letter from the editor.
Dear Reader,
It's 2:00 am, and I can hear the sustained brassy notes of a train horn through the glass of my home windows. So nice to know that I am not the only one awake in the middle of the night, working.
This magazine keeps me up.
I woke up two hours ago. Earlier today, in the windowless office that is our magazine workroom, I asked Jenn, our editor, to adjust a detail throughout the entire book for the sake of consistency, but when everyone had left at the end of the day, I realized that we had created a different inconsistency. I imagined myself showing up in the morning and telling Jenn to undo every task I asked her to complete yesterday, taking the book back to its prior state, negating the time she spent on this instead of the many something elses she could have done instead, and all because I gave the wrong guidance or didn't foresee the consequences.
I stay awake.
Why does the darkness of night produce such a perfect stage for new ideas? At times, I try repeating to myself: this is your bed, not your desk; this is your bed, not your desk; this is your bed, not your deskÖ Tonight, I twist the plastic dial on my bed lamp and fumble around the house looking for my bag, pulling out the laptop and shining harsh blue light into my eyes. Surely, there will be no sleep now. The magazine is due sooner than I'd like to admit to you. Every hour I spend here, with a soft, silver cat curled on my arms as I insist on typing anyway, will be a better hour in the workroom tomorrow while Jenn and Max, our designer, put in the final hours of work before sending these files to the printers. After almost a decade of being a part of The Salal Review, I am still trying to figure out how to lead this process and cut out the urgency in the final days.
This is why my name pops in and out as an advisor over the past many years. Why should this magazine steal my sleep and my energy as it does? The poems, stories, paintings, drawings, swirls, swoops, splatters, and smudges--none of them are mine. The cover, colors, embellishments, layouts, font choices, and overall flow--not mine either. So, what is it?
Amidst the noise of distant mill machinery and semi-truck tires, the answers start taking shape.
I stay awake because of Jenn's dream to work in publishing, and the My Little Ponies she carries around so that she can work, learn, and parent all at once. Because of Max's boldness to be creative beyond his comfort zone; because he continues to add, refine, alter, and invest hour after hour into the role of graphic designer. Because of Shantelle's urge that we reach the further edges of our community, bringing the book down the river, and bringing the voices of distant neighbors back to our workroom: because she doesn't need the class but chooses to stay with us. I stay awake because of every comment Zoey made on a poem or piece of art, and how she inspired me to design a better review process because of their thoughtful ideas for how discussions could be run. Because of the day that Norman showed up with all of our favorite drinks as a way to celebrate the conclusion of our literary selection--none of us saw it coming. Because of Kimberly's hope to one day put forth a publication of their own; I'll be looking for it. Because Mikey was only on the team for two weeks when she stepped in as spokesperson and budget-defender! Because Zoe's painting is the final piece of this volume, and she quietly held onto that fact until someone else realized it; then she bowed her head with a humble, silent smile.
I am awake now to ensure that their legacies are etched into the history of The Salal Review, and to say that this endeavor is worth the energy and the lost sleep. Awake because I have this romantic belief that all of the rich memories that take place behind the scenes to produce this magazine are somehow hidden in the pages... perhaps in the empty spaces, where you might sense the process and the people, and not just the product.
As I close, the refrain of so many former editors and designers rings in my ears like ghostly or angelic song... they plead, in different words each year, that you--dear reader--might enjoy what they have made in order to showcase all of the stunning pieces that our students and community members have made. And this is my point, too; I hope you take The Salal Review home and carry it to bed with you.
I hope it keeps you awake at night.
Until next year,
Amber Lemiere
Faculty Advisor, 2023
It's 2:00 am, and I can hear the sustained brassy notes of a train horn through the glass of my home windows. So nice to know that I am not the only one awake in the middle of the night, working.
This magazine keeps me up.
I woke up two hours ago. Earlier today, in the windowless office that is our magazine workroom, I asked Jenn, our editor, to adjust a detail throughout the entire book for the sake of consistency, but when everyone had left at the end of the day, I realized that we had created a different inconsistency. I imagined myself showing up in the morning and telling Jenn to undo every task I asked her to complete yesterday, taking the book back to its prior state, negating the time she spent on this instead of the many something elses she could have done instead, and all because I gave the wrong guidance or didn't foresee the consequences.
I stay awake.
Why does the darkness of night produce such a perfect stage for new ideas? At times, I try repeating to myself: this is your bed, not your desk; this is your bed, not your desk; this is your bed, not your deskÖ Tonight, I twist the plastic dial on my bed lamp and fumble around the house looking for my bag, pulling out the laptop and shining harsh blue light into my eyes. Surely, there will be no sleep now. The magazine is due sooner than I'd like to admit to you. Every hour I spend here, with a soft, silver cat curled on my arms as I insist on typing anyway, will be a better hour in the workroom tomorrow while Jenn and Max, our designer, put in the final hours of work before sending these files to the printers. After almost a decade of being a part of The Salal Review, I am still trying to figure out how to lead this process and cut out the urgency in the final days.
This is why my name pops in and out as an advisor over the past many years. Why should this magazine steal my sleep and my energy as it does? The poems, stories, paintings, drawings, swirls, swoops, splatters, and smudges--none of them are mine. The cover, colors, embellishments, layouts, font choices, and overall flow--not mine either. So, what is it?
Amidst the noise of distant mill machinery and semi-truck tires, the answers start taking shape.
I stay awake because of Jenn's dream to work in publishing, and the My Little Ponies she carries around so that she can work, learn, and parent all at once. Because of Max's boldness to be creative beyond his comfort zone; because he continues to add, refine, alter, and invest hour after hour into the role of graphic designer. Because of Shantelle's urge that we reach the further edges of our community, bringing the book down the river, and bringing the voices of distant neighbors back to our workroom: because she doesn't need the class but chooses to stay with us. I stay awake because of every comment Zoey made on a poem or piece of art, and how she inspired me to design a better review process because of their thoughtful ideas for how discussions could be run. Because of the day that Norman showed up with all of our favorite drinks as a way to celebrate the conclusion of our literary selection--none of us saw it coming. Because of Kimberly's hope to one day put forth a publication of their own; I'll be looking for it. Because Mikey was only on the team for two weeks when she stepped in as spokesperson and budget-defender! Because Zoe's painting is the final piece of this volume, and she quietly held onto that fact until someone else realized it; then she bowed her head with a humble, silent smile.
I am awake now to ensure that their legacies are etched into the history of The Salal Review, and to say that this endeavor is worth the energy and the lost sleep. Awake because I have this romantic belief that all of the rich memories that take place behind the scenes to produce this magazine are somehow hidden in the pages... perhaps in the empty spaces, where you might sense the process and the people, and not just the product.
As I close, the refrain of so many former editors and designers rings in my ears like ghostly or angelic song... they plead, in different words each year, that you--dear reader--might enjoy what they have made in order to showcase all of the stunning pieces that our students and community members have made. And this is my point, too; I hope you take The Salal Review home and carry it to bed with you.
I hope it keeps you awake at night.
Until next year,
Amber Lemiere
Faculty Advisor, 2023
thank you
To all of our contributors, whether your works were accepted and printed within these pages or not: we thank you for your vulnerability in sharing what you created, and for all of your creative labor.
To Shane Prine: thank you for jumping in as soon as you arrived at LCC to begin collaborating and contributing with your graphic design knowledge and passion; we especially thank you for Lato! We look forward to the years ahead.
To the Associated Students of Lower Columbia College and Richard Arquette: we thank you for continuing to fund this endeavor and asking questions that challenge us to grow. You inspire us to dream differently about the years to come.
To the Lower Columbia College Foundation: we thank you for chipping in to ensure that this magazine continues to go to print and reaches the widest audience we could imagine. You help to create this experience and opportunity for students and to maintain our legacy for the region.
To our campus administrators: we thank you for keeping past, present, and future students at the center of what you do, and for making a way for The Salal Review to continue growing for twenty-three years and counting.
To Chris Hammett and the ADCO team: we thank you for bringing these digital files to life and physically printing, cutting, collating, and binding the books we now hold.
To all of the unnamed people whose shoulders this publication stands on: we thank you for the parts you played to ensure we would be here today—for your labor, tears, and laughter, to say the least. How wonderful it is to be a part of something with such a rich and growing community and history.
To Shane Prine: thank you for jumping in as soon as you arrived at LCC to begin collaborating and contributing with your graphic design knowledge and passion; we especially thank you for Lato! We look forward to the years ahead.
To the Associated Students of Lower Columbia College and Richard Arquette: we thank you for continuing to fund this endeavor and asking questions that challenge us to grow. You inspire us to dream differently about the years to come.
To the Lower Columbia College Foundation: we thank you for chipping in to ensure that this magazine continues to go to print and reaches the widest audience we could imagine. You help to create this experience and opportunity for students and to maintain our legacy for the region.
To our campus administrators: we thank you for keeping past, present, and future students at the center of what you do, and for making a way for The Salal Review to continue growing for twenty-three years and counting.
To Chris Hammett and the ADCO team: we thank you for bringing these digital files to life and physically printing, cutting, collating, and binding the books we now hold.
To all of the unnamed people whose shoulders this publication stands on: we thank you for the parts you played to ensure we would be here today—for your labor, tears, and laughter, to say the least. How wonderful it is to be a part of something with such a rich and growing community and history.