A story about the fiction included in Arkana Issue 2
By Cassie Hayes, Fiction Editor, and Liz Larson, Fiction Reader
A thing is incredible, if ever, only after it is told.
—Eudora Welty, “No Place for You, My Love”
We’re going to tell you the story of the stories that the Arkana fiction editorial team chose for inclusion in our second issue. Is the story of the stories incredible? No. Not really. No golden beam of light came down to shine heavenly light upon any one of the four stories included. No angels sang. There were no trumpets or burning bushes or any other foolproof sign that said we have to publish these, that it is our moral responsibility to share these stories with the world.
But there was a haunting feeling left over after we read them. There was a feeling that we had touched common humanity and heard voices we needed to hear that we hadn’t exactly heard before. There was an awe that always accompanies the taking in of good art.
We had many exceptional fictions submitted, and we were hard pressed to make the tough choices. Believe us, every editorial team loves that kind of problem.
We noticed the uptick of diversity of submissions for this issue. Thank you submitters for listening to our mission statement, and keep that coming, please. We want to hear your voices. We want to continue to hear the voices that have been silenced, but speak to us and bring us the awe.
In the end we had to just go with the stories that worked together, forming a unified whole of themes and ideas. Because we have such sunny personalities, the four stories we ultimately chose deal with death. There’s a strange darkness to every one of them, but also a stiffened lip, “there’s no storm we can’t weather” sort of feeling too. The characters in these stories are survivors. Survivors who, like only survivors can, see and celebrate the beauty of life.
“Central Park: A Ghost Story” involves a strange attraction in blinding snow, the struggle to keep warm, to see, and to get back home. “Falling Season,” our contest winner, similarly involves attraction, strange because of societal norms, and the struggle to overcome the death of a parent. “The Winter Cabin,” our contest runner-up, like all the other stories, deals with attraction in the face of death—in this case a terminal illness—and also like the other stories shows nature as a dynamic force surrounding the characters. Finally, “Follow the Sun” portrays a woman determined to keep moving after the death of a spouse, facing ageism, poverty, and plain old bad luck.
Reading submissions and choosing which pieces to accept is a humbling experience. Yes, humbling. Far from the Judgy McJudgypants persona you might think of in regards to editors at literary journals, we are not of jaundiced eye. More often than not, we feel the awe. Then, after the awe, we cut our eyes right and left, nervously making sure no one has seen our hand, that we actually care very much about the work we read and our submitters. But alas, our tells are loud and we give lousy poker face.
We can’t hide our excitement about these stories. Every time we open up a new submission, we find new complexity—that richness of experience that unfolds when you get to meet another voice. There are always new ways of seeing things, fresh perspectives, and just damn good prose that await our not-so-jaded eyes.
There’s also a feeling of being connected to the larger literary world when you’re getting to read submissions and publish wonderful stories like the four included in this issue, and that feeling is very humbling. We have a responsibility to publish work that both fits into the current literary landscape but also pushes the boundaries of contemporary fiction and society. Stories, when they are shared, can bring human beings together like nothing else, bridging ideologies and backgrounds and fostering empathy. Like the mythic Jacqulyn West, Arkana nonfiction editor, chanteuse, and wicked raconteur wrote in her blog post “Arkana Rooted in Diversity”: We’re all in this together, and we want to represent.
The story of the stories is hardly awe-inspiring. Behind-the-scenes production, getting the art out into the world, involves all the dull bits of reality that the art itself tends to cut out. Reading through submissions, emailing each other about the work, trying to pick four stories out of a plethora of good pieces, inputting those works on WordPress, sending out contracts, etc.
Hardly incredible, even when told.
But, still meaningful. After all, our main goal as an editorial team is not to have a great story, but to share the great stories we come across with you. And that duty and privilege, at least in our humble opinion, is incredible and awe-inspiring.