Nathaniel Lee Hansen
Editor, The Windhover

For some time, I’ve intended to write this post, and now that I’m in the final stretches of reading submissions for issue 24.2, I thought it as good a time as any to share my observations. There are many such lists floating about on the Internet, but I hope that these tips and reminders will be helpful. [Note: we reopen for submissions on August 1.]

Our gods are in favour of cymbals.

It’s the other thing that kills us—the field
of uninterrupted grass, the on and on of nothing.
How can you bear it?

            -from “The Coronapocalypse Will Be Televised” by Tishani Doshi

I open the back hatch of the car, still on edge from my first encounter with people in a public space in days. I catch my reflection in the window. My long beard is sticking out of my mask in odd, unruly ways. The only masks I have are respirators from the garage, found among cans of paint and varnish, and they’re a tight fit. I panic, start to sanitize my hands and the car door handle, then think, no, obviously I should load the groceries first. There’s no playbook for this; I’m making it up as I go along. That’s one of the worst realities an autistic person must confront, and it manifests, acidic, in the back of my throat.