Editor’s Note

The world is unfair, unjust, unknowable, out of control. When we tell a story we exercise control, but in such a way as to leave a gap, an opening. It is a version, but never the final one. And perhaps we hope that the silences will be heard by someone else, and the story can continue, can be retold. When we write we offer the silence as much as the story. Words are the part of silence that can be spoken. 
Jeanette Winterson

For me, the first thing that comes to mind when questioning narrative is what lies beneath the story being told? We all have stories to tell: beautiful stories; heart-breaking stories; playful stories; terrible stories. I believe, however, that the most powerful narratives deliver their messages via the side gate rather than the front door. In fact, the greatest ones often leave their messages hidden under the doormat for you to find years later.

In this issue of Questions, we have many narratives that hint at larger truths. What can we take from the tale of a man who changes his approach to life on the misapprehension that he has won the lottery? What underlying message is being conveyed by a father who revisits the ghost of a former life? It is my hope, as you read through this issue of Questions, that you will also take a moment to consider what lies beneath the narrative you tell yourself. What remains hidden under the doormat of your own existence?

Samuel Zifchak