EDITORIAL NOTES
Dear All,
Having just completed freshman year, I walked through the city in July of 2024 when the beginning of an idea crossed my mind. I didn’t quite shake it off, but I didn’t quite act on it either. The thought ended up in the graveyard for such ideas—my notes app.
It’s true, The Glass Lotus Society began as a small notion. After some not-too-careful consideration, I wrote the idea down somewhere, as any good writer would do. “International publication.” It didn’t take long for me to return to the idea, however. Within a few days, I had long documents filled with platforms and plans for a publication that would outlast me. I drafted covers of potential issues, made logos, and even began working on a website. In less than a week, I had already contacted a few friends to gauge interest. But despite my vigorous planning, I still wasn’t sure. Could this actually work? I am proud to say that GLS really has come to life—and with such vitality! If only I knew then that just a few months later, twenty two members from all around the world would come together through zoom meetings and WhatsApp to create not only an impressive collection of writing but also a strong community. After making many phone calls, sending many text messages, and printing many posters, I was able to recruit friends and strangers alike, near and far. Some of these people I hadn’t talked to in months, others in years. Others I hadn’t talked to at all. Going into our first meeting, saying I felt “nervous” would be an understatement. But our members soon broke the ice. Students ranging from thirteen to eighteen years old formed connections regardless of their different schools, ages, countries, and continents. All of them were eager to share their writing with others—some submitted twice, if not three times, for our first issue alone. I thoroughly enjoyed reading through all of the different voices and writing styles our members had to offer, and I have no doubt that you will be similarly impressed.
Welcome to the first issue of The Glass Lotus Society. I would argue it is the best issue thus far, but seeing as it is our premier, what I will say instead is that it sets the bar very high. Sharing writing is paired with a measure of vulnerability, and therefore is one of the most effective, if not one of the best, ways to connect with others. Publishing your writing is both a question, an offer, and an invitation to the reader. Here, these are my thoughts. This is my story. Do you want to have a conversation? Meanwhile, reading is both an entirely individual and an entirely communal experience. The words are a means of introspection. You could be reading our publication on your couch with the sun rising or setting by your window, and a tea bag steeping in your nearby mug. Perhaps you know one of the writers, and are drafting a text message to tell them your thoughts on their poem. You read alone. But you read the same words alongside many others. The voice in your head is a vessel for the twenty two international voices that speak in their writing. You invite the speaker, the narrator, the characters, and the author to share their experiences with you, and so, our international web widens.
It isn’t enough for a variety of voices to be represented. These voices must also be heard by a variety of people. We aim to make our issues as accessible as possible to enable students from around the world to read the work of their peers. Each student has a unique identity, so every narrative is different. To capture them all is an impossible task. But with the publication of each new issue, our community grows stronger and larger, adding new sides to our narratives. Thus, we avoid the “Danger of a Single Story” that Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie warns against. In our first issue, we have narratives that span roughly 37,000 miles, from multiple states in America, then to Chile, Morocco, Scotland, India, and China, and all the way to Australia. This statistic doesn’t even take into account the origins and ancestry of our writers. The cultures mixed into our issues really does make our literary society a cliché—the “melting pot.” What better way to connect with our backgrounds than creative writing?
Once I successfully brought together the members for our 2024-2025 publishing year, I encountered my first riddle: the title of our issue. According to The Oxford English Dictionary, elysium means “a place or state of ideal or perfect happiness.” So why did I choose the word Elysium? I must admit, I have always been drawn to mythology and ancient histories. Could it have been because of the Elysian Fields that I had seen in my beloved Greek myths? Possibly. Was it because I was looking for words that contrasted the darkness and the cold that pervaded the winter of 2024? Or was it a response to something else? In a world that suffers, writing for a light-filled paradise—Elysium—serves as both a distraction and a rebellion of its own. I suppose Elysium is whatever the writers made of it, and whatever the reader makes of it. Elysium is not the theme of the issue, but rather, the byproduct of our mission. By joining global student voices through writing, we hope to get closer and closer to finding what the ideal world of the next generation is.
I am thrilled to publish our first issue, and I am so proud of all of our members for their dedication over the last few months. Thank you for reading our words and listening to our narratives. Allow yourself to be brought to different lands and time periods, allow yourself to feel familiar or foreign emotions that may not be comfortable, and most importantly, allow yourself to be inspired by every author. I hope you enjoy their hard work.
Sincerely,
Ella Taft
Editor in Chief
Founder of GLS
Dear All,
I will begin by stating that I am quite talented at the New York Times Connections game, despite what my friends may tell you. But last week, I stared at those tiles, holding my screen two inches away from me, and only grew increasingly frustrated. With a fair amount of word manipulation and linguistic acrobatics, I was convinced that four rather random words were connected—“omaha,” “las vegas,” “Chevy Chase,” and “washington.” (Instead, they were in four completely different categories. The category of purple, for those wondering, was 'Proper Nouns After Gerunds in ‘90s Movie Titles.') The mind tends to create patterns or meanings, even where none exist. You just need to stare long enough. Oftentimes, writing emerges from these imagined connections as we try to make sense of the world around us. If no one has touched the back wall of a particular dark wardrobe, who’s to say Narnia is not waiting on the other side? When you let your mind live in the hypothetical, creativity is born from uncertainty, and if you’re lucky, something is revealed of the reality. Our writers are able to skillfully look between the lines of what we cannot see clearly.
Paranoia is imagination gone off the rails, whether in beautiful, haunting, or insightful ways. It is human instinct to look for danger, even where there isn’t any. This universal experience occurs when your logic is hindered and paranoia blurs the line between what is and what might be. Most teens on social media have come across videos that refer to the “FBI agent” who is always watching them. Has the world morphed into some parallel to George Orwell’s 1984? I opened BBC this morning holding my breath, as I do every time I open the news, not knowing exactly what to expect. The first four headlines are in reference to another school shooting. A new notification dings: “North Korea Slams South Korea Leader Lee Over Nuclear ‘Paranoia’.” This term is one that follows us everywhere online, and spills over to our real life experiences. Student writers are confronting and exploring these undercurrents through both poetry and prose in this issue. Fall approaches, and Halloween will have passed before our next issue is published. Many people of all ages will turn on a horror movie, eat chocolate bars, then lock their doors a second time. Paranoia certainly has been normalized, but now we face the question: is it rightly so?
I didn’t solve the NYT Connections by myself that day. My friend was nearby, unaware of my struggling for the last five or ten minutes. I asked for her thoughts, and we got a little closer—she helped me give up on my genius idea of “omaha,” “las vegas,” “Chevy Chase,” and “washington.” Once I let it go, we were able to find the first two of the four categories. But there were still eight confusing words left, and we couldn’t afford another mistake. Thankfully, another friend peered over at the screen, and with this third perspective, we were able to finish the game successfully. We parsed out the intended meanings of each individual word, the same way we would when examining a poem or paragraph. I wouldn’t say the NYT Connections game gave us a new view of reality that day, but it did remind me of the importance of companionship.
If I could describe The Glass Lotus Society in one word, it would be community. We are the model of teamwork, networking, and support, even in times of rampant paranoia. We make connections through similarities and differences, reading and writing, speaking and listening. And somehow, we managed to create beauty with our words as we worked tirelessly on this issue, even when many of us were on break for summer or winter. I remember all the way back in June, when I mentioned that we were low on submissions. Within 24 hours, we had thirteen new pieces submitted. I am so grateful for their ambition, collaboration, and talent, and it is with much pride that I present to you Paranoia. These cross-continental connections that we’ve made with each other and our world have truly come together in this issue—no—this movement.
Sincerely,
Ella Taft
Editor in Chief
Founder of GLS