Editor’s Quarter Note

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Hey Quarter Notes friends,

This, Issue 2.4, is the final quarterly in the second cycle of this magazine. It’s hard to believe that it’s been two years since we kicked things off! I wondered if I’d be able to sustain it this long, DIY-style, painfully inexperienced at making a website. Would I not get enough submissions to keep going? Would people balk at cross-pollinating lit and music, want to keep each in its own bubble (if that was even possible)? Would I ever tire of this particular shade of lilac?

I’m grateful to share that the answer to all of those questions was no, and I’m overjoyed to have published artists across disciplines and across the world in this humble space. Thank you, sincerely, to everyone who has trusted me with your work; and deep gratitude to anyone who’s stopped by to share the most precious gift you can give: your attention. I believe (now more than ever) that it’s the most powerful thing we have to give one another.

That’s part of why I’ve made the bittersweet decision to pause this current iteration of Quarter Notes (a quarter rest, if you will) in order to dream up some new ways, moving forward, that it can exist in formats that are conducive to the deep listening and sharing of attention that this magazine is so devoted to. This might mean something tactile, or something more committed to an audio experience! I’m feeling excited about the possibilities of all of this, and also a little bit sad that this will be our last online issue for the foreseeable future (we may be back in this form someday, but not anytime soon). This also means—as of now, we’re closed for submissions—but please subscribe to the mailing list and stay tuned here for news of how you can be a part of things when we’re making moves again!

This issue is full of all of the reasons why I started this magazine and have continued to keep it alive: poetry that sounds all the way off by Alexander Fatato and Princess Cake. Music writing that’s attuned to the frequencies beyond just a recording by Richard Klin and Andrew Wu. Creative nonfiction winding through musical memories in the rhythm of a lost, treasured Flickr album by John Samuel Brown. And finally, a live recording and transcription of Belly Full of Stars performing poetry and sound as one rapturous invitation to go deeper. I can’t think of a better note to ring out as we end this chapter. Thanks for reading and listening.

Stay tuned!

✩♬ ₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Lou Turner, editor

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