Editors’ Note

Dearest Readers,

It is with great pride and pleasure that we present the 2023 edition of The Muse, Boston University Academy’s annual literary magazine. The editorial team (Aster, Tatum, and Kaeleen: I love you!) and Lit Mag’s regular meeting attendees have worked tirelessly to make this year’s issue a success, from sharing insightful writing feedback with peers to volunteering hours out of their school days to help revive the Lit Mag literary quote Valentine’s Day fundraiser that last graced BUA the spring of 2020. This year has been the best wild ride of creative chaos and brilliant writing, and this magazine is its bold, beautiful product.

Weekly workshops were bubbly, productive, and filled with laughter. I was continually reminded of how Lit Mag worked its way into my life four years ago as a new freshman at BUA interested in flowery words and niche grammar concepts. It has been a delight watching Lit Mag grow and change, persevering through Covid and all manner of other setbacks with an admirable resilience, remaining a welcoming place where students feel safe sharing their whole selves and developing their voices as both writers and people. Writing is as vulnerable a process as it is valuable, and to have been able to play such an instrumental role as lead editor in paying forward the warm, encouraging spirit of Lit Mag that helped me kindle my own passion for writing all those years ago has been a true honor. I mourn the oval harkness table with Hershey’s kisses and familiar faces that I will not return to next year, but smile thinking of the many other faces that will take my place.

We offer our utmost thanks and appreciation to Ms. Kelly, who stepped up to be our new faculty advisor this year and has been a crucially kind and guiding presence during Lit Mag workshops and as my fellow editors and I tried to navigate the publishing process in the wake of our beloved advisor Dr. Proll’s retirement. A special thanks, too, to all of the artists who contributed the gorgeous works of visual art interspersed throughout the magazine, Ms. Townley, BUA’s visual arts instructor, for her work in facilitating art publication, and Ms. Julie Gallagher, our typesetter and layout designer, who has designed the lovely book you are holding now from cover to cover: formatting to art placement. Lastly, I thank you, readers, for allowing us to share our minds and passions with you — we wish you bon voyage and urge you to keep an open mind for what’s in store for you in these next few pages. We hope they are as much a source of solace and inspiration for you as they were for us to write and think about together.

One of my favorite literary quotes of all time comes from Sir Francis Bacon which Cornelia Funke lovingly embraces in her novel Inkheart, an epic coming-of-age story about family, books, magic, and everything in between: “Some books should be tasted, some devoured, but only a few should be chewed and digested thoroughly.”

I implore you to savor every majestic flavor of The Muse 2023!

Sally Jamrog

Strangers

I met a stranger on the train: a whimsical entity among polyester chairs our eyes conversed for our lips never would shared our worlds but not uttered words embraced without touch we spoke the immortal tongue of sonder-stricken souls

Kaeleen Chen ’23

Chocolate Chip Cookies

21⁄4 cups all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon salt

1 cup (2 sticks) butter, softened

3⁄4 cup granulated sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

2 large eggs

2 cups semi-sweet chocolate chips

Combine flour, baking soda, and salt in a small bowl.

Beat butter, granulated sugar, brown sugar, and vanilla extract into a larger mixing bowl until creamy.

Add eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition.

Gradually beat in flour mixture and stir in chocolate chips.

Drop by rounded tablespoon onto ungreased baking sheets.

Wonder at how, eventually, those little round mounds of dough will flatten out, expanding. They will reach out and grow though they have no mind and no soul. They will shift, metamorphosing into something different, something new. Never stopping, always changing.

Remember that day, standing in the wood-paneled kitchen, cookie batter on your hands. A black field spaniel wagging her tail and begging for a taste, hoping you’ll cave in. A smile carved onto your lips, cheeks aching as you laugh.

Reflect back on that day that only now seems so long ago. The yearning of a heart, the longing to reach over and close a gap that you’ve only now noticed growing larger and larger, yawning between the two of you. A phone ringing out, a text with no response. The feeling of loss, the heaviness that sinks through your limbs, discoloring the memories, some brighter, some dimmer, never the right shade of gold. Sometimes you wonder if you’d even recognize each other anymore.

Grieve for what once was. Sunny skies, the squeaking of a swingset. Shouts and laughter echoing through the years. Hanging upside down on the monkey bars, lying in the damp grass. Children, the two of you, uncaring toward reality. Two souls entwined, growing up together. Changing separately.

Think about now: worlds apart, though separated by merely a few streets. Streets once roamed under the cover of darkness with only streetlights to guide your way. Ones that seem so vast and empty now, like a chasm unable to be crossed. An empty carnival, filled with only ghosts of memories, whirling, spinning, bright lights flashing in the darkness, melancholy and alone.

Oh, and don’t forget to set the oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit.