For as long as I can remember, I have thought of myself as a collector. This became most true while working on Pages Penned in Pandemic: A Collective during the end of 2020 and into this new year. And while my best friend and co-editor, Justin Maher, couldn’t wait to begin assembling the work within this book, I must admit the task felt daunting. 

There was much enjoyment to be found in the initial act of collecting the work from writers near and far. But trying to find a starting point for the actual book seemed impossible. I’m not entirely surprised by this, as with all my writing, beginnings are much more difficult than endings. I knew which piece I wanted to conclude the collective. However, once I printed the work and laid the pages side by side, I was transported back to my own experience hearing news of the pandemic for the first time. 

Perhaps there are those who will say that the job of an editor is to keep their personhood from the pages of the work. I’m sure this is a very good rule, especially for editors of longer works in which their main investment is time and expertise. With this book, I had included four of my own poems. And with the added brilliance and assistance from my best friend, we had hand-selected every piece that each reader now has the chance to experience for themselves. So you see, dear reader, we have invested so much more than just time. 

On December 23, 2020 with the printed pages of the collective, I made my selection for the opening poem. Justin and I decided we wouldn’t discuss our preferred orders just yet, as we didn’t want to sway the other. Through Christmas Eve, I completed the arduous tasks of finding what I believed to be the perfect places for the accepted work. And I did cling to this notion of perfection until our editorial call where we discussed every transition. We had our reasons, pleading our cases for each. 

Most interesting throughout this process were the certain sections where our order matched up exactly. And just like that, we were done. We had the way we saw the pandemic through the beginning and middle meeting with what our writers envisioned for a future. 

We know most readers may pick up this book and flip to the work that interests them most. They will skip around and reread their favorites and bypass ones they do not wish to read. This is okay. As readers ourselves, we will admit this same process for reading similar works. However, each piece in this book was organized with care. We found an art to collecting, and now we hope readers may enjoy this book start to finish, just the way we envisioned. 

So how did we arrange the order of the collective?

Dreaming

When returning to those early days of the pandemic, I couldn’t escape that feeling of a dream; nothing seemed real. As such, “Day 49” by Sher Ting felt the only possible way to start this collective, which led us into Jason de Koff’s “Navigating New Worlds,” another poem filled with the idea of not being able to go back, even while stuck in a dream. His ends with the line, “I face the plunge,” creating an interesting juxtaposition with the opening line from SK Grout’s poem “In Retrograde, which states: “I am not leaping…” Throughout her piece, the absence of the moon is clear, leading well into another dream-like poem by Wim Owe, [untitled]. By the end of his piece, it feels as if the narrator has woken, bu not entirely, which seemed a strong jumping off point for Grace Alice Evans’ poem, “particles,” exploring the idea of being “in-between dreams and night-visions.” And within this piece, there is the mention of a “continuous headache.” We knew what our next piece would be within this section of dreams. “Transition” by Jenny Maveety discovers those hidden places that are not entirely dream nor waking, which arrive as headaches for the narrator. In the end, things are hidden, but we hope the reader finds themselves more grounded in reality. 

Reality 

Coming from a story, which exists in the liminal spaces between waking and sleeping, we knew “Meditation on the Heat Death of the Universe” by Daphne Daugherty worked well, opening with “Tell me how you hide it…” The poem concludes with ideas of stars disappearing and the world seeming to take over. 

Creature vs. Humanity

There was no better piece to follow with than Ben Nardolilli’s “Zoonotic,” in which the natural world, most specifically a family of wolves, begins to creep into the once populated areas of a city now “unafraid of human disturbance.” We remembered the early days of the pandemic in our country well, and this worked as a tether for the idea of dreams crashing into stark realities, as it was for many during these early days. Next we took our readers to James Morena’s flash fiction piece, “Evidence of Annihilation.” While not specifically centered during pandemic times, it picked up on a sidewalk with another creature. There is a sense of chaos, of endings and destruction and memory firmly rooted within this work, which made the following poem, “Birdsong” by Mitchell Solomon feel natural. Though the language within this small poem is at times violent, it ends with the idea of hope, of searching the sky for a place to heal. Being another poem filled with birds, we knew my poem, “How to Write Accidents,” would only feel right going next. Throughout this poem, the birds return to a window, reminding the narrator that the world outside the safety of home will always be there. 

The Outside World

Moving to Marianne Brems’ poem “Uninvited” made too much sense, as the outside world trespassed without invitation. Hers clarified what many felt during isolation. It ends with the line “…swallow my peace,” and we were struck with this notion of a breath held after, waiting for the fear of the outside world to dissipate. “The Way” by Margaret Koger picks up with this breath held. It is eventually released, allowing a matter of fact observation to close out the poem. 

The City

“21 Years” by Meghan Malachi picks up in a city, the narration beginning almost matter of fact, but bridging the gap between these worlds inside, breaths held, to an endless stream of & & &; thoughts steady and unwavering. We hoped readers would settle into the city, transporting them to Rachel A.G. Gilman’s short story, “The Rabbit, The Owl, and The Newt” where the city becomes another character within the narrative. The story ends on the Brooklyn Bridge, and Justin’s poem, “The Bridge” allows the reader to stay there for awhile longer. 

Effects 

As Justin’s poem ends with a cat, we knew “5 A.M. Conversations With a Friend” was the next natural place to shift. Pam R. Davis Johnson’s poem fits well here, and without spoiler, we will share that it brought us into the next phase of pandemic thinking, the days when the effects of this crisis began to settle into the mundanity of our lives. Jerica Taylor’s poem, “For the Hopeless Scroll Under the Swipe of Your Finger” is another such piece, as is “Indispensable” by Caroline Taylor. We won’t share too much to ruin the subtle surprises of each. This led into “Power Outage,” a poem in which Beth Boylan begins with a tangible effect and uses it to explore all the ways in which the narrator’s world seems to be ending. Though concise, the writing is timely and urgent. It ends with “…when the world blows its fuse,” and we couldn’t pass up the moment of juxtaposition by shifting into “…with electric lights and cool air…” found in Daphne Daugherty’s poem “untitled (these walls almost contain you).” Images of nature and the idea of home flowed well into “Stone Silver Bird Blessings” by Tracy Rose Stamper. And as her poem ends with “I achieve social distancing / plus time outdoors,” we knew a story in which social distancing is ignored for the desperate craving of human interaction was an interesting way to follow. We did just that by adding “Return of Innocence” by Helen Faller. This short story explores the ideas of being human amidst the pandemic in a way that is gripping and timely. 

Nature 

The spaces created thereafter seemed just the place to follow with Corey Miller’s prose poem, “The Distance is Harrowing. The Temperature is Miles.” His work is filled with stunning images of nature, all told from the space between a couple in bed. We couldn’t help ourselves with the next story, “Lovesick,” by Tina Anton, which brings more distance, another couple, and images grounded in a garden. While we won’t spoil the end of that story, we will say that the transition into Preston Smith’s poem “Rebuilding Wonderland” felt as close to perfection as one can get. And we stayed in this theme of nature by introducing Louis Faber’s poem “In Chorus” next. More birds found their way into the book within his piece and continued into Justin’s poem “There are some crows out there losing their composure.” There is the notion of being “in someone else’s idea of the future,” paired with images of technology, which we felt an interesting juxtaposition with the natural images used throughout this “section.”

Creation 

The strongest notions of technology and future can be found in J.S. Bowers’ short story, “The Elves and the Shoe Designer.” We knew this must follow Justin’s poem, heralding in the next “section” of the collective which brings the reader into pieces all about the act of creating. Up next, Dónal Forgarty’s short story, “Tomorrow, James, and the Blue Cat,” which follows the narrator as he struggles to make his dream of writing the best screenplay a reality. 

Retrospect

As Forgarty’s story nears the end, there is the sense throughout that the narrator will continue to look back on the pinnacle of his work in retrospect. This made the decision to shift into Meghan Malachi’s poem, “Sour,” an easy one, as a memory from the narrator’s sixth year of age is recounted to the reader. And so, we followed with Meagan Johnson’s flash fiction, “Migration,” told in second-person as a sister recounts a summer with her brother filled with the ache of remembering. Next, Carol McGill’s poignant poem, “No proper burial,” brings us another memory, one which the narrator wishes may disappear. 

Food

While the notion of memory was still clear for the reader, we made the decision to follow with Daphne Daugherty’s poem, “Recipe For Wild Recipe,” which uses images of food framed within a recipe to depict attempts to salvage a failing relationship. Moving to T.C. Anderson’s poem, “Eat,” again seemed too logical a transition to pass up. Here she, too, uses this notion of nourishment to explore a relationship. And to Melissa Boles’ flash non-fiction, “Lukewarm Cake,” we continued this thematic flow until its eventual end with “I created a version of you that I hoped could exist.” 

Transformation

Within this idea of wishes and hope, we knew “Spell”  by Lucia Larsen works well to transition into this next “section” of writing. Beginning with “I cast my first spell / of metamorphosis…” we were enamored with the connection to the end of Boles’ story.  Next “Thanatos Tales” by Junpei Tarashi, in which the narrator explores the idea of change and transformation. The moment of mythology fit well with Larsen’s fantastical language used in the preceding poem. And in this idea of change and wishing for different versions, we couldn’t help but find the commonality of brokenness demanding something new. 

And so, we followed with “The Sad End of a Rainbow” by T.C. Anderson, a poem, which ends with violence and destruction in the last line: “…and we will become fire.” As Olaitan Humble’s poem, “Benzodiazepines” opens with fire, we knew it connected well to the piece before. And in ending with “she burns too in all her glory,” we settled into “Beast Beats,” another poem by Junpei Tarashi filled with the notion of self-destruction. While Shannon Frost Greenstein’s “Faith” features writing grounded in the real world, there is still the destructive nature of sense accompanying discussions of obsessive compulsive thinking. It is gutting and stark and overflows with too many thoughts. 

Relationships 

As my poem, “Things to Leave on the Mantle, or Lies We Tell the Dark,” opens with the line, “Your mind wasn’t made for intricacies…” it flowed from the essay before. And through this poem, the narrator recalls a lost love, thus launching into the next section firmly focused on relationships. We moved to Lindsey Heatherly’s poem, “roots of our marrow,” which features another couple, but also future wishes for togetherness in place of the world’s destruction. The sentiments therein lend themselves well to Justin’s poem, “52, or I’m going to blame this on martinis.” There is an imagining, a sense of wanderlust within his piece that works well to bridge between these relationships and the exploration of the unknown. 

Travel

“The Destination Before Next” by David Brookes transports readers to unknown lands and embraces the beauty of travel. Though this short story is grounded firmly in reality, the whimsical language in Ash Slade’s poem, “On This Road We Go Down,” should not feel out of place after, as it, too, takes the reader on a journey down an empty road. We knew “Heart” by Lucia Larsen had to follow next, as it opens with “walking along the spine of the forest..” This traversing of nature fit within this section and the lush and lyrical language matched the style of the preceding poem. 

Mundane Moments

Though we enjoyed taking the reader through the travels of the pieces before, my poem, “Real People Who Once Lived in Real Houses,” ensures a return to the every day. At the end of Lucia’s poem right before, there’s the mention of growth, “her moss can grow from my vapors…”  My poem explores images of growth and nature, too: “Such verdant reminders keep my mind forever in the garden.” However, the narrator doesn’t venture beyond the safety of the house, taking steps down the stairs. Stephanie Kadel Taras’s poem, “Summer Solstice Inside,” felt an appropriate follow-up, as it opens with the narrator at the top of the stairs. With this, the reader is introduced to images of the sun and illumination, the magic of this mundane moment too exquisite not to be met with “slowly then all at once” by Claire HM. Her poem ends with “love.” 

Cruel Love

Emily Manthei’s essay, “Männer LOL,” allows the reader to discover what can happen when online dating goes wrong, the traps we can all fall into, the notion of cruelty pitted against the hope for love. All of this resonates by the end of Emily’s piece, and works well to open this next section. What follows is Jasmina Kuenzli’s poem, “The Sea Witch,” which sings with the echoes of heartbreak and lost love and the slight edge of cruelty as well.

Middle Months

Kuenzli’s notions of trying to write a different version of someone but being changed nonetheless ring through by the end of her poem. As such, it works to herald in this next section of work, which we conceptualized as the middle months of 2020. These were the months where the pandemic wasn’t new, but the world still wasn’t settled. We added “To-Do Lists” by Matthew Miller, a poem set on exploring one day, the idea of “No matter what is asked, you erase and pencil in.” We love how the tenderness within this short poem juxtaposes the vicious quality of the piece before, thus showing the many shades of love. And next, “Haiku in Lockdown,” a poem written by John Lambremont Sr. This piece brings brief snapshots from lockdown: blackbirds and crushed limbs, cats and dogs and trains. 

Focusing on the essence of the pandemic contained within this poem, we followed with “On Queerness and Dogs.” Robin Gow’s essay allows another view of the days during this pandemic, focused on the love of a dog. The writing, like dogs, remains pure and easy to love. In it, however, there is the sense of otherworldliness brought as a side effect of spending so much time alone, as many of us continue to do in order to find the relative meaning of safety. Time feels unusual, and thus, Dot Dannenberg’s poem, “We Are Living” seemed a necessary follow-up with the questioning of time and the feeling that “We are living the same day / over and over.” Next, Susan Chock Salgy’s essay digs deeper into the idea of all these days we’ve lived during difficult times. It is timely and encapsulates this notion of the middle months perfectly.

The Nature of Grief

Following Salgy’s last line “…pretend it never was real,” seemed a difficulty amidst work that felt too close to reality. However, Lisa Lerma Weber’s essay, “Fallen Nest,” explores the notion of wishing for things not real. The piece will break readers hearts, but also brings images of nature to feel a near tangible pull between life and death. John Grey’s poem, “First Touch,” follows with more imagery devoted to nature: a spider’s web. Though the piece doesn’t dive into the specificity of grief, there is the destructive end: “torn from life.” We used this as a jumping off point when following with Christy Nolan’s poem, “For Body, For Mind.” Without spoilers, we will say that this piece traverses the landscape of loss and grief, ending with the word, “Release.” 

This seemed too interesting a play on the end of John’s poem, allowing us to launch into this idea of grieving further with Anthony Leiner’s monologue, “The Drive Home.” Here, too, we do not wish to spoil the work, but did favor using this as a meeting point between two poems about parenthood. Next, “Ocean and Orca,” by Jasmin Lankford, a poem which asks the reader, “After another birth, is there still sorrow?” Throughout Jasmin’s piece there is the idea of prayer, and we chose to include “A Hasty Burial” by Louis Faber next, as it, too, relates to religious imagery, all while reminding, “I still mourn the death…” Through the piece, there is the idea of resurrection, and from this, we transitioned to Justin’s poem, “Frayed.” In his, too, there is the sense of resurrection, in a leap, a life or possibility lost. 

And from here, “In Due Course.” James Penha’s poem uses twelve words to explore a variety of sentiments, one most poignant states: “of course I tried to take my life.” There is a desperation to rewrite and wonder again and again within his poem. So too does my poem, “Only,” explore this notion of trying to rewrite past events in the hope of a different outcome. And amidst the ideas of tragedies and loss, Brittany Uecker’s novel excerpt, “Lance,” opens with: “I was 21 when Lance died.” The narrator is faced with exploring the implications of this death just as the narrator in Megan Cannella’s poem is tasked with the same in “Estate Planning” after the passing of a father. The poem ends with: “I wonder / who that person was for my dad.” We wondered the same thing. And though the last poem in this section did not intrinsically deal with grief, there was the sense of missing just like with the preceding works. “To the Boy in California, ” another poem by Preston Smith, was our hope that the father in Cannella’s poem did in fact have a great love like the one depicted in Smith’s work. 

Carry On 

The brightness of the love from Preston Smith’s poem was enough for us to search out another kind of love, this time the love of family found in Elizabeth Reed’s essay, “The Picnic Table.” Throughout this piece, there is the idea of continuing to carry on despite the chaos of the pandemic. There is hope and a belief in the future. Adrienne Stevenson’s poem, “Boxed In,” follows next, encapsulating the claustrophobia of time still in the pandemic after too many months. And yet, despite everything laid out within the poem, at it’s end there is no clear punctuation, allowing us to feel like even in the thick of things, times continues onward. Joe Quinn’s poem, “barabara walters, why have you forsaken us?” is another that feels poignant and timely. There is chaos and the wordless question of how much more can we possibly endure, though we must. We carry on to Kevin Lankes’ essay, “The Era of Meaningless Noises,” which sets out to explore the possibilities for our future if we do not reclaim the lost art of rhetoric. There is logic and an interesting discourse throughout, which will leave the reader thinking about society in new and engaging ways. 

Escape From Reality

As Kevin Lankes ends his essay with the line, “Depending on who you are, of course,” we found it interesting to transition away from reality with another poem from Jasmina Kuenzli, “Ariel.” This poem opens with: “For months, I am wrath and sublime.” We couldn’t pass up the opportunity to answer one end with another beginning, the “who you are” and the “I am” meet at interesting angles. Kuenzli brings more ferocity and destruction in her poem, but uses lyrical language to do so. It felt only right to follow this with “Reasons to Believe” by Cathryn McCarthy. We won’t spoil anything, as this piece is unique in style and language and begs to be read aloud. Diving deeper into fantasy, A.M. Kelly’s short story, “Between Cursed and Cured,” brings us a family of witches, a curse, and wishing to find a way from the darkness. It is a true delight. 

Looking to the After

Still existing in the escape from the real world, N.E. Griffin brings us to a place devastated by another virus, not specifically COVID. But that world is ending and it very much seems to exist in the “after.” As the connections to family remain strong in the short story before, this flash fiction piece admires a storm with a fervor brought on by tradition, ending with a raised glass. Hardarshan Singh Valia’s poem, “Empty Glass,” features a glass. What’s more, the moment at the end of this poem reflects back to the grief that comes from losing someone. There is the possibility that our pandemic has taken a life in the poem, but the specific death is left ambiguous, allowing the reader to feel distance from the current world we inhabit. 

“Keep Smiling” by Wm. Brett Hill is another flash fiction piece that exists in the aftermath of a city’s destruction. We’re not giving any spoilers on this one, though the prominence of the mother remains. From here, we added “Before it is all gone,” a devastating look at another loss, a “mother dying.” There is the notion of memory, which we must cling to in the silence. Memories flood Anita Kestin’s short story, “My Name is Rosa Blank,” featuring a woman dying, recalling moments from her life in a dream-like haze. It’s lovely and heartbreaking. And from this notion of memory, we found “A Post Card From the Wish Tower” by Cathryn McCarthy to fit too well, showing a snapshot of “an elderly couple…replete on a bench / overlooking a foggy lilac sea.” We held tight to this image of the elderly couple, deciding on “The Deliberate Speed of Chaos” by Jeff Burt next. The isolation and separation caused by death continues to break our hearts, even now. And finally, “Asymmetries,” a short story by Philip Berry that I always knew was destined to close out this collective. It features a couple attempting to live after loss. In the end, I think that is all any of us are trying to do, even as this pandemic continues onward. 

For those of you who haven’t had a chance to read Pages Penned in Pandemic: A Collective yet, I hope the time and commitment and love we have for every exceptional detail of this book convinces you to add it to your shelf. All proceeds from the print collective will be donated to 826 National, an organization benefitting young writers.

Throughout this process, I have found that there is indeed an art to collecting. I remain convinced that transforming the tribulations and trials of the every day into art is not only enough it’s everything. 

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