Soliloquies Anthology 24.2

Foreword

This issue of Soliloquies began the same as always.

We went through the routine that’s been slowly perfected since before most of our team was even born: we spread the word, we scoured poems and stories, we laughed, we cried, we wrote, we shared, and we loved the journey. But although Soliloquies is run with love, it is still a machine. It anticipates, predicts, plans. It relies on a schedule and a rhythm. What happens when the rhythm is broken?

The semester ended in a slow fade that nobody could have predicted. Our classrooms became empty, meeting rooms became dormant, and the machine became jammed. The silence became heavy.

Right now we have the unique opportunity to look beneath the surface of how we usually perceive and interact with art and literature. Instead of asking how should we fill our time, how do we want to? How can we fulfill our need to become grounded? How can we interpret stories and poems in different ways?

We started blowing the dust off from our bookshelves, reopening our notebooks, and dog earing pages once more.

To-be-read lists are getting shorter. Online book clubs have started and flourished, documents passed between friends, social media littered with praises and recommendations. It’s no secret that art has always brought us together. Our current situation is no different.

We continue to be endlessly grateful for the opportunity to share this collection with you. There are stories about 8