By Anne K. Kaler
The first snow has fallen, the season of lights is past, the reindeer sled was not far behind, and the New Year has arrived with more snow . . .
The Pearl S. Buck Fall 2017 Literary Journal got lost under a pile of autumn leaves, hunkering down and resting, until it can rise again when the brighter lights of early spring arrive. We hope . . .
We could quote all sorts of cheerful holiday songs about the busyness of the season but we won’t. We could say that the editors are busily working at the Journal’s production but we won’t. We could say that our computers connived to erase all of our entries but we won’t. We can’t lie, not this close to the ears and eyes of Santa and his elves.
We could give you excuses, lame though they are. We could give you reasons, logical as they might be. We could give you explanations, lengthy and personal as they really are. We won’t make any of those feeble attempts to break the news gently.
We had even thought of having a January or February Writers Guild meeting. The thought of dangerous snowy, icy roads stopped us. The image of dragging ourselves away from the warm hearth side and television set convinced us that staying at home and doing some actual writing was the better choice.
The truth, then, is that life happened to us also the same way it happened to all of you, our audience. We simply cannot and could not find time to develop the Fall 2017 issue of Journal the way we wanted it to be. So, don’t hover near your computer waiting for it ‘cause it’s not going to be ready until well into this New Year.
So, with your generous understanding of our all too human problems, we will see you with a Journal in the new year and at the first Writers Guild Meeting in March. You can always reach us through the PSB website or by email.
The Editors all wish you the very best of writing skills and possible publications over these next months until our first meeting. In the spirit of the glorious recent seasons of peace, hope, and rest, please keep writing diligently and often.
One thought on “Ho… Ho… Ho… No Fall Journal in Your Stocking This Past Year”
Here is one for a winter’s day-
IN MAGNETIC NAVIGATION
We watch far the Wades and Arctic Terns
The Red Breast Goose, Northern Gannet fly
Common More, continents and meadows cross
Worlds filled with waiting, calling for their time
Fields of clouds in lofty magnetic navigation
The Migrants in soaring rhythm make the way
Sting frozen rain, over avalanche or glazier peak
Back and back to place made warm and born again
Return to foods and times mysterious eternities
How many breathes their wings in global odyssey
Wintering birds of the summer air we remember thee