Letter from the Editor

Dear Barnstorm Readers,

The days are getting shorter, which means many of us are turning inward, toward the contents of our comfortable nests: our blankets, snacks and screens. 

Lately I’ve been hate-watching the Gilded Age. I don’t know if you’ve watched it, but I can tell you it’s a terrible show. The dialogue is cripplingly didactic. At every stage of these characters’ emotional journeys the viewer is instructed about exactly how to feel, which is perhaps fortunate, because with the mediocre acting and inconsistent plot, we’d be in the dark otherwise. It doesn’t move me. When I watch the show I tend to feel a vague sense of disgust at the writers, disappointment in the acting, and a feeble hope that the show will get better soon which invariably gets disappointed. And yet I watch it anyway. Why?

I think I do it to avoid hard feelings. I know that the Gilded Age isn’t going to make me feel any soaring elation, but it also isn’t going to make me feel bad either. The characters will have their downswings, but they’ll always pull through. Bertha Russell’s ruthlessness can always be counted upon to get her out of risky situations. Marian Brook’s warm heart can always be relied upon to fall in love again. The characters are safe and cared for, and even their trials feel somehow cozy. The Gilded Age does for me what a warm bath or a cup of tea does for me, sort of the psychological equivalent of a hug. I can count on it to entertain me without ever making me hurt too bad.

But I find myself wondering about the psychological ramifications of entertainment that is so reliably comfortable. If I can count on a bad show to affect me in exactly the same way every time, where’s the incentive to seek media that speaks more deeply to the human heart? A lukewarm life is comfortable, but it’s not much of a life. 

I think what’s great about a literary journal like this one is that you never know what you’re going to get. To read Barnstorm is to continually step into the unknown. You may be disappointed. You may be exhilarated! Either way, you’ll expand your understanding of what it means to be a human here on this earth. Reading the works in this issue, I found myself marveling at the raw honesty with which these writers conducted me toward their emotional truths. For me, they provide a necessary reminder of why we’re here at all.

I enjoyed the heartfelt journey that Cary Kinross-Wright took me on in “Finding Alice.” I found myself totally mesmerized by the sardonic ennui and quirky character dynamics of Theodora Ziolkowski’s “Galveston.” And I was moved in a way I’ve rarely been moved by the brilliant grit and frank emotionality of Jamie Harrison’s “Fatherhood.”

I’m not saying that the pieces of writing in this November issue are going to rip your heart out, though I hope that they do. What I’m saying is that in a culture that delivers safe forms of entertainment right to our fingertips at all times, it can be a brave decision to engage with something new. I hope that when you engage with these brilliant authors, they’ll remind you of why it’s worth it to take the plunge. Happy reading.

Warmly,

Aspen Kidd

Editor-in-Chief