Emerge Literary Journal: 2024
Editor’s Note
For as long as I can remember one of my favorite pastimes has been people-watching. Not just people though, and not just watching. I enjoy observing and absorbing all the sounds and sights and feelings a moment has to offer. I love to find a bench on a beautiful day and sit for long stretches of time, observing all the other people coming and going. I relish quiet moments I spend near the lake listening for hours to the water, the birds, and squirrels in the trees, and watching the boats go past. Sometimes, after being there for a while, I feel a spark of urgency to capture something I’d been thinking or feeling and pull out my journal to write. Writing makes me feel more present and more. . . connected somehow. Connected to what though? Because I am actively engaged in reading and sharing other people’s writing, even in these largely solitary moments, I feel connected to people, their experiences and observations, and our shared humanity.
It’s comforting and liberating to know that, even with the same raw material, there are so many ways to tell a story; there is no one right or best way forward. Instead, we capture these daily impressions, inputs, wonderings, and decisions with the nets of our minds, sort through them, and assemble them into one version of our lives in order to make sense of it all As a writer and editor, I understand the power of reflection and revision in shaping a narrative: shuffling plot points and observations, cutting, adding, trying to figure out where the story begins, how it moves, where it ends. I might start out thinking I know the shape of a story, but a different structure and arc reveal themselves. Connections are what keep us human and grounded (or as I like to say, connections keep us “tethered” to this wild, amazing, and sometimes harsh world). Without connections, we often drift, become lonely, find ourselves in a dark, scary place. Connections bolster us, draw the fight back into our blood, bring us back to ourselves, to our hope and life and love. And, many times, it’s not what we’re writing about, it’s the simple mess of being human that touches us and others—
As humans, we crave connection. It’s an innate desire that is essential to our overall well-being. When we feel connected to others, we experience a sense of purpose and meaning in our lives. We feel seen, heard, and understood, and this validation helps us to become the best version of ourselves. When we feel connected, we’re more likely to take risks, try new things, and pursue our passions with a sense of confidence and purpose. We’re also more resilient in the face of adversity, knowing that we have a support system to fall back on. Ultimately, the power of meaningful human connection lies in its ability to help us feel truly alive. The fundamental truth of Issue 31 is this: meaningful human connection is a profound experience that cannot be replaced by anything else; and making those connections isn’t as hard as we often make it out to be. We miss opportunities because we write them off, because we forget things, because we get on the wrong train. Because no one’s ever said I love you in a way that makes us believe. But we don’t have to miss them. We must stop, breathe, and look.
We live in arduous and uncertain times, and the need for observation, connection, and compassion is greater than ever. Literature is a wondrous means through which we may better understand ourselves and the world around us, and find ways to cope, heal, grow, and touch one another. In these past four years since returning to publication, Emerge Literary Journal has told its contributors’ stories, meaningfully connecting readers and writers alike. Indeed, enriching the lives is a core component of our mission as a literary journal, but another, more explicit, want is to shine a light on that which might otherwise be overlooked: changing perceptions through the exchange of stories, ideas, and artistic expressions, an inherent value of being a part of the literary world. It’s meaningful to me to be a tiny part of someone else’s journey and provide a means for them to share their work with a wider audience. I’m grateful to you for reading, grateful to the writers who trust us with their work, and as always, extremely grateful to have such a wonderful team—Diane and Theresa.
Warmest,
Ariana
Be Well. Write Well. Read Well.
Poetry
A Kind Of Blindness || Charles Hensler
Orientation Points || Emily Hockaday
Portrait of Crip in Chiaroscuro || L.M. Cole
Amor at the Armor Manoir | The Helicopter*The Heron || Matthew Hittinger
Dusk Light || Alicia Elkort
Taxonomy || Taylor Franson Theil
Hard-Won Spring Aches With Promise | The School of Being Poor and Trans || Dylan McNulty-Holmes
Flower Moon | Plague || Ben Kline
Gold/Mine || Tresha Faye Haefner
Homecoming nocturne | Saalumarada-An Avenue of Trees || Sayantani Roy
Esperanza Corner
Melancholia || Alicia Elkort
Winter Tendons || Kelli Lage
A Diamond-Shaped Scar in the Rough || Jennifer Kiefer
Desalination of the Ocean of Tears || Cynthia Boersma
ELJ believes that #mentalillnessawareness and #endingthestigma are of paramount importance. We believe in the necessity of sharing our mental illness and trauma stories to facilitate writing through illness and create broader awareness. We’ve created this corner to allow writers to not only share their stories but to be home to those who share in their experiences.
Creative Non-Fiction
Fly, Baby, Fly! || Shanda Connolly
What Cool Girls Believe || Charlotte Hamrick
Soon Be Home || Jena Schwartz
Purchase || Karen Zey
Mother || Sandra Jensen
Fiction
Angels Can Break Our Hearts || Meg Pokrass / Jeff Friedman
And Still || Tessa Vanderkop
Sway || Barbara Diggs
Normal Force || Melanie Maggard
After the Break || Andrew Bertaina
The Day the Bridge Collapsed || Jennifer Lai
Taking that plunge || Swetha Amit
