To orgasm or not to orgasm: That is the question. Normally, this wouldn’t even be a question, but when you ejaculate ink every time you climax, it’s something to think about.
Luckily, this disorder is not real, but it did make for an intriguing short story (“Squidgirl”) — something this university’s literary journal, Stylus, prides itself on publishing.
For 17 years, the editors of Stylus have published a yearly issue in the spring, filled with select art and literature pieces written by undergraduate students. Though editor in chief Dylan Bargteil estimated students submit more than 200 pieces of poetry and a fair amount of prose each year, he believes few outside the Jiménez-Porter Writers’ House know of Stylus.
So this year, he and the other editors are brainstorming better ways to advertise the journal, starting with an interactive chalking event Friday in front of McKeldin Library where students can write poems, paragraphs or just draw whatever they come up with.
“I feel like there’s a lot of room for growth in the arts communities on campus and so one of the things I’d like to pursue is novel ways to engage the student body in community arts,” Bargteil said. “Rather than just writing, ‘Stylus: Submit by Jan. 31′ everywhere over campus, we’re having the students engage with each other and us through this different medium.”
Last year’s issue of Stylus, which came out in April, included four prose, 15 poetry and 12 art pieces along with the winners of the Cabrini Art Award and the winners and finalists of the annual Jiménez-Porter Literary Prize.
The review process is extensive, with an editorial board for each section meeting monthly to evaluate every submission. After discussion, the board comes to one of three verdicts: accept, reject or revise and resubmit.
While the “revise and resubmit” alternative may be a nice way to help those whose pieces aren’t quite ready to be published yet, prose editor Nick Lyle said his editorial board uses this option too much.
“Though I end up explaining at every meeting that we’re not a workshop, during the discussion of a piece, people seem to fall in love with the idea of salvaging a piece that isn’t very good,” Lyle said. “I have to reiterate that we can only revise and resubmit pieces that are publishable as they are but could use some small tinkering or improvement, not to improve a piece that we would otherwise reject.”
Bargteil said the submissions are judged mostly on choice of language, characters and style — pieces that are too standard or experimental are turned down — but the process changes based on who holds the editor positions each year. Interestingly enough, the pieces that are eventually published tend to revolve around a common theme: Two years ago, it was sexual frustration; last year, it was vulnerability.
“Creative writing is a way to share different opinions, insights and details about real or fabricated obstacles,” said Stylus poetry editor Marlena Chertock. “It is an important way people share their voice, their struggles, their life with others.”
Yet several editors said they wished more diverse voices would submit their work to Stylus. Bargteil is a math and physics major himself and hopes to encourage his peers in the “hard sciences” to express themselves through different venues.
“It’s hard to take action because you hear them rag on the humanities, and it’s very discouraging because I identify what’s really at the core of the hard sciences and at the core of the humanities as a creative act,” Bargteil said.
“Why would hard sciences feel compelled to look down upon humanities?” he asked. “I don’t have a good answer to that.”
For all writers, regardless of whether they choose to submit to Stylus or not, the journal is a resource to test their skills and see how others respond to their words.
Junior English major Jane Cha, who submitted two pieces to Stylus for review this year, said her submission wasn’t to see if she could write. She knows she can. It was more about simply speaking to others through a different medium.
“I wondered what a story was if it didn’t have an audience,” Cha said. “It was like — like I’d created this child, and I was locking her up inside a cage. Because I love the stories I’ve created, I knew I wanted to at least try to let their voices be heard.”
