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Literary work happens in fragments. We write late-night drafts, we send our work out into the world, we host readings, we attend readings, sometimes we stand up and read, other times we listen with compassion. It takes courage to write and send out your work, but it also takes courage to listen closely, to imagine that what we say matters, to recognize that holding space for each other matters. In these pages, we would like to imagine that we are holding each other’s words with care.
A healthy literary community changes to meet its needs; it pushes on boundaries and welcomes new voices as they arrive. We hold the world in our words. As writers, we do not own language, we simply arrange and rearrange it. We use words when we reason. We make meaning. We hold the community in our words. We gather. We leave open spaces for quiet recognition: you too. Me too. In this community our poems and stories lean toward one another. We hold each other up. We care.
Welcome to Bloodroot’s eighteenth issue. We are glad you’re here. We hope you enjoy the poems, stories, and dramatic writing of our neighbors in the Upper Valley, as well as a few voices from further afield. Some of the voices that are coming from a distance belong to writers who once lived in the Upper Valley, like Mitchell Jacobs and Zack Finch. Michael Beahan, our neighbor in Lyme, is the keeper of his father’s stories, and gives us a piece from the past, set in 1944. Dramatist Erin Bennett sets her play deep in the age of AI. From Franconia Notch to Lviv, this issue produces its own literary community, connecting people, places, and time while staying rooted in the Upper Valley and motivated by the present.
Enjoy!
The Editors