Dear Readers,

I recently purchased a Lego set for the first time, and as I looked through the instructions for putting together a geometrical bouquet of flowers, I saw notes from the Lego team about every way that the individual pieces were special—whether part of a crown had been repurposed as a flower petal or a certain mechanism was unique to this build. After watching each of our volumes come together, piece by piece, for a few semesters, I’ve begun to think less of the bigger picture that is the final project and more about all of the individual pieces that must work together to make it possible.

This is the case for all journals—from the slush to the editors to the graphic designer—but I often wonder what it is about our journal that makes it so special. We work with emerging writers and artists, which makes us special on paper, but how does that translate to the actual process of making this journal a living, tangible thing? What changes to make Glass Mountain something unique and vulnerable and touching? 

As a senior about to graduate and an emerging writer myself, I’ve come to understand that what makes Glass Mountain special is the figurative mountains that everyone involved in the process has to move to make it real. Nothing moves for emerging writers—school continues to demand assignments and energy and work continues to take up forty hours of the week. We move for writing. We wake up early and start the day brainstorming, write in our notebooks between classes and on our lunch, and work to shed the “emerging” label with fervor. The same goes for our incredible readers and editors; meetings are scheduled at 8 PM on Sunday nights so everyone can make it, classes are skipped so readings go smoothly, and we add an entire organization onto our ever-growing list of things to care deeply about. 

Where our community flourishes is everywhere outside of the actual writing. In the space between the first draft and publication, there’s a community of educators, fellow writers, editors, friends, and friends of friends. Writing often feels like a solitary process—this organization is living proof that it is anything but. 

In short, this journal is special because of the people who go out of their way to make it so—Glass Mountain is here for those who refuse to wait for time or space to make their art; for those who will move mountains for their craft. We hope that you will see this amalgamation of late nights and early mornings and take inspiration from the arduous life of emerging artists, and we thank you for making all of our efforts more than worth it.