The Harvest launch happened at Eurotrash last night. I was stuck on the side of the stage and the lighting wasn’t very good, so I didn’t get a chance to take many photos. Thanks to my friends who turned up and bought some raffle tickets and a copy of the magazine, even if they did feel awkward amongst the literary scene.
I hope they enjoy the journal. I started reading it last night. Usually I skip over non-fiction, but Greg Foyster combines personal narrative with scientific studies and Socrates in his ‘The New Generation of Readers’. Jessica Au’s ‘Old Man River’ imagery is incredible:
The Lanber he breaks open over his forearm, slipping the red shot cartridges into its cool, steely mouth, easy as you please. In his tortured grip, the old gun is savage and beautiful, with its rich blueing and thin, curled script.
The wood shined and shaped from the obsession of his loving hands. The metal plates around the receiver, oxidised and sweat-black.
After reading these pieces, I think, shit. Will I ever be able to write like that? Good writing is like a drug: sometimes it’s so potent, it paralyses.