To me, the most inspiring aspect of Kiosk has always been its legacy. Established in 1938 under the title Manuscript, this publication has been collecting high caliber literature for eighty-one years. I still remember the wonder, the weight of history that settled over me when I first read Virginia Bailey’s unsettling, surrealist short story “The Merry-Go-Round” in Kiosk vol. 19 (then-titled Perspectives). Fifty nine years after it was published, I fell in love with her work; even though I know nothing about her, and likely never will, I held in my hands a representation of her thoughts and feelings from 1960. At the prodigious age that Kiosk has attained, we have become more than a literary and arts publication; we are, in a sense, a historical document. In another eighty-one years, God willing, other readers will pull Kiosk 2019 from the archives and experience that same wonder and awe.
For that reason, as editor-in-chief, I have been acutely aware of Kiosk as a reflection of our year in history. We exist in a time of fear and anxiety. This is perhaps a trite statement, echoed many times by the generations before us; nevertheless, we do live in an increasingly complicated world. No matter what creed a person espouses, recent events such as the grim report on climate change, the Presidency of Donald Trump, and mass gun violence have caused unrest and disagreement in our nation. Accordingly, “Depression and Other Mental Disorders” (World Health Organization, 2017) reports a 18.4% increase in depression between 2005 and 2015. In light of this, one might expect the art produced in this time of uncertainty to reflect fear and anxiety as well.
However, this has not proved true. With few exceptions, the pieces submitted to the 2019 Kiosk fell into two categories: works of fantasy and intimate, loving snapshots of everyday life. The pages of this year’s publication burst with odes to small things: social media, a coffee mug, a butterfly—seemingly insignificant moments which echo beyond the limits of their minutiae.
In this issue, in this year, in this moment in time, the excellent literature of Kiosk 2019 asks us a question: is embracing fantasy a restorative coping mechanism, or is it an irresponsible escape from reality? Our opening piece, “Refugee Child,” asks this question quite loudly; the rest of the selections speak in response. We hope that the many viewpoints we have published this year will be enlightening as well as entertaining.
Finally, Kiosk continues to be, as it always has been, an everchanging entity. Under the leadership of Digital Editor Ally Hecht, 2019 sees the advent of Kiosk’s first-ever website, introducing us to the twenty-first century. We hope this will make the literary talent and the vibrant, unique voices of the Morningside community even more accessible to the broader world. We encourage you to visit us at morningside.edu/kiosk, and to carry these conversations with you as you go.
I cannot offer enough thanks to Tatum Skaff, John Kolbo, Terri McGaffin, Courtney Klocke, Niccole Wolken, and Abby Koch for their work on the magazine. The Associate Editors, Evelyn, Lindsey, and Mari, worked tirelessly this year with increased responsibilities from previous Editors; as Digital Editor, Ally pioneered a new position for Kiosk and established it with excellence. Without them, this magazine would not exist. Kim Sangwin deserves the utmost gratitude for the countless hours I spent fiddling on the website with her; it wasn’t her job, but she went above and beyond the call of duty in the effort of helping us. Thank you to President Reynders, Bill Deeds, and Morningside College for their continued support.
Finally, thank you to Dr. Coyne for thirty years of service on this magazine. You will be greatly missed.
Amy Jackson
When the three of us were figuring out the ropes of Kiosk, we created a group chat called the “Kiosk Krazies.” All of us laughed and joked about how much of the Kiosk would drive us crazy. But I think that it takes a certain amount of crazy to help make the Kiosk happen. It is the good kind of crazy that helps decide what amazing literature and art will be presented and how they will be organized. It is the crazy inside every contributor and editor of Kiosk that opens us to new learning experiences and new challenges.
Being one of the three visual editors for the Kiosk was a crazy experience for each of us, as we arranged the artwork and literature, learned how to create large mock-ups, and strived to improve Kiosk visually. We learned about the amount of teamwork and communication that it takes to bring another successful issue of Kiosk to campus.
Of course, Kiosk would not be possible without all the amazing artists and authors submitting their work. A big thank-you goes to everyone who took the time to create all the wonderful submissions. We encourage you to never stop being creative and to never stop thinking outside of the box. We hope that your creativity will be shared again by submitting to Kiosk next year. Thank you to Amy Jackson and her dedication and love of Kiosk. A huge thank you goes to John Kolbo for his wisdom, dedication, and fueling our veins with coffee. Kiosk would not be successful without him and his positive attitude.
Editing Kiosk taught every person on board something new. All three of us have become better designers for it. Our year with Kiosk took three crazy designers to put together this issue, but we believe that it will be one of the most memorable. We are honored to be a part of this prestigious publication and are proud to present the 2019 Kiosk.
Abby Koch, Niccole Wolken, Courtney Klocke
Abby Koch // illustration
Abby Koch is a graphic design and mass communication major from Sioux City, IA. When she isn’t designing or in the campus radio station, she’s enjoying long walks in the frozen food aisle.
Kaitlynn McShane // graphic design
Kaitlynn McShane is a senior from Bennington, Nebraska, majoring in Graphic Design and Advertising. She loves Harry Potter, painting, and golfing in her free time.
Elliott Conover // graphic design
Elliott Conover is a Graphic Design Major at Morningside College with an emphasis in both Marketing and Advertising. In his four years at Morningside, he has met some amazing people that have lead him on the path he is on today. The experiences and memories he has made will never be forgotten.
Ben Hieb // graphic design
Ben Hieb is from Mitchell, SD, where he attended high school. He started his college career in 2017 here at Morningside. He majors in graphic design and photography.
Ashlee Brus // photography
Ashlee Brus is a freshman at Morningside majoring in Photography. She has a passion for photography and hopes to own her own photo studio after college.
Tracie Tuttle // painting
Tracie Tuttle is a junior majoring in Studio Art and minoring in Graphic Design and Journalism. She is involved with Art Club and writing for the Collegian Reporter. She enjoys both the process of creating art but the satisfaction of seeing the final result.
Angela Chen // painting
Wanying (Angela) Chen is a Chinese girl studying animation and video game development at Morningside College. She loves painting, crafts, skateboarding, and basketball.
Abby Koch // graphic design
Abby Koch is a graphic design and mass communication major from Sioux City, IA. When she isn’t designing or in the campus radio station, she’s enjoying long walks in the frozen food aisle.
Elliott Conover // digital
Elliott Conover is a Graphic Design Major at Morningside College with an emphasis in both Marketing and Advertising. In his four years at Morningside, he has met some amazing people that have lead him on the path he is on today. The experiences and memories he has made will
never be forgotten.
Kaitlynn McShane // illustration
Kaitlynn McShane is a senior from Bennington, Nebraska, majoring in Graphic Design and Advertising. She loves Harry Potter, painting, and golfing in her free time.
Abby Koch // digital
Abby Koch is a graphic design and mass communication major from Sioux City, IA. When she isn’t designing or in the campus radio station, she’s enjoying long walks in the frozen food aisle.
Kaitlynn McShane // illustration
Kaitlynn McShane // illustration
Kaitlynn McShane is a senior from Bennington, Nebraska, majoring in Graphic Design and Advertising. She loves Harry Potter, painting, and golfing in her free time.
Anna Uehling // photography
Anna Uehling is a sophomore at Morningside College. She is majoring in advertising and graphic design. Growing up in Minnesota, Anna was surrounded by nature, fishing and camping. This love of nature is the inspiration for much of Anna’s art.
The clock is ticking.
For some reason, the ticks are always louder for the first half of every minute and then grow quieter before progressively getting louder again. I never even noticed that until someone pointed it out to me, but now I can never help noticing it. It doesn’t bother me, really. It’s just odd.
I fidget at my desk chair, my ankles crossed and tucked to one side, bouncing anxiously. Blinking twice, I realize that I haven’t absorbed anything off the past page and a half of my textbook. I just can’t concentrate.
There are too many ideas for my story racing through my head right now.
The clock keeps ticking.
Exhaling through pursed lips, I close my eyes for a second and take a few deep breaths. In through my nose, out through my mouth. Four seconds in, eight seconds hold, eight seconds out, four seconds pause, repeat as needed. I clench onto my pen.
Krista Waite // photography
This is the annoying thing about “brainsplosions,” what I’ve long called the experience of what feels like thousands of plot details, dialogue bits, scene concepts, and character development ideas all rushing into being in my mind all at once. My ability to focus is trash, and the physiological symptoms are not far off at all from those I experience when I have an anxiety attack. Of course, just getting too excited or upset in general tends to trigger an anxiety attack for me anymore. I’ve trained my brain to associate all adrenaline with panic without even trying.
Grounding. I need to ground myself. That might clear the ideas and allow me to concentrate long enough to finish this homework.
Opening my eyes, I look around myself and count five things I can see. A handmade poster bearing handwritten lyrics. The white wall. A stack of textbooks. The bookcase, stuffed with books and Kirby collectibles. A Hello Kitty plushie on the dresser. Now. Four things I can hear. The clock (it’s quieter at the moment). The air cleaner. The washing machine across the hall. My pen nervously tapping against the desk.
I grimace and make myself put the pen down. My fingers start drumming instead.
Another idea explodes onto the screen of my brain, replacing my less-than-half-completed grounding efforts with more plot details. Biting my lip, I stare straight ahead of me as my internal reality replaces my external reality. I’ve always been able to do this—fade into another scene to the point it’s hard to rouse me, to the point that the only way to force me back before I’m ready is to touch me or to say my name repeatedly. I can even do it when walking. Half the time when I walk somewhere alone, I remember none of the details of the journey. I was too busy traversing my own mind to pay attention to the world outside.
The scene’s setting is a dark room. Concrete, or maybe linoleum. A sneering voice is scolding someone outside for not being gentler with the precious new recruit. This thing is worth a pile of cash to the dark lord. Project Starfall must continue.
Next to me on the dirty floor, a tiny, young voice whimpers.
As much as I want to continue this train of thought, another throws it off the rails, barreling it over in a wreck of incredible proportions. One small alien gripping another’s hand. Frenzied flight. A friend turned enemy. Guilty until proven innocent.
As another idea tries to replace this one yet again, I can feel the web of ideas spreading once again, linking to one another. Opportunities for plot twists books later are coming to be once again, even if I can’t identify them yet. Everything ties together somehow.
Sometimes I feel as though I’m not the one in control, like the story is writing itself and I’m just the vessel it uses to make itself manifest. These “brainsplosions” are just one facet of this odd sensation.
Inhaling sharply, I shake the ideas off. My hands are clenched into fists. My feet continue bouncing below, faster now. Flipping my textbook shut, I stand up abruptly and start pacing circles in the middle of the room, heart pounding somewhere between my chest and my throat.
Back to grounding.
Three things I can smell. The leak-stained ceiling that still doesn’t smell quite right. The scent of shampoo over close to my closet. Unable to identify a third smell, I grab a plushie and shove my face into it. It’s a different smell, though I can’t really describe it. Still. It counts. Two things I can feel. The floor as I pace, switching between wood and fuzzy area rug. My teeth biting my lip. One thing I can taste. Shoot, I’ve bit my lip too hard. Never mind. I don’t want to label this metallic tinge.
Sitting back down at the desk, I start breathing deeply again, trying to will the “brainsplosion” away. I simply don’t have time for this right now. I know the lack of writing time only makes these… I won’t say “worse,” just more intense. If I could write more often, the ideas would come more naturally as the story spread on. It’s because I can’t allow that to happen that it happens all at once like this instead. “Brainsplosions” used to only come once every few months, and they didn’t ever used to be so intense.
Flipping my textbook open again, I find my page and scrunch my brow, commanding myself to pay attention. My eyes dart over to my laptop over on the other desk. Just a few minutes of typing might help the “brainsplosion” fade, part of me whispers. I’m not stupid, though. That won’t help, not now. Besides, I don’t have time right now.
My pen starts tapping against the desk again. My feet keep bouncing.
I go back to reading without absorbing anything, still trying to resist the ideas that are all pounding against the inside of my skull, begging to be acknowledged and breathed into written existence.
Welcome to my life.
For me, this is normal.
This is why I can hardly imagine myself as anything but a writer. I’m almost positive I’d go insane, what with an eternity of ideas constantly begging to be allowed to live outside of my brain.
I continue to keep my head above water, trying to concentrate on my homework, but the ideas and the urge to write keep fighting to drown me into thought.
The clock keeps ticking.
Author:
Elizabeth Roop is a junior English/History double major. At Morningside, she’s active in campus ministries, ODK, and the Writing Center. She is currently studying in Japan at Kansai Gaidai
Artist:
Krista Waite is a senior at Morningside College. She’s a double major in Religious Studies and Non-Profit management with an emphasis in Human Services.
