The evergreen tree outside of JP’s attic window is still as I write these words. They say the first snow might appear in the next few days. The town tree was lit last night, as we all clutched our hot chocolate and sang, noses up like the Peanuts kids, to the crescent moon over Palmer Square. Some sang for the return of light. Some, I’m sure, for a good deal on consumer goods they didn’t need. And some, I’d like to imagine, were singing for joy, for grace, and to invite gentleness and silence into what has become a time of madness.
You wouldn’t be wrong for thinking that it’s always mad these days. All the more reason to embrace the more internal, nurturing qualities that this time of year, based on nature’s rhythms, provides for us. The leafless trees, the early darkness, the colder temperatures…these are instructions. They are telling you to rest. They are telling you to ask questions of yourself and your life. Whether you are pleased at where you find yourself, or whether you need a course correct like most of us, one thing I’m pretty sure of is that we’re not supposed to go faster as the days continue to wane…
All this said, I wouldn’t want you to think that I dislike this time of year, or that I am against celebrating. Far from it. I love Emmet Otter’s Jug Band and The Polar Express and all of the pagan / folk customs that hide in plain sight as secular traditions as much as, if not more than, the next person. But celebration has room for gratitude in it, and for reflection as well. So as I sit here in this quiet Crow’s Nest wrangling these words for a second consecutive year, I would like to celebrate, and be grateful for, a few things, if you don’t mind.
I am grateful to our Founder and Editor In Chief, Jennifer Lyn Parsons, and her dedicated staff, not only for reaching the end of another year of publishing LSQ, but for reaching yet another milestone. This is issue forty of a quarterly publication that has never missed an issue, come what may. If you do the math, that’s ten full years of curating and sharing the voices of female identified authors in the speculative fiction field. Ten years! In a world that often seems made of vapour, with an attention span measured in negative integers. The hours that they all put in, building on and refining JP’s original vision, is nothing short of awe inspiring.
I am grateful to Virginia M. Mohlere for writing a story in issue 034 that won LSQ its first ever award a few months ago, the Small Press Short Fiction Award from the Washington Science Fiction Association. I can see it on JP’s desk from here, all lucite and official looking. We all like to say that Grammys and Oscars and Pulitzers and Halls of Fame don’t matter, and we might even partially believe it. But that’s not the whole story. An award can mean validation. It can give just enough of a boost to a volunteer run publication, with an overworked EIC who sometimes wonders if anyone is still paying attention. (I do my best to remind her, gang, but send her an email or a tweet every once in awhile to help me out, K?)
Finally, I am grateful for the bright future that Luna Station Quarterly promises. As we tie a bow around Year Ten and look ahead to some of the projects we have lined up for 2020, like our next anthology, The Second Five Years, or our Omnibus Initiative, to get the early issues of LSQ into print for the first time, I can honestly say that the best is yet to come. I envision more public events and community interaction, tabling at conventions, gatherings and meet and greets, and who knows… maybe even another award or two!
But all of that is tomorrow. Today, I present to you our second themed Winter issue. This time, the call went out for stories about Potions and Poisons, and as always, our authors responded. So sit back, sing to whatever star feels right to you, and invite Silence and Celebration into your life, through these stories, and through all you do in these coming days and weeks.
Until next time,
Yr Pal Tara