Letter from the Editor-in-Chief, Mike Joyce
Where do I begin? I don’t know if it’s possible to sum up my emotions regarding this new issue of Literary Orphans with an anecdote, but please bear with me as I try
Exactly one week before this date, Feb. 6th 2013, I found myself in the company of skyscrapers and the homeless and not much else; sitting on a bench on a workday night at 12AM with my ear-flaps down, staring at Union Station. I had a full belly of deep-dish pizza and a ringing in my ears from the man next to me, talking to an advertisement of Oprah on the Plexiglas of a bus shelter.
It was the first night of the year that the rust-belt winter remembered that, hey, it was the goddamn rust-belt winter and what the hell had it been thinking, letting us get away without any freezing slushy snow? It was the first night of the new year that I took a minute, a minute to look around. I had been running on adrenaline and caffeine since late 2012, trying to get the new Literary Orphans design up to snuff. I turned to the man talking to Oprah on the other side of the bench; he stopped and looked at me and he asked why I looked so damn tired, man?
I was tired, and I told him so–I told him so before I began explaining to him, this man who might never have used a computer in his life, about how I couldn’t get these stupid, asinine buttons on the website to collapse the text-portion of the page. About how I had it working this morning but when I left for pizza it just wouldn’t jive. He nodded and said that reminded him of Abe Lincoln’s gay black lover, and how you had to be true to yourself, and there was a man who knew the meaning of being true, and that maybe the buttons didn’t want what I wanted for them.
I laughed, but I had to agree.
I could tell you all about the hours spent constructing this site, about the coding conflicts. I could tell you about sitting in front of my monitor in the sleeping city and being moved to new heights of frenetic energy after reading pieces from first-time-published writers that left me reeling, pieces like Abigail Amabisca’s “Between a Burn and a Shiver” and Ruth Madievsky’s “Smile.” I could tell you that this issue, I put in everything I had. And when that wasn’t enough, the people around me put in everything they had. Scott Waldyn–the Managing Editor of this magazine–worked like a demon to promote Literary Orphans with press releases, he read countless submissions, and was with me every step of the way as we re-designed LO. He wasn’t the only one, though. Scott and I spent last Friday jumping in the air and high-fiving after cinematographer and newest member of the staff, Jayme Joyce came thundering in like the cavalry. In a furious three days straight of work she cinched two new fantastic photographers for this issue, Michela Riva and Manuel Estheim, and paired their great work with the 30 featured stories in this issue.
I could tell you so much more about what went on behind these curtains, but I won’t. I will take a note from our namesake this issue and let it speak for itself. Instead, let me tell you about a man born in New Orleans, a man who laid the foundation of modern music, a man who knew a thing or two about being true.
Louis Armstrong was abandoned. First by his father, then by his mother. He would bounce back and forth between the care of his relatives and the care of New Orleans itself. He squeaked out a living by finding thrown-out food and selling it: the spirit of Satchmo was insuppressible. At only eleven, he would wander around with a quartet of boys who busked in the streets for money. It would be years before his breakthrough, but perhaps the most amazing thing about Satchmo was that he never stopped.
The true impact of this man is immeasurable. The musicians he inspired created new genres of music that inspired countless sub-genres. All this music inspired other, non-musical artists, writers and photographers and painters and filmmakers. Everything we are as a society, everything we’ve become, is tinged with the blare of a trumpet by a man who grew up where the largest river in North America met the Atlantic Ocean. He changed the world not by refusing to compromise his ideals, not by orchestrating a PR campaign; he changed the world because he knew of no other way to live than as himself.
I can think of no more fitting orphan than he, to name this new beginning for Literary Orphans after.
This website may look different, may look slicker–but rest assured that our new design is truer than ever to our original intent. Literary Orphans 2013 manages to focus on both the art and writing in equal amounts. Whereas in the previous design, something was taken away from each, due to a compromise to focus on both parts. In this new aesthetic we made no compromises. The art and writing of the magazine are firing on all cylinders–there is no question in my mind that Literary Orphans has been elevated to a new level aesthetically. We are no longer held back by the limitations of our technology. There is nothing more fitting to me, nothing more perfectly logical, than to know we have transcended those limitations in tech-capacity–us, an online literary magazine that was founded nearly exactly a year ago to explore the liminal space between technology and humanity.
Before you begin looking at this issue, Satchmo, it might be worthwhile to take a look at a note on the new design, so you can optimize your experience.
This magazine is filled with authors who seem like wonderful characters in their own right. Take a gander at our new photo-based table of contents page, it’s a bit like browsing a bookstore. Or if you’d like, the text-based content page is available as well. We have two fantastic micro-fiction pieces by the much beloved Meg Pokrass. Also, I was lucky enough to conversate with the busy and delightful Anna March, we talked about her projects and feminism and influences. We feature a moody and brilliant piece by John Keating, co-editor of the Cork-based magazine, Penny Dreadful. The magnificent Mike Sauve shows his command of humor and the written word with “The Dispossessed Person.” Chicago-based poet Ryan Boyd makes his Literary Orphans debut with two devastating broken-line poems. CS DeWildt, someone we’ve had our eye on for quite a while, shows his mettle in a piece that somehow manages to combine humor and noir and literary punch flawlessly.
This job is many things, but it is not thankless. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for the tremendous support from all of our readers. If you like what you see here, share us with your friends!
I hope you enjoy reading this issue as much as I’ve enjoyed editing it!
Mike Joyce
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