Dear gentle, good-looking reader,
You may have arrived here scrolling the various online literary journals for a cheap fiction high. Or perhaps you are an aspiring writer looking for places to submit. Then again, it could be that you were forced here by use of a violent hyperlink from an associate that was either scrolling the various online lit journals or was an aspiring writer. In any case, you’re probably wondering what it is that we do here.
We publish fiction. Short fiction, flash fiction, micro fiction.
We put up art.
We feature the occasional article that opens your eyes.
What kind of fiction can you expect to read here? What kind of art will you see? That’s a tougher question. Some people read to escape. You may even have come here for that. But you won’t leave on any electronic flying carpets. The world we struggle to create on these binary pages is a world that will make you uncomfortable and reflective.
The writing on Literary Orphans is a mood more than a style.
It’s the nervous glances back at your apartment when you go for a walk without your cell phone. It’s the nostalgia you have for squeaking cassette tapes and Soviet ICBMs. It’s an analog dream in a digital era. The writing on Literary Orphans is an exorcism of the mind of its contributors, and reading the work here is putting up your fists and getting confrontational with solitude–solitude in a world where neon signs are out and LCD billboards are in, a world where you can’t think for following because everyone is doing all the thinking for you.
Do you resent the fact that after you have a falling out with a friend you’re forced to remove them from the social media website you’re using just so you don’t have to see their toothsome, fucking face staring back at you every time they “OMG! totes just ate a waffle”? Yeah. We feel you. Escape with us and the countless readers that we don’t keep track of with Google Analytics twice daily and 16 times on weekends (cough)–escape with us to a place where protagonists walk on bricks that look that awesome just because other people have walked on them for decades, not because someone with Photoshop thought it’d add atmosphere. The world of lit.orph is a constructed future of literary anachronism.
We’re technophobic tech-addicts trying to make our own place in this information saturated world.
Come stay with us.