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Dear Readers,
I have been persistently worrying two big concepts lately, meaning and happiness. What I have come up with is this: we build happiness
out of our experiences, and we build meaning out of how we share our experiences. And one of the most durable, reliable ways we have
of creating meaning in our lives is by sharing stories, particularly in written format. Stories - be they essays, poems, fiction, etc. - order
lives, build communities, create realities.
When I was first asked to take on fiction editing for Limp Wrist, I seriously considered saying no. I already work with two established,
thought-provoking literary journals. Then there's my own writing, then my two jobs, then my graduate studies, then my yoga practice, then
my volunteer work at a literacy center. Oh, and I would also like to pretend to have friends sometimes. Did I really need to be doing more?
Well, yes. Yes. Because there is more to do. Because there are so many wonderful writers looking for ways to share what they have
seen and known and felt in excruciating aching joyous words. Because there are so many readers plunking at keyboards, plucking their
ways through search engines to find writing that matters. And Limp Wrist provides one more outlet for creative achievements, one more
alluvial delta. More words, more context, more contact, more community, more meaning, more happiness. Although I usually believe in
moderation, I also believe that an excess of good writing will only improve the world.
To the family, friends, students, colleagues, and fellow and future readers of David Foster Wallace - I hope that his stories will
continue to provide meaning and happiness as long as language exists. I am grateful that I saw him read in a church near the real and
imagined landmarks of Infinite Jest, that I briefly experienced his elegance, intelligence, and playfulness.
Sincerely,
Heather Hughes
I have been persistently worrying two big concepts lately, meaning and happiness. What I have come up with is this: we build happiness
out of our experiences, and we build meaning out of how we share our experiences. And one of the most durable, reliable ways we have
of creating meaning in our lives is by sharing stories, particularly in written format. Stories - be they essays, poems, fiction, etc. - order
lives, build communities, create realities.
When I was first asked to take on fiction editing for Limp Wrist, I seriously considered saying no. I already work with two established,
thought-provoking literary journals. Then there's my own writing, then my two jobs, then my graduate studies, then my yoga practice, then
my volunteer work at a literacy center. Oh, and I would also like to pretend to have friends sometimes. Did I really need to be doing more?
Well, yes. Yes. Because there is more to do. Because there are so many wonderful writers looking for ways to share what they have
seen and known and felt in excruciating aching joyous words. Because there are so many readers plunking at keyboards, plucking their
ways through search engines to find writing that matters. And Limp Wrist provides one more outlet for creative achievements, one more
alluvial delta. More words, more context, more contact, more community, more meaning, more happiness. Although I usually believe in
moderation, I also believe that an excess of good writing will only improve the world.
To the family, friends, students, colleagues, and fellow and future readers of David Foster Wallace - I hope that his stories will
continue to provide meaning and happiness as long as language exists. I am grateful that I saw him read in a church near the real and
imagined landmarks of Infinite Jest, that I briefly experienced his elegance, intelligence, and playfulness.
Sincerely,
Heather Hughes
| from the Prose Editor: |
Carlin by Justin Evans
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