

that-kind-of-day.pdf

 

That Kind of Day

Bruce Holland Rogers


 

He had run out of gas. That was the kind of day he was having. He had gone into the church to see if he could use their phone or at least get directions to the nearest gas station. But when he explained his problem to the woman in the church office, she said, “Two-eighty a gallon.” (more…)

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