in search of the beating heart
by Kelly Joi Phelan
I’ve learned more about art, good writing, and passion in the past
five years of doing Xenith than I have in all the preceding years combined.
I’ve spent the last month
or so combing through past issues, the message boards, new submissions,
and all the stuff from “An Out-of-Xenith Experience.” I’ve grinned at old
memories that have rushed back, wondered what has happened to some of the
writers from way back when, and, I have to admit, done some cringing at
some of the things that I’ve written.
Mostly though, I’ve cringed
at some of my previous Wordplay columns. The point of this column was,
originally, to dispense advice on writing better and getting published.
I boiled things down to simple points and said all your problems could
be solved if only you used fewer unnecessarily big words or ignored the
rules and wrote from the heart or even just included a SASE when you sent
things to publishers.
It’s very possible that
all these technicalities and little pearls of “wisdom” have been helpful
to some of you, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve somehow completely
missed the beating heart of writing and all other forms of artistic expression.
While going through everything,
I’ve come to the realization that for the past five years I’ve held in
my hands a remarkable record of the human experience as seen through the
eyes of our generation. Some of the writing has been mediocre, and some
of it has been astonishing enough to make my heart and mind race. But all
of it has been honest, heartfelt renderings of the realities of love, friendship,
death, hatred, pain, lost innocence, triumph, realizations, and everything
in between.
I think I’ve finally stumbled
upon the true purpose of art: to validate the diverse experiences of human
existence, to challenge our widely held assumptions, to make us look at
the world in new ways, to inspire us, and sometimes just to comfort us.
While I can only accept
a certain amount of the submissions that pour in, believe me when I say
I appreciate every single one and recognize all the effort, the courage,
the creativity and the heart that is put into each work. In the grand scheme
of things, it doesn’t matter much if your work is accepted or even whether
it’s good or not as long as it’s an honest expression of yourself or of
life. I believe that if you keep up the level of honesty and effort, your
work will evolve along with you and will someday be good, even great.
I’ve gotten many letters
from readers over the years telling me how great they think Xenith is,
but it’s always the ones that say that the writing touched them, made them
think, or helped them through a rough patch in their lives that I cherish
the most. I think these are the people who’ve got a handle on what Xenith
intends, on what true art really is—they’re the people who’ve found the
“beating heart.”
For all the people that
Xenith has helped, the one person that has been rescued by it the most
has been me. There have been some very dark moments in my life during the
past five years, but reading through everyone’s work, seeing into everyone’s
lives, realizing that the darkness isn’t exclusive to me and that I’m not
alone in my experiences has been like a rope descending into the abyss
at the last minute.
Xenith’s been my savior,
but this zine is much bigger than me. I’m just the person who puts it together,
all of you are its beating heart. It’s been a great five years and I thank
you all with the greatest of sincerity. Here’s to another five.
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