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)