I was a kid of a thousand careers. Growing up I pretended to be every job imaginable. I tried my hand being a gardener, tending to the over grown flowers beds in my front yard.  I took the role of a priest, breaking half a loaf of wonder bread and giving out swigs of apple juice to my small pretend congregation. I used my mother’s old college text books and scribbled on a chalk board pretending to be a teacher to my stuffed animals. I was a nurse checking the blood pressure, listening to hearts, and administering shots to any willing patients. But eventually I traded these imaginative days with academic classes and hours of homework. As I go through senior year with the illuminating expiration date of my time at Douglas Anderson flashing over head I feel pressured to have it all figured out. The biggest thing that I feel compelled to have mapped out before I graduate is what career path I want to chain myself to for the rest of my life. But in these dwindling hours of high school I draw inspiration from my childhood and how I would get caught up in a whirl wind of imagination filled passion. Through the fog of stress that is senior year I see my childhood imagination as a beacon of light guiding me through the never ending pages of college applications, numerous activates, and the dwindling  year. -Chrissy Thelemann, Submissions Editor

The theme of racial identity has been frequenting my writing as of late. Being biracial half-Mexican and half white, I have gone exploring my heritage in both my poetry and fiction. Of course there many joys in being of mixed race, such as having the opportunity to claim and celebrate both cultures. However, for me a sense of inadequacy always resurfaced, that is concerning my inability to satisfy a certain racial identity. With that there sometimes came the alienation, feeling out of place, and as though I belonged to neither parent’s side. One of the many poets coming to Douglas Anderson Writers’ Festival is Lee Ann Roripaugh who explores this theme. This confusion, and hurt is peppered throughout her work but especially prominent in the poems Snake Song and Transplanting. When I read these poems I thought of my own struggle with claiming my father’s identity. There were times I was insulted and openly made fun of by Spanish speaking strangers at my hesitant use of the language. Several times I drifted apart from that crowd frustrated, embarrassed, and trying to create distance between myself and my father’s culture. Likewise in Roripaugh’s image driven poem Snake Song she captures rather perfectly being torn between two identities, and struggling to navigate both through the metaphor of the snake, and her birth. Here she especially targets how she communicates through both English and Japanese. “I was born in the year of the snake and maybe this is why I speak with a forked tongue. …when I open my mouth to talk, a strange song, not mine, comes tumbling out. Ai-noko, half-caste, I tilt my head in the mirror first this way then that–Horikoshi cheekbones, Caucasian nose, my ojii-san’s serious eyebrows feathering like ink strokes … My blood runs hot and cold.” In her poem Transplanting Roripaugh plays more subtlety with her isolation, and estrangement.  In this poem she talks of how her sneeze is different from her mother’s and the unexpected distance and criticism that breeds. Sneeze My mother sneezes in Japanese. Ké-sho! An exclamation of surprise—two sharp crisp syllables … Sometimes, when ragweed blooms, I wonder why her sneeze isn’t mine, why something so involuntary, so deeply rooted in the seed of speech, breaks free from my mouth like thistle in a stiff breeze, in a language other than my mother’s tongue. How do you chart the diaspora of a sneeze? I don’t know how you turned out this way, she always tells me,” After reading these poems, I was in awe of Roripaugh’s approach to such a highly personal subject. Indeed, reading it gave me flashbacks of my own experiences and my own questioning and confusion. Yet she can’t help but touch on the importance and beauty of Japanese culture to her identity. In my own life I’ve made peace with my Mexican identity, and Caucasian identity like Roripaugh.  I’ve realized they are both an enormous part of me, one I have to learn and love on my own terms, despite what others say. Inasmuch, I’m excited to attend her workshop at Writers’ Festival, and glean some inspiration and technique to further my exploration of identity and culture. -Aracely Medina, Senior Poetry Editor

When I first ordered The Cage Keeper by Andre Dubus III, I wasn’t expecting what appeared on the first page. With a title such as this one, I expected the book to be a linear set of stories about human trials and tribulation. The book opens with a short story called “The Cage Keeper,” which I assumed would be a tale of finding a heart for criminals who were misinterpreted and prejudged. However, I was taken for a complex journey encompassing human interaction, violence, sorrow, loneliness, and desire. Dubus has a gift for crafting short stories that embody multiple themes without crowding the piece. As an aspiring writer, I enjoy when an author has the ability to open a story and instantly put you into a setting or character mentality. Since Dubus uses strong, authentic imagery, I was fascinated to see this didn’t affect the pacing in a negative way. In my own writing, I typically have a challenge with adding imagery that adds to both pacing and theme. I admire the fact that he could utilize extended metaphors and symbolism to explain such dark and uncomfortable themes. He also uses flashbacks to expand on how or why a character has been placed into bizarre situations when you first start reading the piece. It adds depth and engagement to characters you may have assumed were simply protagonists or antagonists. Another thing that interests me about Dubus is that his short stories are long, but still keep you invested through the dynamics of the characters he creates. I haven’t come across a character in his stories that is cliché or unforgettable, which is something I’m also attempting to work on as a writer. In the short stories “Mountains” and “The Cage Keeper,” first person narration is used. First person narration is usually a risky point of view to use since it can make your story sound cliché or overtly limited to the perspective of one character. However, in both short stories, this perspective guides the reader through the plot of the story and helps the reader care about every character in the story. In fact, I don’t know that these pieces would have worked in any other point of view since second person would have felt too inclusive, and third person would have felt distant and absurd. First person added a humorous take on the daunting situation of being held hostage in “The Cage Keeper,” and made you laugh even though you knew how serious and dangerous the situation actually was. Ultimately, I applaud Dubus for the risks he incorporates in his writing. His writing is fluent with societal issues that many of us refuse to acknowledge or act on out of our own fears and guilt. As a reader you become challenged to think about the “what if’s” that are presented in his pieces, whether they are what society deems good or bad. I’m ecstatic to workshop with him during Writers’ Festival and learn about his writing process, how he creates characters that are both engaging and thought provoking. During senior fiction, I wrote a portfolio from first person narration in hopes of stimulating the reader to engage alongside the character instead of as an observer or a character themselves. I hoped to mimic Dubus’s style of engaging the reader from the first minimal character description that he typically utilizes to set a tone for the story. I was surprised by the results, and anticipate that it’ll be fun learning how to perfect this craft even more. -Christina Sumpter, Senior Creative Nonfiction Editor

As the poetry editor I don’t focus a lot on fiction. In fact, I stay far away from it. I like to stay in my little poetry bubble with metaphors and ambiguity. Recently I have been having trouble in my personal writing. I’ve been trying to write poems with stories too complex for their lines. Believe me I tried narrative poetry and it didn’t work. I had hit a creative road block all because I was stuck on a form. The simple fact is that some ideas aren’t meant to be poems. Some stories are meant to be told in prose or in novels. A while ago I told myself I was a poet and restricted myself to just writing poetry. At the time I didn’t realize that language cannot be restricted to one form. Language talks back. Language will tell you when it doesn’t like what it is. During second reads I read fiction pieces. While reading the stories I realized that maybe some of my poems were meant to be something else. So I decided to go on a journey with my language. I sat down with my poetry and asked it what it wanted to be. Some said poems and others said that they were fiction. The only thing I could do in the situation was comply with my pieces. Nothing is worse than making your pieces be what they don’t want to be. All it does is result in a lot of hair pulling and unhappiness. Through the process of reworking my pieces I started to appreciate fiction more. Fiction has a lot of the same techniques as poetry. Fiction is just poetry with a lot more characters and a more complex plot. I found that fiction isn’t all that bad and I stopped being scared of it. I found that language is its own beast and I shouldn’t try to tame it. -Grace Green, Poetry Editor

Community has many definitions. It is defined by Merriam-Webster as “a unified group of individuals,” “a group of people with the same interests,” or “a group of people with the same interests [or backgrounds].” These definitions are not mutually exclusive, but extremely varied. First appearing the late 14th century, from Latin, the word was primarily used to mean “a body of fellows or fellow-townsmen,” but also had additional meanings, including “a community of relations or feelings.” The word, in layman’s terms, implies a unification, whether due to geography or interest. People form and join many communities over the course of their life. Dunbar’s number, which is a limit to the number of true friendships or relationships a person can keep track of, is 150. 150 complex, intricate connections and the emotional ties that come with them. The average classroom has 30 or so students. If each of those students has 121 friends (150 minus the 29 other students in the classroom), those students combined have 3,630 friends. The human ability to be so multifaceted that one person can be connected to 150 people is remarkable. Sitting here writing this, I can’t count 150 people I know, much less 150 friends. It is mind boggling that I have that many connections, and it makes me wonder about the people I am connected to, about who of the 150 will stay with me. It makes me wonder about connections I have made and then forgotten. But mostly, it makes me grateful for the ability to share rare, beautiful connections with others who are willing to count me as their 150. - Zarra Marlowe, Junior Submissions Editor

Beginnings are weird. They stare at you, straight in the eyes and say, “Yeah, I’m here,” and they either excite or frighten you. Recently I have been staring at a big beginning in my life: starting college. This beginning does not only mark the beginning of adulthood for me but also the end of high school, the place I have found myself as an artist. Beginnings are scary in that way. They are the start of something but the ending of another. I think that’s why I have such an odd feeling when I think about starting college. It’s beautifully bittersweet. But every story has a beginning. Looking back on my writing, beginnings were never hard for me to write. If anything, the ending was hard. From the first day of freshman year I knew how to hook a reader with a quote or an interesting fact. I knew how to grab their attention with a character or scenario. I’m good at beginnings. Yet when I look at my future, I think of everything that is about to begin and I just turn into a big ball of anxiety. I can write the beginning of a poem or an article but I can’t write my own life. It’s so frightening when you think about it, because in your life you have control over a certain amount of things but at the end of the day you are not the one in charge, you are at the mercy of the world around you. Recently I’ve started to think of my beginnings this way. When I sit down to write something I don’t want to follow that formula I’ve had for years. Frankly, that formula is boring and I only use it for English class. Beginnings shouldn’t be generic, they should be interesting. In real life, beginnings happen all the time. High school doesn’t really happen until you meet the people that will shape your experience there for the next four years. The truth is, when I start college there will be a multitude of endings and a multitude of beginnings and I won’t even realize half of them are happening. So why should I write like I know when these things are happening? Beginnings aren’t definitive. You can start something but it doesn’t begin there. There’s always something arbitrary in beginnings. So the best advice I can give you is to start writing from where the story really starts. The beginning is never simple. Let it be complex. -Grace Green, Poetry Editor

As a writer, a new year can mean finally writing that idea that has been swirling around in your head for a while or taking a closer look at the conventions you put into your pieces. Since January is the first month of the year, why not start working at the beginning on beginnings? The beginning of a story or a poem needs to hook the reader- but not like the hooks taught in elementary school English class. How you start a piece conveys everything about where the piece will or can go. In my work, I strive to make my openings memorable, and looking at what other writers have started with can be the most helpful thing. In Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen the prologue opens with the image of three people standing under a greasy awning. This image sets the tone for the lifestyle and events that are to come for the main character. It is probably one of the most common ways I and other writers start but it’s a strikingly simple mix of images. But some stories call for a more drastic opening. Albert Camus opens his novel the Stranger with the simple sentence “Maman died today.” This immediately grabs the readers’ attention. Who doesn’t want to suck a reader in with only three words? Sometimes the beginning of a piece of writing makes you stop and process a new outlook. My favorite poet, Jack Gilbert, starts his poem Falling and Flying with the line “Everyone forgets that Icarus also flew.” It makes you look at the age old story of Icarus in a new light and before shipping you off into his insightful poem. With 2015 just beginning, why not stop and think about the beginning and maybe even put a more interesting spin to it. -Chrissy Thelemann, Submissions Editor #Poetry #AlbertCamus #Editor #JackGilbert #WritingTips #NewYears #SaraGruen #Beginnings #Fiction #Writing

Man is not only made of skin, flesh and bones, but also of personal history. What influences someone to grow and shape himself or herself into the person they wish to be, is heavily affected by their experiences. Each of us has a story, some tragic and emotional, some simple, all equally as impactful. At the start of my teenage years, when I became far more aware of the world around me, I began to recognize the emotional depths of people, specifically my father. As a kid, seeing him upset always registered as something temporary, something he could mend with a good night’s sleep, and his favorite snack. Soon, I learned, it wasn’t that simple. I learned my father had clinical depression when I was fourteen and he was admitted into a mental facility for the first time. The weeks leading up to his admission, he had drastically changed. He lost twenty-five pounds and all the color in his skin. He had always been the kind of man who danced on tabletops in fancy restaurants and laughed loud enough for an entire room to hear. He empowered others with his wisdom and he was a role model. He was a man who, more than anyone else, loved the art of living. He was also a man who was fighting for his life. He didn’t experience another episode until the months leading up to August of 2015. The patterns remained the same. He lost weight and ambition and on August 6th, he took his life. Often times in dealing with death, people express the hurt in losing someone else. They describe the pain felt in never seeing them, hearing them, or being with them again. I felt a much different pain. Losing him meant losing my knowledge. He was the one who stayed awake with me at three a.m. eating peanut butter only sandwiches and discussing the history of the world. Losing him meant losing perseverance. He was the only one who always reminded me I was capable. The one who pushed me into the pool to prove to myself I knew how to swim. He showed me that words were art and that with them I was capable of changing the world. Losing him meant losing heart and passion. With any loss, other things are gained as a consequence. I’m waiting for those things and, slowly but surely, I am learning that they do come eventually. -Briana Lopez, Senior Editor-in-Chief

Quiet as I am, throughout my first year as an Élan staffer, I have noticed a lot of things. One: the seniors are pretty awesome. Two: they’ve taught me a whole lot about myself without ever having to say a word. Emily Cramer, Editor in Chief, taught me how to lead by example with a bright personality and a whole lot of love. Kiera Nelson, Fiction Editor, taught me the importance of self- confidence. Emily Jackson, Non-fiction Editor, taught me how to think as an editor not as a casual reader. Makenzie Fields, Submissions Editor, taught me that being organized is the only way to get through life. Raegan Carpenter, Poetry Editor, taught me how to laugh at everything that can possibly go wrong. Haley Hitzing, Social Media Editor, taught me to stay on top of things and take very copious notes. Brittanie Demps, Poetry Editor, taught me to live life. Emily Leitch, Print and Web Design Editor, taught me that being small should never make you act small. And most importantly all of the seniors taught me through their constant love and support how to be someone worth being remembered. Trust me, I will remember all of them. — Shamiya Anderson, Nonfiction Editor

We learn the art of storytelling as children. We embellish our experiences, come up with new ones, more interesting stories to tell. This is not to be confused with lying, a not entirely separate art we master in the same time frame. Lying and storytelling serve different purposes, the latter definitely a more celebrated craft, and more enjoyable to be ensnared in. The beauty of a story is that there is no one way to tell it, and it does not have to be your own. In reading and writing, I prefer the story behind a poem to a narrative in fiction. Longer pieces have more room to develop setting, characters, and so on through scenes. That can be done beautifully and uniquely with perspective, narrative voice, dialogue. But in poetry, the detail in describing a moment can tell a story just as vividly in a few words. I feel like there is more room for interpretation, and just enough is given to you to make the experience resonant. There is the opportunity to decide on backstory, character motivations, etc in either genre, but I feel like poetry allows the reader to feel more connected to the story. The reader becomes the storyteller to fill in the missing pieces. I love the escapist quality of reading fiction, which is not always attainable with poetry, when the described experience becomes your own. Writing fiction remains a challenge for me since I’m so used to seeing the story in a moment. It’s hard to step back and create something full in a less confined space. -Jordan Jacob, Junior Editor-in-Chief

The most comfortable I've ever felt has been in a field full of strangers. Sweat burning its way through my clothes. Sun beating down a steady rhythm on my scalp. Though it might not sound too enjoyable, it is one of my favorite places to be. Its rare to find a group of people who all find pleasure in the same exact things and then on top of that, be able to get them all together for a music festival. This opportunity was something i had never experienced on such a large scale. After my first concert, I realized that it was something I needed in my life. Everyone has their own version of this experience. Whether it be in the church pews or an empty bedroom. It's so important that everyone, especially teenagers, take time to find the places in life they feel comfortable. It offers a way to discover yourself in a freeing and safe environment. I lived for most of my life feeling different, less impactful moments of comfort. Being tucked into covers fresh from the dryer. Feeling my father hug me goodnight. Leaning back in my seat after eating until my mouth was tired of chewing. All of these moments are ones I wouldn't trade for the world. However, time makes these moments seem less important. There are still days where I crave those quiet intimate moments. But now that so many years have gone by, I find more comfort in being cradled by a mass of strangers than I would in being cradled by any single person. Whatever you find comfort in, don't be afraid to find new, different ways of being happy. Try painting, sculpting, go somewhere you've never been before. Eventually, you will find something so different, so new, that you will never be able to look at the rest of your life in the same way. -Savana Pendarvis, Junior Creative Nonfiction Editor

How to complete a spring book in steps: Step 1: Find a dedicated staff who are in love with literature and art Step 2: Make a website and reveal your publication to the world through social media! Step 3: Open submissions and let the work come to you Step 4: Organize the submissions and number them so it is a fair blind reading Step 5: Read everything! Step 5: Make staff decisions on writing and art Step 6: Choose finalists and send writing to judges Step 7: Now that the art and writing finalists have been chosen, you can make the order of the pieces for the actual book! Step 8: Layout Step 9: Layout Step 10: Layout and upload Step 11: Enjoy your finished masterpiece! I wish that making a book was as easy as typing out the process, but it is not. Simply put, being in a publication takes a lot of time and effort; you really need to have a passion for what you do. When you have passion however, it makes it easier to stay organized and keep faith in what you do. That is what the Élan staff have always maintained throughout the years, and this year has been no different. We are extremely proud of our latest spring edition, and I hope that you will enjoy all the talent and hard work that has gone into creating it. The edition is on our website: elanlitmag.org We are also working on our print compilation of both the winter and spring books, so please keep an eye out for announcements related to the print book! --Sarah Buckman, Editor-in-Chief