This Long River Review was guided by the mantra of “next, not now.” The idea of next inspired us to find the pieces we think people will be reading next, as opposed to what they are reading now. Throughout the course of considering submissions, we grappled with the question of what does next mean and to whom would a piece read as next? We concluded that next can mean a piece that tells a story we haven’t heard before or one told by a fresh voice. Next can also be a piece that accomplishes something inventive with form and how it conveys its ideas. Ultimately, we concluded a piece is next if it has the ability to make a reader think about a familiar world in a new way.

In every panel, there were pieces that divided us, in defense of which some people offered to fall on their metaphorical sword while others threatened to stop the presses if it made it to print. From debating the merit of the content to the artistic polish of a piece, every decision we made was thoughtful and zealous. The fiery reactions our staff had to the submissions we considered are the kind we believe literature should inspire. Overall, the pieces about which the staff was the most ambivalent are the ones that did not make it into the journal. If no one was willing to fight for a piece, it likely would have left our readers feeling similarly unenthusiastic.

I present the Long River Review staff with a vision of what our journal could be when we first began the electrifying, and sometimes maddening, process of creating it. And we took that idea and ran with it. So even if you do not love every single piece we have chosen for the journal, I hope they will make you think and feel deeply. I encourage every reader of this journal to abandon apathy in the now; move onto your next with the same passion with which we have infused this journal. As a river is constantly moving and changing, Long River Review strives to reject stagnation and to allow the works here to disrupt the still waters of now and flow into our vision of next.