It’s a cliché, a thing writers supposedly say, or learn to say, to themselves. The imperative also implies the existence of, and need for, an editor. While assembling Issue 2 — and honing the magazine’s voice and the voices in it — we found ourselves gravitating toward tales of editing. As Francesco Pacifico notes in this issue’s essay « How Americans edit sex out of my writing »:
« The editing process might be the real literature. »
So we gathered some darlings from contributors. In print, they can be found here and there, like plots in a garden cemetery, with lamentations, good-riddances or other epitaphs.
☞ Possession, demonic vs. mundane (Preeta Samarasan)
☞ The South Bronx did not exist (Peter L’Official)
☞ Coagulated soy juice (Fernanda Eberstadt)
☞ Odessa conga line (Yamandu Roos)
☞ A can-can dancer performs a Christmas tree (Sarah Watling)
☞ K-pop nostalgia (Mia You)
☞ Dinosaurs + dolphins (Caroline Tracey)
☞ Longing + debt (Irina Dumitrescu)