Showing posts from September, 2019

Sancho Panza Literary Society Letter

The Sancho Panza Literary Society By Joseph M. Reynolds I had been wondering for a while if there would come a time when I had written enough so that I could feel contented to just not do it anymore.   I don’t know if I wished for it exactly, but it was a tantalizing concept of success—to just retire from letters having done my part for both the discourse, and more pressingly, my own ego. It might feel liberating, I thought, to watch the snow fall obliquely from the window of a house on an uneventful street where nobody went mad, or to go win at poker, or to birdie the 18 th hole, or to God forbid even read the greatness of another, and then be able to close my eyes afterwards, without that gnawing, grating, life-shortening mixture of vigor, anxiety, and vengeance against one’s self that comes from the need to respond to all philosophical prompting; from the need to write, or to fancy one’s self a writer. It was a stupid question.   It was an even stupider ambi

Letter from the Editor, Spring 2019

Joseph M. Reynolds Letter from the Editor—Spring 2019 We exist. The fall has become the spring, and we still exist--it is triumph in the utmost in literature.   I suppose there are many other endeavors in which sanctity is found simply in continuing to be, but none so much as literature; our projects remain even as we fade away, and even the noblest chef doesn’t get to say that about his quiche. We must simply continue to complete our projects to earn this eternity, but we must also realize that while existence is everything, it is also the only thing we ever get. We are never ratified by praise or approbation, for as soon as we complete a work, we are beset by, as Thomas Wolfe so elegantly articulated it, “the fool-bigotry, fool-ignorance, fool-cowardice, fool-faddism, fool-mockery, fool stylism, and fool-hatred for anyone who was not corrupted and beaten, and a fool had either quenched the hot, burning passion with ridicule, contempt, denial, and oblivion, or el