Three years ago I started my career as a lawyer. I took it light heartedly and continued to focus a good deal of my time on writing stories and poetry, hoping in my heart that one day I would be a writer, rather than a professional.
So far, that has not come to pass, and truth be told, I’m not sure it ever will.
But despite the ceaseless demands of working in the city, trying to serve clients faithfully and well, I write.
I write when I am blue, when I am happy, when I am feeling in the mood. I write with the same dedication if not the same purpose that I had when I was younger.
I’d like to think that even though I may not achieve what other greater writers achieve, my writing matters. It is part of a larger body of work which is the creative effluvium of this world – the stuff that makes us most human and which lasts longer than our temporary bones, to remind us of where we come from and the connections which continue to exist between us and every other generation.
I’m not about being really good any more. I am just about continuing to write. I am not about achieving a bestselling novel, but I would like to pen a few words before I die. I think these are humble goals compared to the goals of many artists and writers, yet no less profane and worthy.
Perhaps all I’ll ever be is a pair of shoulders for someone else to stand on. So what? If we work collectively, at least we’ll be privy to the comforting knowledge of great heights.
This magazine was a concept developed between myself and Chrissy Johnson. Neither of us knows where it will go.
To the contributors, we cannot (though we wish we could) offer great publicity, immediate frame or good standing among your literary peers. But we can offer a forum to practice, feedback, and community.
To the readers, we hope you enjoy the collective efforts of our world’s quietly achieving artists and writers.
–Katie Wright (Sydney, Australia)