Student Driven | Nationally Recognized
A magazine of literary arts, faith and culture.
Diversity, Equity and Inclusion
The climate of literary journals has long been dominated by the white male gaze, and Belmont Story Review is committed to publishing stories, poetry, and essays that are inclusive of a diversity of opinions and represent typically underrepresented populations.
Through our editorial discernment, we seek to accept work from typically under-represented groups, whether this is BIPOC, LGTBQIA, ELL or other writers, dreamers, and thinkers.
Established in 2016, the magazine aims to surprise and delight readers through an eclectic mix of storytelling which includes fiction, personal essay, and poetry at the intersection of faith and culture.
In addition to bringing engaging narratives to a wide audience, we seek to exemplify the mission of Belmont University by venturing into the wider culture-shaping arena of literary arts, extending and honing our skills as readers, writers, editors, artists, entrepreneurs, and citizens within a Christian community of learning and service. Located in Nashville, Tennessee, Belmont University is renowned for its College of Entertainment and Music Business and Social Entrepreneurship programs. Belmont Story Review is produced through the university's Publishing Program, which is one of the nation's only undergraduate majors in Publishing. The journal was founded by former Program Director Richard Sowienski, a 30-year publishing veteran, which included a five-year stint as managing editor of The Missouri Review. It is now edited by the current Director, Sara Wigal.
Digital Only Content
SOUNDS OF THE UNCONSIDERED
soft brush on skin
frothy bubbles at glass rim
never conscious of or named
regardless still there
WOULD YOU STILL DO NOTHING?
He was shot seven times by a cop from behind,
And we're supposed to act like everything is fine?
Jacob Blake was the black man apparently next in line,
All while George Floyd is still fresh in our minds
I FUMIGATE THE SPORES
FROM MY LUNGS
Caitlin C. Baker
I never believed in reiki
even as I sat cross-legged on the floor of a
technicolor yurt fogged with incense as if the
breath had crept down from the mountains.