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Since I was young, I knew I wanted to write stories. I would make up elaborate lies, not to get over on someone, but just to capture their interest. When my mother would tell a story, I’d always add, “what if… happened” and she’d say, “you’re such a story teller.” I loved the title “story teller.” The way it gave me permission to come up with scenarios and characters, and to bring life to the page. Being a fiction writer was going to be my one and only task in the writing world, until I read “History Lesson” by Natasha Trethewey.  In my freshman year of high school, I chose that poem to orally interpret in Speech class. As I stood in front my peers, hands shaking and knees locking against my teacher’s instructions, I recited the poem. As Trethewey and her grandmother stood on the “for colored” strip of Mississippi beach, I felt connected to her. I felt as if I was Natasha Trethewey, holding that picture forty years later feeling admiration for her grandmother and remorse for her being gone long before she could be considered any type of equal. That is when I knew that I couldn’t just bind myself to fiction. Natasha Trethewey has a way of putting you into her own shoes, her own clothes, and her own house that stands just behind the railroad tracks in her poem “White Lies.” It is not just because she is writing poetry, which is an ideology that I had to learn. I knew that poetry could be about anything, but the poetry that impacted me the most had been wrought out of personal experience. Consequentially, the poems I wrote were drawn out of my own life and explained in twenty lines or more, both steps I felt I couldn’t take in my fiction writing. I used childhood incidents and teenage curiosities to guide my poetry, thinking that was the only way I could write good poems. Yet, I knew there was something that limited me from being the Natasha Trethewey of my own poetry. A skill that she had that I felt I lacked, and didn’t know if I could gain since I didn’t have the same experiences as her. I initially felt as if I couldn’t write poetry like her because I hadn’t lived through segregation like her. The only south I knew was south Florida, and I thought that was the reason I couldn’t get through this wall I’d built for myself. The poem “Flounder” tells of a time Natasha and her aunt were fishing. The poem, like most of her poetry, is more complex than a younger Trethewey catching a fish, a feat I’d never accomplished. Yet, that didn’t stop me from understanding the poem and understanding every person and detail in the poem. Poetry isn’t just writing about your experiences.  Fiction isn’t just writing about your experiences. Writing as a whole isn’t just writing about your experiences.  It is about using your experiences as a guide for your readers to get to the bigger, important message. Trethewey didn’t have to write about her own experiences, she just had to make the reader feel as if that was their experience. She had to make the reader angry about how they were treated. She had to make the reader understand why she felt it was important to write that poem. Natasha Trethewey uses details so specific to build images so vivid, that we want to relate to her poetry and we do. I haven’t given up on fiction, nor have I stopped using my own personal experiences in poetry. In fact, I’ve mixed the two and gotten something that I think my younger self would be proud to read. I have poured my personal experiences into my fiction, letting them fill out characters and plots in a way that lets the reader relate and become the characters or narrator without even having to experience the situations for themselves. I learned that writing is not telling your experiences or made up experiences and hoping the reader is interested enough to continue reading. Writing is using your own experiences and maybe those of others and allowing the reader to understand and relate to the complexities through your detail and effort at trying to tell your story the right way. -Chelsea Ashley, Digital Communications

I have always greatly enjoyed implementing effective sensory details into my poems, even though it has proven to be a pretty great challenge for me. I’ve found that if I don’t pay attention to what I’m doing, or if I get too wrapped up in the intent of the piece, I’ll completely leave out the details needed to actually show the story. Over the years I’ve gotten better about balancing my focus between images and other aspects of the poem, but still find myself with poems that lack the different details that would make it so much more powerful. I think that because I’ve had to be more cautious about the attention I pay to detail in my poems, I’ve learned to really appreciate it when I can create a powerful image. I also have a pretty deep admiration for poets who are able to write wonderful images without even paying too much attention to the sensory details they’re using; it’s just second nature to them. One poem I read a few years ago, Preludes by T.S. Eliot, has always stood out to me, as it’s compiled of so many beautiful and abstract images that really put the reader in the moment. In the second section, the lines “The morning comes to consciousness, Of faint stale smells of beer, From the sawdust-trampled street, With all its muddy feet that press, To early coffee-stands,” are so brilliant. Eliot obviously pays special attention to the close details of the poem, inviting the reader to smell the thick, smoky air, and walk along the streets as he says they are. You get to go into the homes and lay on the bed, feeling everything the writer describes. The images have a great impact on giving the intent to the reader that they work well for the poem. Whenever I find myself having trouble with my writing, I like to read over this poem, if not for inspiration then just to appreciate the writing. Most times, however, reading it gives me encouragement to work on my images and strengthen them, or gives me specific ideas for how to use sensory details for the betterment of my poetry. I’ve definitely noticed that the longer I take on a poem, the better outcome I’m going to come up with, but that pretty much goes for anything. I would like to think that as I’ve recognized this fault of mine I’ve been able to gather experience and allow myself to grow and learn more about sensory details, and how to successfully use them in my writing. Not only have I learned more about powerful sensory choice from reading other poetry, but I’ve also learned about them from classes and workshops, receiving feedback to help further images for the experience of the reader. While I may be learning to make my sensory details and images stronger in my poems, I’m also making the intention of the piece clearer and improving the experience of reading the poem as a whole. -Kinley Dozier, Co-Web Editor

I have a thing for deeply flawed voices in stories. Those characters who immediately rope you into a new way of seeing the world. Use of diction and sentence structure is crucial to sending the reader straight into a character’s head. There are many great examples, but no one author has influenced my way of composing sentences like George Saunders. A creative writing teacher lent me his book Tenth of December because she thought I would enjoy the stories, but also look at his use of craft when forming my own writing. I read the book, with few breaks, over one weekend, sitting on my chilly porch, each gnawing breeze pushing me further and further into the work. His characters are gritty, realistic people in slightly unreal situations. The really incredible part is, he can put me into a way of thinking without so much as using first person. His word choice and forming of sentences is largely to thank. Take, for example, this passage from the first story, “Victory Lap” of his recent Tenth of December: “Had he said, Let us go stand on the moon? If so, she would have to be like, {eyebrows up}. And if no wry acknowledgment was forthcoming, be like, Uh, I am not exactly dressed for standing on the moon, which, as I understand it, is super-cold?” What stuck me, what would change the way I write, is how a character's’ thoughts become part of a stream, the way both dialogue and action are projected in his mind. He doesn’t think in clear patterns, the way people are expected to in stories. Instead, it’s much more real. When a person becomes jittery and nervous, they cram their thoughts and reactions together. This is what Saunders does in the anxious stream of possibilities, of a character with that “super-cold”, creating a condensed form of thinking, the way I have internally. Reading this style of writing strikes me, because it’s unusual, but once I fall into the patterns of it, my thinking matches up with the character and suddenly, at least in my experience, the two of you are one. The story is immediate and palpable, not distanced and planned. This is what I wanted to create. A kind of writing so direct, so natural, that it becomes synonymous with a reader’s own mind. At the moment, I have many stories with the subtleties of Saunder's style creeping up in them. I wrote a story last year about the destroyed landscape of a Florida swamp swallowing its abusers in a storm, “Song”. The terror of the characters needed to be visible, but just as important was their way of interacting with the world from the beginning. Anyone can be scared. Only Johnny, a doomed Floridian, could arrive with his background of going to work each day to smother the land in concrete and wood, a life dripping with heat and humidity, the whole system of values instilled in him so, when the land finally did claim him, it was as a product of place being consumed by place. When I revised the story, the sentences were just as much a product of the place as Johnny himself. The words were carefully chosen in both vernacular and specificity. The land’s reaction isn’t the first violence; this is a setting fraught with battles over control. Word choice, whenever possible, held that history of conflict. In the end, that story was published in the 2016 edition of Elan. And I plan to keep reading George Saunders, keep inventing characters that are so saturated with individual views, so honest through language, that a reader can’t help but delve into their world, headfirst. -Ana Shaw, Junior Editor-in-Chief

In the first half of my junior year in Creative Writing, I quickly cultivated the most intimate and intense relationship with poetry I’d had thus far. I became exposed to an enormous amount of poetry and poetic techniques that, through practice, I could eventually use meaningfully in my own work. After closely studying the choices of established poets in their writing, with each piece I felt a sense of enlightenment and awe, as if every new technique I hadn’t previously known existed was a key unlocking a door, and another door, and another. A particular poem that stuck with me from that semester was A Blessing by James Wright. The majority of the piece describes the speaker and his partner pulling over to the edge of the highway and getting out of the car to pet and marvel at two Indian ponies. Within this image, Wright uses descriptive implication to give the reader a sense of how she should feel in response to the brief experience with the horses, and also toward the relationship of the main characters in the poem. In the last two lines, the reader is struck with an extremely abstract bomb of language that floods everything we thought we knew about the moment with emotion and insight. It created the perfect balance between concrete detail and abstraction. Another piece that revolutionized my approach to poetry was The Fish by Elizabeth Bishop, which did most of its work with intense sensory detail and descriptive implication, as well. However, the interaction with poetry that proved to be the most influential to my original understanding of the genre was the one I had with the work of Adrienne Rich, whom I deeply studied and analyzed for a huge project I will be forever grateful for. With an in-depth understanding of her life, specifically difficult times she experienced that played major roles in her writing throughout her career as a poet, I developed a close relationship with her individual style and became familiar enough with her signature techniques to attempt to execute them in my own writing. This is when I discovered gaps. I noticed they showed up frequently in her poetry, and after doing some research, learned they are used to juxtapose two concepts either on the surface of the poem, or hidden inside the subtext of the word choice. Essentially line breaks within lines, gaps do the work that the language itself cannot. I’d had prior context for juxtaposition, but never knew how to properly go about it, and gaps allowed me to more constructively search for and utilize the complexity and dynamism in my work. I tried it out in an original poem entitled The Origin of Lost People, and its use proved successful. It significantly contributed to the progression of my work and myself as a writer. While not the only important thing I learned from Adrienne Rich, this particular technique helped expand and transform everything I thought I could do with poetry. I’m anxiously anticipating other secrets I’m bound to unlock in the future. -Alexis Williams, Co-editor in chief

Èlan Literary Magazine is celebrating its 30th year Anniversary. In honor of the evolution of our published writing, our editorial staff is appreciating the techniques and stylistic choices of those that have inspired them. One of the first poems I ever read in middle school was “in Just-” by e.e. cummings, a poem about an odd little balloon man in a neighborhood during the height of Spring. We had someone read it aloud, the words smushed together, the spacing odd and confusing for students who had barely even read “standard” poetry. After the reader finished, everyone pounced on the writing: several comments like, “Doesn’t he know how to use punctuation?” and “This is stupid.” I had the same doubts; surely someone good enough to be in a middle school literature book knew how to construct basic lines and use proper grammar and punctuation. But it was the way “eddieandbill” looked on the page, the way they became one and the same as they ran down the street, chasing the balloon man. There was something purposeful in those conglomerations of words, something about the way cummings described spring - something more than a season. In my own poetry - towards the end of my Junior year - I, too, began playing with form and grammar. In my final portfolio, I created a piece titled “Just a Pill,” a poem about my fear of medicine, stemming from having lived with my drug-addicted grandmother for the majority of my life. I began to understand just how meaningful floating language and improper grammar could be in conveying emotion; they weren’t just to make the poem look eccentric, or more modern. It was such a useful technique in what I wanted to create, lending a visual tension and pause to a piece that was otherwise gripping and forceful. Once I started writing things I valued, it became much easier to allow myself time to play with form. Just like e.e. cummings did in his balloon man poem, floating language and combined words took my writing to a place it couldn’t have gone in any other way; these choices shaped the pills into more than medicine, more than seeds of fear - suddenly the pills were an idea, a moment, a snapshot into a part of my life I didn’t want to re-examine. Sitting in my seventh grade classroom puzzled by a man who would later become one of my favorite poets, I discovered something about writing: it doesn’t have to be perfect, or formal or anywhere close to “normal;” it just has to make you look at what you thought you already knew - how to write a line of poetry, how to interpret scary moments in your life. e.e. cummings was a man so dedicated to letters that he legally changed his name to all lowercase. He was a poet so dedicated to craft that he broke rules and created new ones. In the space between “far   and   wee,” the poem lives; in the closeness of “bettyanddisbel,” innocence is illuminated; in the “mud-luscious” world, the odd little balloon man delivers the essence of Spring. -Mackenzie Steele, Co-Art Editor #Poetry #Inspiration #floatinglanguage #grammar #inJust #stylisticchoices #eecummings #technique #September #balloonman

Elan was my freshmen dream. I remember our arts department meeting and being told about the different opportunities upperclassmen would offered and I knew Elan was for me. Here and now, being on staff as Layout and Design Editor I wouldn’t have guessed the expansive nature to which this publication has grown. Looking back just a few years ago at the staff members who created the books, I see that Layout and Design editor is a fairly new position. As my role of Layout and Design Editor becomes more familiar to me and I put together the work of our Editors-in-Chiefs and all of our editors I have an appreciation of the dedication and commitment it took to hold together everything this book is for thirty years. The old Elan books all the way from 1986, which are held together by staples, mean so much to me. I am honored to have them in archives and see the work of those from before me. Being a part of something that has so much meaning to others always holds great significance to me because I’m holding a legacy. I like to think of it like I’m pushing it forward along with the voices of all those old staff members with their own dreams, desires, and words and art from the past. I recently got into the literary magazine for the first time. I love that I can say to my freshmen self I’ve achieved something I didn’t want to graduate without. It’s all so astounding to see the physical evolution of Elan too. I remember studying the older books and one of my favorites has to be the Elan Winter edition from 2011, which was only five years ago, but the solid cover felt allusive to me. That edition stuck out to me because it was as if the words and art were all you needed to think about in the book. The content was enough, and I enjoyed that simplicity. I am happy with the consistencies we’re developing as a staff and the path Elan is taking, but I love opening up the archives and seeing each unique magazine. The issues of those from the past, up to thirty years ago that I get to learn from is what makes me proud to be on Elan. -Kiara Ivey, Layout & Design Editor

I’ve had the opportunity of being on the Élan staff for two years, and I’ve witnessed a dramatic evolution within that short time. This is probably due to the fact that I’ve had two different editorial roles within the staff. I started as Fiction Editor last year, and became Web Editor this year. The two exist in completely separate spheres, but they come together to produce the same result; the print book that showcases our yearlong dedication and the unique work of young writers everywhere. Working as Fiction Editor was very focused. I was involved in the process for a very specific period of time and had one particular realm to work in. Picking the pieces that would be published in the book felt like an intimate process. The initial reading process brings the whole staff together, later splitting off into the individual genre editors discussing the pieces. My favorite parts of the whole thing were the moments in which the Senior Editor and I talked about the pieces we had made decisions on, as well as the ones we had yet to decide on. It was those moments that made me feel the most like a writer, that reminded me that I was a member of the staff due to my love of writing. I needed those reminders within my first year on the staff. The feeling was always strongest when we were actually producing the book because I could actually see our work coming to life. There would soon be a physical manifestation of all the work and dedication we’d put in, and that was usually the point where I marveled at the sense of community that Élan brought about. This year as Web Editor brought a very different involvement on the staff. The website focuses more on interaction with the readers and allowing the staff members to be seen from a closer perspective. Last year, I didn’t have any idea who was reading our blog posts or following our website, but this year I got a firsthand account of all of that. That, in its own way, offered some new perspective on the magazine as a whole. It was refreshing for me to see that writers were coming together to read what our staff members had to say, that people were actually engaged in what we were doing. Being Web Editor also came with more responsibility, because it is so dependent on public response and keeping our readers updated. There was a tighter schedule to keep to and work dates came a lot more often than just book production. I had much more of a hands-on approach, and that is what really allowed me to see the influence that Élan has on the community of young writers. It brings people together that normally wouldn’t have much of a relationship. That is ultimately what has been the most valuable to me about being on this staff. It gets away from me sometimes, but there are always those very particular moments that say to me, “You are a writer, and you are here to bring writers together.” -Ruvi Gonzalez, Senior Website Editor

Our literary magazine, Elan has been around for 30 years, almost two of me. I imagine that through the years, with the many different staff members, editors, teachers, and readers, that this book has learned a few things. When I first came on staff and took on the position of Junior Poetry Editor, I went back through some of the older editions of Elan and tried to figure out how the editors before me picked the poems that would be in the book. I decided it wasn’t editors that picked apart poems and threw them in “yes” and “no” piles, it was the book that made the decisions. The essence and aesthetic of Elan showed me that we want poems that speak to the big and small, that can be read and understood immediately or others that need to be unpacked. It told me to look at where a poem takes my breath, where it makes me grimace, where it makes me want more, those are our poems. Along with teaching me how to feel poetry, it’s taught me how to come out of my shell. This book has so much to offer people and as part of the staff, our job is to convince people that they need this book in their life. You need to read these pieces that students have poured themselves into, you need to invite them in, let them settle inside your soul and tell you a story. It’s become a drive and passion to share what this book has to offer with my own friends and family, the community of Jacksonville, and the community of writers. I’ve met and had more conversations with random people that I never would have before by just walking up to them and asking if they enjoy reading and writing, and just letting the conversation go from there. It has almost always led somewhere interesting. At Art Walk, I met two former theater majors and got to learn about their time at Douglas Anderson. I also met an older gentleman who was so excited for Writers' Festival, he actually had a countdown going. So, as a member of the Elan staff, in my year here, it has taught me a lot, but I think it has something even more to offer to our readers. Readers who can be any age and any gender and any type of person, there is something in this book for everyone and it has been that way for 30 years, offering the same quality and raw material every time. Elan would also say to its readers that it’s best enjoyed curled up on the couch with your favorite tea, taking in the sweet musings of teenagers from thirty years ago to now and all they have to say. -Madison Dorsey, Junior Poetry Editor #Poetry #Editor #Madison #Junior #17 #WritersFestival #staff #30 #ArtWalk #30thanniversary

My first experience with Elan was in freshman year, when I was forced to submit my first fiction portfolio for a homework grade. The story was about some kid and how he related his father to parachutes, throughout different stages of his life. Shockingly, it was titled “Parachutes.” You can read it on page 44 of Elan: Winter 2013, located on the archives page of the Elan Literary Magazine website at http://elanlitmag.org/archives/. From that point on, there were three reasons that I fell in love with Elan: Elan Literary Magazine was a professional publication run within my own department. Students led the masthead of Elan. My work was about to be published for the first time! I looked up to Elan so much that I had neck pain. My hope for junior year was that I would become a part of the staff, so that I could also assist in the spread of literary publishing breakthroughs for other kids like myself, who started off without any hope of getting published. And so, the dream has become reality. Bam. I’m here. Oftentimes, reality can be described as a letdown. With Elan, that statement is entirely false. Being able to play a part in the group that led to what I consider to be my first and ultimately most important achievement as a writer means the world to me because I am able to contribute to impacting other kids the same way Elan impacted me. Most importantly, I am far from the only person who feels this way about Elan. Thirty years of children with writing and hopes for their work laid the road to where we are now. Thirty years of work have ultimately culminated into where the publication stands today, as both an online and printed work of literature. And the most beautiful thing about the publication is that it continues to inspire me in new ways. For example, the recently-held Elan 30th Anniversary Alumni Reading brought together a few writers who were published in Elan during their time at Douglas Anderson in order to show where those writers stand today. Some of the writers pursued professions having to do with writing while others took more academically-based paths. Some of them admitted to giving up writing at some point in their lives. However, all of them still considered themselves to be writers because they all returned or stayed with the art, with Elan as the starting point to their explorations of the art form. Seeing those people made me, for the first time, truly see the importance of Elan as a legacy, and how much those thirty years of dedication have made an impact on the writers of my department, whether they are currently enrolled or left the school twenty years ago. And so, my definition of Elan has evolved. Whereas when I was a freshman I only saw Elan as a publication, I now view it as an inspiration. -Logan Monds, Social Media Editor

Before I joined the Élan Literary Magazine Staff I was a fan and a contributor. In my sophomore year of high school I was giddy to learn the publication accepted my creative nonfiction piece about my process of character development. The following year, my junior year, they published my poem about my revelation concerning my sexual identity. At the end of both years I held the glossy finished product in my hands. I flipped frantically to find my work in there, sure enough with its own page, and my name among the table of contents.  As with any budding writer it felt wonderful to feel validated, my words printed definitively into the page.  I still have the books, tucked lovingly next to yellowing copies of Black Beauty and The Collected Poems of Pablo Neruda. But this time around the published book will hold a greater weight. My Senior Year I joined the Élan Staff, not quite sure how I was going to contribute but knowing I wanted to dip my hands in the process of compiling and creating the book. My first taste came when the reading process took place to prepare for the publication of our winter online book. Before I knew it I was bursting with nearly a hundred poems, all of them singing the particular cadence of a young writer. I sat there, knowing I had a major hand in deciding which ones would find their way to the book. I’ll admit, I was overwhelmed. To make matters worse the poet in me was flailing with indecision. One poem would distract me with its fascinating imagery, and another with the blunt, lyrical voice of its speaker. Eventually I settled myself and made decisive albeit difficult choices. Next came helping those whose work fell into a tricky in-between. To clarify, those who the magazine wanted to publish, but whose work still needed some polishing. Again, my position came into play. I sat down with young poets like myself and tossed myself into their poetry. I sat for several minutes going line by line, making notes, and then later talking to them face to face. Though intimidated at first, I grew to love the investigative nature of it. Learning to respect the writer’s voice and work while discovering the intricacies that needed improvement. Since 1986 someone or several people have been in the same position as I am. Falling gently for the poetry finding itself in front of them. As well as left pondering over paper with thumb pressed to their lips, brow thoughtfully wrinkled. Though Élan has a myriad of books chronicling its literary journey since the 80’s, it also carries a group of former editors behind it. It pleases me to think that my experience with Élan is a shared one, and will continue on to be just that for those who choose to involve themselves in the magazine. The magazine itself will go on to enrich the community and encourage young writers through sharing their work, just as it did for me, and just as I am doing for others. -Aracely Medina, Senior Poetry Editor

Èlan Literary Magazine is celebrating its 30th Anniversary. In honor of our longevity we are posting work from our editorial staff alumnus, which includes biographies, Q&A’s, and excerpts of their pieces. After graduating from Douglas Anderson in 2014, Emily Cramer moved to Tallahassee to attend Florida State University, where she is studying Nursing. She is a member of the Honors Student Association and has been on the Dean’s List for the past three semesters. She is currently serving as Secretary on the Executive Board of Lady Spirithunters, a spirit-based organization that works closely with the Florida State Athletic Department to spread love of FSU to the Tallahassee community and other FSU students. Cherokee Land, 1830 (From Èlan 2014) We found a maimed wolf this morning, caught in the chicken wire. Pa called for my brother to fetch the rifle. When he passed he brushed my shoulder, whispering of footsteps words spoken in a tongue we could not understand. Sometimes at night, when Pa slept off his fingers of whiskey and twigs snapped beyond our windows, Ma told us stories of man and wolf melding into one, sun thrumming through veins. She told us how we pushed into their land, built on their earth. She told us of a brotherhood painted on hills, feathers sticking to stone to form figures, histories hung from lips lit by fire. My brother returned with the rifle. Pa hawked up spit and sent it into the wolf’s face. He told us to watch, learn what happens when savages enter our land, take from our mouths. Dear Harper (Performed at the Èlan 30th Anniversary Alumni Reading) Between your ink-blot pages I found the cul-de-sac at the end of our street, where my brother and I raced bicycles round and around and around, until we stumbled home, dizzy with grins and sun. In Scout, I discovered my mother, mirror image younger sister, scabbed knees, undending curiosity and stubbornness, a kindness sunken into her very being. Within your letter fragments I unearthed the history of the soil I buried by toes in, from sun rays dappling leaves in the park down the street, to dark boughs bending over, cries ringing through the wood. But in Atticus, dear Mr. Finch, I found the father I had only dreamt of, a father who would take my hand and explain justice in a way I understood, a father who would hang on my every word, who treated me like my mind was made of gold. Somewhere, a mockingbird begins to sing, and two children run through a wood, their father following with a smile. What lesson did you learn at DA that sticks with you still? (Not just a lesson in the classroom but a larger lesson that gives perspective to your current life) In junior and senior year, I really began to understand that fiction and poetry are not completely separate genres. In my last two years at DA, I began experimenting with using fictional storytelling techniques in my poetry, and using poetic language in my fiction. Some stories need to be written in a fictional format, and others need to be poems. At DA, with the help of [my instructors], I learned how to merge genres and write stories the way I needed and they needed to be told.

As we close in on Élan’s 30th consecutive year in publication, it’s important to remind ourselves why we’ve made it this far and why we’ll continue to publish in the future. So often, young writers are marginalized by their age, lack of experience, societal status, and perceived lack of skill. Most “big” publications skim over these authors, mistaking those qualities for an inability to craft a compelling story full of depth and growth. The youth’s perspective is one often distorted by social media and trends. It’s because of this that the young person’s perspective in literary communities is all the more important. The stories of people our age are just as important (in some cases, more important) as the stories written by established writers, particularly in these developmental years where so much is unknown to us. And not the post-adolescent Judy Blume novels written by an adult on the life of a young person, but actual stories written by actual young people motivated to share their own truths, flawed as they may be. We’re all born into our own reality that’s continuously shaped by our experiences. With each story told, we chip away not at the answer, but at the question. Élan does so much more than share the works of young writers. It keeps young writers from slipping through the cracks. It shares the stories we love hearing and forces us to listen to ones we don’t. Élan’s 30th anniversary marks an important milestone in more ways than one. In some ways, it proves naysayers wrong by reminding the community of the drive and motivation of young people to tell stories. In others, it reminds us writers there is demand for our work, and sometimes, all it takes is that boost to bring us back to why we do this. To chip away at the question. To stick it to the man. To tell a badass story. -Tatiana Saleh, Community Outreach Editor