How to begin describing this whirlwind, dizzyingly splendid, achingly tender and transformative year, even as summer begins to close and autumn opens with early leaves? So much has changed since the last time we spoke, and yet, I can’t help but feel that every time I sit down to write this letter—whether in my apartment, at the library, or, currently, sitting in a corner of my favourite coffeeshop—the world slows down ever so slightly, and the hum of everyday life fades into the background. Writing this letter always feels like a homecoming, and curating each issue fills me with a soft, reassuring familiarity. We have been very quiet this year, listening rather than speaking, walking amongst the tall grass rather than leaping through the fields. So much has changed for me and my staff—new jobs, schools, and opportunities have gently pulled us towards much growth and contentment. Speaking personally, the first-half of 2019 has brought tremendous, yet necessary change; I finished my first year as a teaching assistant, teaching undergraduate cinema studies courses, and I completed coursework for my master’s program. By the time the cool wind ushers in the turning of the seasons, I will have handed in my thesis, waiting with anxious excitement for graduation in November. Soon, I will also start my first-ever, full-time job in a field that, in retrospect, I began working in the moment I decided to start this journal, not knowing just how much it would help and heal me in the years to come.
My gratitude to you, dear readers and contributors, is endless; I never imagined that this little journal would grow so quickly, and yet, we’ve recently celebrated our third year and have no plans of slowing down anytime soon. We want to continue growing not just for our own sake, but so that we may inspire, encourage, and uplift writers and artists well into the foreseeable future. Who would we be without the people who have stood by our side, answering our calls for submissions, reading our issues, and sharing the work of our contributors with their friends and loved ones? Where would we be without others, cultivating spaces that truly exemplify everything community can and should stand for? Our mission statement has remained the same since our inception, and we have no plans of straying from its path; we advocate for the work of underrepresented, marginalized, and emerging writers and artists by providing platforms and creating safe, inclusive online communities. We are not the voice, but the microphone; we cannot do this work without our contributors and readers, and for that we are thankful.
One day, I will be able to properly put into words how much L’Éphémère Review has changed my life for the better; the people I’ve met, the friends I have made, the rekindling love of writing, and the communities that truly want to see me thrive have made me a better writer, editor, and person. So much has changed since we published our inaugural issue three years ago, and I have no doubt that life will keep on moving in different and exciting ways as we continue on.
Last year we decided to change the scheduling of our issue releases; rather than releasing bi-monthly issues, we switched to a quarter-monthly system, releasing a new issue during each of the four seasons. The much-awaited Issue 13: Dulcet is the first issue released under this new system. Ushering in the last few days of summer, Dulcet sings honey-voiced and aching, sweetly and longingly, of days spent lounging in the sun, sitting on warm sandy beaches, listening to the morning songs of birds as the sky brings forth a new day. Our biggest issue yet, Dulcet features thirty-four writers and artists whose work sings with a melodious, harmonious sigh. A symphony of heartache, joy, change, and remembering weaves its way through this issue, odes to to the past, the present, and future, to what-could-have-been, what is, and what-could-be, if we only stop to listen.
We hope this issue sings with the voice you need, whatever that may sound like.