Writing often feels like a solitary task. It makes sense. Just you and a boundless page; pen hovering, cursor blinking. Those worlds and characters, those plot twists and cutting dialogues, all buzzing around in your head. Spending hours and hours perfecting each sentence. They say writing is taking a part of yourself and putting it onto a page. Only you could have thought of that particular string of words. Only you could have put them together in that particular way, to say that particular thing. These stories you tell, they can only come from you. Would it work in any other way?
A few years ago, for reasons we’re all aware of, everything became a solitary task. It’s been hard to come out of that, even now. During that isolated time, a group of strangers came together on Zoom while undertaking their master’s degrees in Creative Writing. They found it hard to form bonds with each other’s tiny pixelated faces. Found it hard to know when to speak between the long awkward pauses from internet lag. No one knew how to make the first move when they only had to meet two or three times a week. Faint suggestions were made to meet in person once all of this was over—with no one actually believing it would do anything other than fall through, like those types of plans always did.
For a writer, is there a better feeling than someone telling you they loved your story? That it made them feel exactly how you were hoping it would?
Yet, somehow, it happened. And then it happened again. And that group of strangers slowly started to become something more. They wrote alone, then sometimes together. They shared their work, talked about ideas, the books they’d read and loved (and hated). They had the idea to start a writing group. And then a lit mag.
It turns out, writing doesn’t have to be a solitary task. In fact, it’s always better when it isn’t. There is value in hearing what people think of your writing (we all know how easy it is to get carried away). There is value in sharing a sentence that makes your heart expand, or your breath stop. Believe it or not, there’s value in the harsh criticism too. And of course, for a writer, is there a better feeling than someone telling you they loved your story? That it made them feel exactly how you were hoping it would?
And so came Issue 0 of Glyph. Magazine. In some ways, the stories in this issue carry through them this feeling of isolation that was felt by the editors at the time they all met. Whether that’s feeling alone in a room full of people, like Kirsten in When Will You Take Notice? or just trying to survive (or not survive) in the remote seaside towns in The Selkie’s Child and Banshee.
Despite the isolation, there’s also the feeling of coming together. From a marriage falling apart in Irresponsible Adults to one that’s just beginning in The Proposal, these stories seem to find and bring forward the comfort and unity felt in being completely alone, together. We hope you, the reader, can feel this too. Whether these stories bring you a sense of belonging, dread, make you laugh or make you cry, we hope you find something of value in them.