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This year’s Spring Edition has a lot of vulnerable, brave pieces of art and writing ranging from a large host of subjects. Some delve into the nature of being human; others cling to heartfelt, specific memories; however, one piece that stood out to be initially was “Becoming a Wishbone” by Riley Bridenback. Bridenback’s piece speaks to people who have lost loved ones. As one of those people, this piece speaks in tones I am familiar with. Starting with the title, “Become a Wishbone," clearly documents the speaker’s journey from point A to point B in their life. It seems to me, through this piece, that the speaker is acknowledging a change in herself—one that is far from welcome. In the last stanza, “my skin in tight with abandonment, soft with grief. Like a / wish bone / being pulled by the greasy hands of children, I am waiting”. This small snippet shows the reader’s knowing of a change, and that which has made her full of abandonment and grief. The speaker is becoming those two emotions, through a traumatizing experience. The speaker expresses frustration with other people asking if they are “okay”. I have a similar experience with this, so this also stuck with me. I am really looking forward to seeing this spring book edition in the hands of others. I wish to see artists work come alive with this new edition, and for them to receive the recognition that they deserve. - Jasper Darnell, Junior Layout and Design Editor

Élan's Spring Online Edition's accepted pieces all tell a story of their own that is brought together nicely through the fantastic art. In this issue, my personal favourite art pieces are the ones that are showing their own style in a unique way like Post Humous by Alli Russel, Composition 9721 by Tamia Brinkley, and Wonder by Kaitlyn Griffin. These are types of pieces that Élan rarely sees in our editions, and I’m glad that these interesting art works are being showcased. The most exciting aspect of this new Spring Online Edition is the new layout that was implemented. Élan is always looking for new ways to fresh up our brand while still engaging our audience and still being familiar. This new format of the book is a small change, but it is one that makes Élan look different from what we have been doing for so long. As the Senior Layout and Design Editor, I am extremely proud of my Junior counterpart, Jasper Darnell, in undertaking this new idea and being flexible and excited for change. I feel like what was accomplished during these difficult times was outstanding, and I’m so happy to be able to see everyone’s hard work pay off. For written pieces accepted into Élan, I have a few pieces that hold a special place in my heart like: "Primal Instinct" by Sofia Miller; "Oranges" by Breana Kinchen; "tiger, what it means to leave behind" by Jaden Crowder. Out of these pieces, the one that struck me the most was "Oranges" by Breana Kinchen because of the intimate connections and memories that are being shown within this piece. When I first read this poem, I could feel the nostalgia and truthfulness that was unique to this speaker. This poem sets itself nicely into the book, but is also a piece that stands alone strongly. This 2020 Spring Online Edition is an exciting issue! - Luz Mañunga, Senior Layout and Design Editor

Élan is celebrating National Poetry Month by providing poetry prompts for our readers. We hope you use these prompts and poetic inspirations to create poetry and submit to our future issues! Download and enjoy!

I have two favorite pieces in Élan’s Spring book. My first favorite is "The Barbie" by Myka Davis-Westbrook. Myka recalls their interactions with different barbie dolls as a child. I love the way Myka described the barbie dolls skin tone, “had skin like a Peach” vs. “brown like dirt.” It captured my childhood, choosing to play with the peach colored dolls with perfect long hair vs. playing with the dirt colored dolls with “hair sticking every which way.” This poem is so relatable to me as a little colored girl who grew up playing with dolls. I know exactly how the character in the poem felt in the moment. As a child you chose to play with the pretty dolls’ vs. the rougher looking dolls, you don’t really consider the race of the dolls. That’s not important until later in life once you experience life and learn. I think both points come across in the final moments of the poem, “My miniature hand thumbed a dent into the plastic toy’s face until it looked less human dunking it head first in my sandbox. I play house with the other two.” I liked the imagery and power in the line. It might be a stretch, but I think it’s also symbolic for how black girls are viewed now in society. "The Barbie" is made up of four powerful stanzas filled with imagery. The title alone stood out to me and made me want to read the poem. My second favorite piece is "Ghetto Fabulous" by Miracle Singleton. I’ve seen her preform this piece numerous times and it never gets old. I like the positive images of the African American girl in this poem. I like how she turns the negative around, “they call my ghetto fabulous with my golden hoops dangling from my chocolate ears that hear “she ghetto” as that statement exits their sore lips,” and sounds so careless. Confidence radiates throughout this piece. After reading "Ghetto Fabulous" I felt confident, empowered, proud to be an African American female. I like image of this carefree, confident, chocolate girl walking around just being her while the rest of the world watches her. I like the way the piece reads like a spoken word piece. "Ghetto Fabulous" and "The Barbie" are the black girl duet in the Spring book. They approach race and show the story of the black community differently, while adding some variety and spice to the Spring Edition. - La'Mirakle Price, Junior Managing Editor

The culture we live in is one with constant media coverage and constant headlines—so constant that one can easily become desensitized to it. In a world fraught on the daily, it can often be difficult to see oneself in the endless news cycle, especially if it wouldn’t directly affect the one watching. Barker Thompson’s “Mixed-Emotion Elegy for Closeted Me” is a complicated work that entices the reader to untangle it, forcing the reader to engage with a reality they may have shunned or ignored. And what reality does Thompson explore? What terrible place does the speaker of the poem find themselves in? The poem takes place largely in an ecosystem of ignorance and immaturity, an environment known as middle school—what other setting crawls with raw hormones, petty politics, and juvenile angst? Middle school is never one’s ideal circumstance, so from the very first line of the poem, I felt magnetized to the speaker and their plight. How couldn’t I? When I was in that awkward stage of life, nothing felt right, especially as a closeted kid. Such a secret is heavy to a child, when all one understands is the schism it could rupture between oneself and one’s friends. In middle school, one’s identity is still in formation, and thus, as Thompson describes, everyone is self-conscious and afraid. It is not until halfway through the poem that the true stakes are revealed, invoking the deaths of LGBTQ+ peoples often ignored by media, or else buried under other headlines. This is where Thompson’s subtlety reaches its full effect. There’s a term (used often to deride or diminish the poem) for a work that expresses outrage at the social injustices that pervade society: a “soap box.” But Thompson’s poem is special, as it doesn’t just express outrage, though the speaker certainly deserves to feel angry. The poem is thoughtful and reflective, a reminder of the humanity at stake when we shut ourselves off to what’s happening on the other side of the screen. The elegy transforms the personal into the universal, with a topic that could easily be cloaked in vague expression and unhindered fury. I saw a mirror of my own struggles coming to terms with my identity, that fear and loneliness and self-consciousness. Thompson’s words allowed those old wounds to heal a little more, and for that reason, this poem has a place in my heart. Thompson’s poem, “Mixed-Emotion Elegy for Closeted Me,” is just one representation of authentic craft present in Élan’s Spring Edition. - Noland Blain, Senior Managing Editor

There are many beautiful and thoughtful pieces in Élan’s 2020 Online Spring Edition. A poem that comes to mind is “Primal Instinct,” by Sofia Miller. The sensory images and tactile descriptions make it come off the page. The same could be said for the choice of diction in this piece; its words are lively, creating a flow for the reader to move through. “Primal Instinct” gives a haunting reminder of what, I interpreted, women must go through in society – what we must go through in life. The last two stanzas especially bring this idea to light, its bitter-sweet details almost sticking to the roof of your mouth. I highly encourage that this is read this with a careful eye and thoughtful mind. It is truly a beautiful work, and shows the diverse selection of writing we have accumulated this edition. Another work that stands out to me is “His Love,” by Lily Stanton; a fictional piece that depicts familial love and its strength through trial and hardship. This piece introduces us to the tired, almost melancholic mood, which connects to the dark setting the two main characters inhabit. The casual tone of the main character, James, puts us into the situation, his inner dialogue true to the emotional trials of having an aging mother. The specificity also makes this piece to come to life; little descriptions, such as the color and texture of the couch, or the elderly mother’s hands, gives us a space to see and feel. The dialogue is also very telling of the writer’s skill, as it develops the relationship between the two main characters and sustains enough tension to push the story forward. The same could be said for both the character’s actions, as well; every gesture and choice of body language drives the emotional plot. It’s the final moments of “His Love” that truly deepen the wounds of this piece. In those moments you see time reverse; you see James yearning for the past, when he was just a boy. Then, an aching quiet spreads over the page as those final words are said, leaving you unresolved. That is why I always go back to this piece – the emotional depth is thought-provoking. “Primal Instinct,” “His Love,” and many more will leave you in a similar, thought-provoking state. These types of works are important to art, because they expose you to different ideas and experiences – that connectivity and understanding of individual human experiences is key. You will find that many pieces in Élan’s 2020 Online Spring Edition deal with family and hardship, both in our selections of poetry and fiction. Coupled with these works are visual pieces to amplify their depth. As an artist, myself, I feel as though it is vital for art to show us the array of experiences a human can have; that there is no single life to live, or way to feel. - Reece Braswell, Senior Art Editor

The cover art of Élan’s new Spring Online Edition may bear some similarity to what you’ve been doing over the past few weeks. In our newfound isolation, we’ve all made adjustments, big and small, to our daily routine and how we use our time, whether that’s working from home or getting to spend more time with our cats. We initially selected Keila Smith’s painting Morning Chat as the cover of the issue before it bore such an uncanny resemblance not just to our morning routine, but to our afternoon, evening, and night routines; now that it does, it seems like nothing less than fate that we should have picked it. The cleverly titled piece depicts a moment of domestic bliss, a girl and her cat lounging in the comfort of their home, taking momentary refuge from the everyday troubles of the outside world. It’s grounded in comforting warm and earthy tones, paint skillfully rendering the depth of the scene. Like we’ve all been pushed to in the past month, it urges you to consider the time you spend alone, or rather, the time you spend with yourself. In its station as the cover of the issue, Morning Chat doesn’t so much serve as an indicator of the tales of the contents to come. In a sense, it more so suggests a portrait of the reader, existing outside, escaping into, and taking refuge in these tales. They are not of any one thing-- these are tales of woe and of joy, tales of grandparents, fathers, and farmers, of orange-picking and of spaceships crashing to Earth. It would have been impossible to choose a piece of art that perfectly encompassed the diversity of experience in this issue, so we instead looked to this piece as a way to celebrate the universality of humanity that exists within that diversity, time with ourselves being a constant and how we engage with ourselves and engage with others in times of isolation being fresh on the mind. I hope this period of isolation will allow you to look more closely at what your life looks like in isolation: how you’re spending your time alone, what you value when you’re alone, and in turn, what that means for you and your life both in isolation and not. And in the meantime, I urge you to take a moment to cozy up with your cat, a blanket, a cup of tea and read the unique selection of poetry, prose, and art that Élan’s Spring Online Edition has to offer. – Blake Molenaar, Junior Art Editor

As the senior fiction/CNF editor, this is my second time playing the lead role in deciding what fiction and CNF is put into the book. I was really proud of the 2019 Fall Edition of Élan and I’m so happy to say that I’m just as proud of this one, if not more. Reading through this edition and seeing the art and the writing fills me with so much pride. Helping showcase these amazing writers and artists' work is something really special and I am glad I play a part in it. I say this in every blog post I write, but I always want creative nonfiction in each edition we release. In this edition we have "Faults in a Guitar Strum" by Mia Parola, a creative nonfiction piece about a girl and her father. Even by the first few lines I felt like I was reading something special. Her descriptions of her father and the interactions between the two are really vivid and mirror relationships that we all have with others whether they are our parents, grandparents, etc. I think this piece is really engaging in the way it bridges the line between being really personal but also universal. I’m really happy we have it in our book. One of my favorite fiction pieces in the book is "How You Learned to Sleepwalk" by Jasper Darnell. Every time I read this piece it’s just as powerful as the first time. This piece lets the reader follow someone who is imagining their father after he has passed away. I think the choice for this story to be in second person is a really strong one because it brings the reader even closer to what is happening. You are truly in the moment and you feel everything the character is feeling. It’s a visceral feeling and almost seems to knock you off your feet when you reach the end. I think of this story kind of similarly as I do to "Faults in Our Guitar Strum" in that we’re seeing something really specific to one person or character’s experience, but can still clearly see ourselves and our relationships in these pieces. I think most of the work in our Spring Edition has this quality to it and that’s a part of what makes it all so meaningful. Now I want to talk a bit about the art in this edition. It has some of my favorite art that I’ve seen in Élan. A piece I love is Faces of Happiness by Sena Sugunama. I love how joyful it is and I feel like it pairs well with pieces about family. It stuck out to me from the moment I saw it. Another piece I really like is Eldest Child by Erin Murphy. When I first saw it I immediately thought of the Madonna and Child painting from our 2019 Fall Online Edition. It’s a really well done piece and when paired next to "When My Mother Calls Me To Say She Quits Being My Mother" by Noland Blain becomes even more powerful. Each edition of Élan I have been a part of seems to have gotten better and better. I feel like we are continuing to improve and that is all thanks to the people who submit their writing and art. They are what makes this book so special and meaningful not only to us as the staff but to our readers as well. I think our Spring Edition has something for everybody to enjoy. - Anna Howse, Senior Fiction/CNF Editor

This piece in the 2020 spring edition caught my eye as one of the more intriguing pieces in the edition's contents. Being a long time proponent and voracious consumer of information on space programs around the world, the challenger disaster has always been resounding in abysmal horror and a deep sadness inherent in what the community holds as one of the most revered crews in space history. This poem, told from the perspectives of those who were watching that day beautifully, moved me in a way mere information and research could provide. The poem, separated into vignettes of poetic narrative surrounding the ’86 Challenger Disaster offers a telling and renowned timely narrative on one of the most impactful events of a generation lost to the younger readers of today. This iteration of our publication has received so many excellent submissions, particularly in the collection of poetry that we have fielded across the world, primarily from younger writers. It is by this demographic of source that this piece aroused our interests for our publication. What makes me so infatuated by its captive narrative is the way the narrative dynamically wove together all of these perspectives from across America to characterize a national tragedy. It is by evident extensive research and investment that Carmichael was able to eloquently capture the national psyche during the horror of the cataclysmic failures that day. Very rarely am I able to live vicariously through the written word, particularly to the extent of emotional totality that this piece offers. Regardless of my absence in 1986, I am able to capture an inkling of the shock and horror that the families, countrymen and constituents of those astronauts experienced. It is by this aspect of the piece’s nature, that I was so drawn to its content. The piece serves as a necessary memoriam to the sacrifice and honor of the mission’s crew, particularly centering on astronaut-teacher Christa McAuliffe, the first teacher to be flow into space, with the intention of broadcasting lessons from within the space shuttle. She is regarded as being a pioneer in both teaching and aeronautics. The piece’s value lies not just in its value as a reverent piece of literature covering the collective trauma of a nation, but also a journey into the emotional landscape of the millions of Americans looking onward as the shuttle erupted into a ball of flame. When our editors are looking through pieces, rarely do we come across pieces that can doubly accomplish these goals like this. There are very few poetic pieces on events like these, so it is important that we pay reverence to and patronize those that conform to our editorial standard and fulfill our hunger for good and satisfying literature. Our spring edition is filled with pieces that for me allow for the transcendental vicarious experience mentioned prior. This batch of particularly potent poetry was by far the most fascinating conglomeration of talent I’ve seen in my interactions with our publication. It is for these reasons that I recommend you look into our Spring Edition and read the piece for yourself. - Sheldon White, Junior Fiction/CNF Editor

Poems are powerful tools. They're also very versatile. Raleigh Walter, a poet published in our upcoming spring issue, understands this. "Flamenco Shoe" is a poem that we're very proud to be displaying as it offers so much insight about family, the emotional inheritance that we are forced to bear, and what it means to eulogize someone with a dedication to the truth. "Flamenco Shoe" begins with an image enshrined in tenderness and articulated with great care. The objects around a person--their modes of circumstance--can come to define them and are often the things we hold onto the strongest, and whether they are "bleached white tube socks" or the "morning newspapers" that punctuate our days, it is important to recall them with precision. And that is perhaps the best description of this poem's feats: the images, the feelings that constitute our families can often surface nebulously, but here they bubble up with muscular exactness. From the tenderness, we move to a place of confusion. The speaker's mother is recalled, and the three generations are linked in a delicately ambiguous braid. In a balancing act, we operate with ambiguity for the rest of the poem and end there with plenty to think about. I think I love this poem because of its verism. When we write an ode, a eulogy, or remember in any other way, we are so frequently prone to the throes of nostalgia and remain trapped in the constraints of a false positive. Poetry can be used to remember, but that is often a different thing from remembering correctly. The expressions, the linguistic gestures, the intimacy of the images here are astonishingly unforgiving. They evoke feeling with no room for misunderstanding and do not yield to pure adoration or pure disdain. I have been thinking a lot lately about what it means to revisit the events, the people, the monolithic moments that so profoundly shape us in ways we don't even recognize. We owe it to ourselves and to them to apply in our looking back the clarity that we have been granted since then. Processing, understanding, intake can be delayed significantly from occurrence. I am reminded of Toni Morrison's expression of "rememory" in Beloved. Sometimes, memories live on in us--or with us, as sentient beings--and take their own shapes, rear their own heads. "Flamenco Shoe" processes with sage, mature clarity. It eulogizes with careful mastery. It engages carefully with the rememory. It reminds us all that meditation with respect to the truth is better for us all than blind worship. I am proud to have such a wise contemplation in a magazine designed to uplift youth voices. Sometimes, wisdom can be found in the places we look for it last. - Conor Naccarato, Senior Poetry Editor

One of my favorite pieces in our Spring Book is a story titled, “By the Cornfields.” And while I typically prefer reading poetry over fiction, there is no denying the masterful craft involved in creating a full narrative in 310 words. There is an eeriness to the piece’s voice that is unlike any Élan submission I’ve ever seen. The speaker is so well characterized through their sparse dialogue, and looming environmental details, that such a mall word count seems impossible. I especially like the bluntness taken on at certain times in the piece. At one point the speaker says, almost directly to the reader, “She was too old to be worrying about me. I was too old; men my age wake and can’t find comfort in their beds again. And that’s that.” The voice relays such certainty despite their seemingly constant paranoia. It is extremely satisfying to observe a character with so many layers in a microfiction piece. Length aside, I truly admire Reece’s piece for its uniqueness. We get a pretty large array of Southern Gothic submissions tackling tropes and archetypes we are all too familiar with. We also get a lot of submissions displaying the dynamics within a marriage—the certain unavoidable conflicts, or a struggle for power. Reece manages to display elements from both of these things in a way I’ve never seen before. She creates a hellscape of sorts: in the country— out in the middle of nowhere—where a man favors his delusions over his wife, and the farm around him symbolizes the insanity (or evil) taking over him. I can’t put into words how much I enjoy this piece, and how proud I am to include it in our Spring Edition. The uniqueness I mentioned in regard to Reece’s fiction can be said about a lot of our submissions this issue. As far as art goes, we got a fair number of abstract pieces that are typically hard to come by. Beautiful works such as Maverick Johnson’s Earth’s Sensations and Tamia Brinkley’s Composition 9721 helped evolve Élan’s voice from Fall to Spring; and even the pieces themselves display a kind of movement that perfectly matches the symbolism behind spring: renewal, rebirth. That being said, our book also does a great amount of work to contradict the typical messages of Spring. Some of my favorite pieces delve into hauntings of the past—such as Breana Kinchen’s “Oranges” or Jasper Darnell’s “How You Learned to Sleepwalk.” I think we cover almost every possible human emotion from cover to cover. This Spring Issue will be my second-to-last book as Editor-in-Chief. Looking through the rough draft of the book, I couldn’t be more happy with what we managed to accomplish during this hectic time. I’m also extremely proud of my Junior Editor-in-Chief, Zoe, who took the Spring Issue on with great leadership and control. Everyone single person on this staff has grown above and beyond their role—and for that I am also proud. I’m immensely grateful for the wonderful teen artists who make this book possible. I’ve never wanted Élan to have a “voice,” but rather, an ever-changing collection of voices. As an editor on the Élan staff, we don’t have the power to control what pieces get submitted: only which ones we choose to publish. It is important to us that all genres, all backgrounds, all topics, get their fair share of space in our publication. This issue ranges from helping a loved one with dementia, to visiting a father in jail, to an American Heritage Girls camping trip. The options are truly endless. And seeing this end result, I truly think the founding Élan staff from 35 years ago would be proud of their legacy. - Olivia Meiller, Senior Editor-in-Chief

This year's D.A. Writers’ Fest will be my first-- a mistake I can blame only on myself. I was a 14-year-old freshman the first time I heard of Writers’ Fest, and decidedly didn’t have enough foresight to attend. I said I’d go the next year, but by the time the next year had come around and my excitement had grown, I learned that Writers’ Fest was an every-other-year event which I’d only get two opportunities to attend as a high school student, one of which I’d just missed. So now, after a long wait, I’m prepared and beyond excited to attend my very first (but not last) Writers’ Fest this coming March. I’m especially excited about this year’s line-up of writers, which boasts a variety of writers from poets to playwrights with diverse and unique styles and experiences. Among the ranks of this lineup of acclaimed writers are two in particular that I’m thrilled and eager to learn from: poets Terrance Hayes and Franny Choi. I was introduced to Terrance Hayes earlier this year during an author study project focused on identifying craft choices that make up an author’s unique style. Two of these craft choices that had an impact on me were his innovation of poetic structure, and his focus on the emotional impact of the language itself. In a reigning age of free verse, Hayes makes a mark in his use of poetic format. For example, in his most recent collection, American Sonnets for My Past and Future Assassin, Hayes explores historical, current, and future violence against black men through fresh takes on the sonnet form. Hayes’ use and innovation of structure is an inspiration to both the seasoned and aspiring poet, a reminder of why we grew to love poetic form in the first place, as well as the place it has in contemporary poetry. And his “language first, meaning second” approach to poetry– a pursuit of using language to replicate feeling as purely as possible, creating poems where the language affects you before you try to rationalize. The results of this endeavor are poems like “Hip Logic,” evocative beyond measure, cinematic and visual in nature. It comes as no surprise that Hayes was a painter before he was a poet. Like Hayes, I first encountered Franny Choi in the classroom, but under very different circumstances. It was my sophomore year, my first year in the D.A. Creative Writing program, and my first real brush with poetry. I’d written poetry in the past, but always under a deadline, always for a grade. I never considered myself a poet, and harbored a harsh and unfounded disdain for contemporary poetry. But here my teacher was, with a stack of poetry books, anthologies, and magazines, asking that I read and try to connect. This is the process that led me to an armchair in the back of the classroom, holding a back issue of Poetry Magazine, searching for a poem to read. The poem I found was Choi’s “Perihelion: A History of Touch.” It wasn’t the poem I was looking for, a poem that was short and easy to understand, but instead one that was winding and took some patience– and yet it was the poem that moved me forward in my poetry. It was an inviting mix of the familiar and unfamiliar; reminiscent of the magical realism I loved, but still something I hadn’t been so sure about until that point: a poem. Given that Choi has had such an impact on my story as a writer and as a poet, I’m thrilled to have the opportunity to learn from her and her writing this Writers’ Fest, and likewise, to learn from Hayes and his craft, as well as the other writers in the lineup. The existence of Writers’ Fest really is a feat– for a public school to pull off a festival of this magnitude and prestige is a testament to the strength of the ever-growing arts community in Jacksonville. I can’t wait to see what these amazing writers and this amazing community has to offer, and I’m hoping my attendance at this year’s Writers’ Fest and all of the Writers’ Fests of the future will make up for the ones that I’ve missed. – Blake Molenaar, Junior Art Editor