What's in a name? (the editorial of our first issue)

The White Crayon. There are too many predictable reactions to such a name that would be written all over countenances. There are the self-convinced intellectuals seeking a deeper meaning in life who would squint at the bold letters and blink too frequently, stroking their chins and conjuring up multiple ambiguous implicit meanings to what the object could personify. There are those who would raise an eyebrow and sneer at the sheer stupidity of it all, savouring one more attempt, like all the other newspapers that are starting to be a bore, to ridicule, along with the title. And there are those who might just simply shrug their shoulders and ignore the posters and sparse issues and go their own way, immersed in their own worlds, irrespective of how much of it is real and how much a creation of their minds (who wouldn't or shouldn't be reading this). Alright, your eyes could already be skimming my dismissed words because of the stereotypes I've decided to use and possibly sound convinced of, but it all elicits that the question in response to something like "The White Crayon" would be WHY?

What if the title of our venture into the literary realm was simply stated, without any explanation whatsoever? Stated, printed, brusque, with the convenient use of a period. It could be said that the title is The White Crayon and just is, the words emerging from someone's mouth impulsively. Can such an answer be accepted? Hardly. The spontaneity of everything has long been forgotten, invariably tainted by some sort of thought or deliberation. That cocoon of comfortable complacency is never allowed to exist anymore. It is constantly prodded and eventually wrenched open by some manifestation of criticism, forced to unravel its flaws, which is of course the delicious subject of those analysts. This leads to the timeless argument questioning whether ignorance is blissful or not, and reminds me of a line in one of Sir Oscar Wilde's plays: "Ignorance is like a delicate exotic fruit; touch it and the bloom is gone."

You could easily say that such a manner to choose the name "The White Crayon" exhibits the lack of thought or the ability to perceive, that such a name lacking effort simply foreshadows a journal with the same lack of erudition. I myself would probably do the same. It is rather disappointing though, that in our generation our minds are, by our own will and instigated by parents, teachers, and our wonderful environment, accelerated possibly overwhelmingly past the phase of innocence and the ability to simply accept without incessant criticism of everything. Thus, for the majority of us who are either not enlightened enough to simply accept The White Crayon without any doubt, or feel that we all have the right to question and criticize and should, here are a few possible interpretations that come to mind with regard to the title of our journal.

Simplistically, one can discern that out of all the colours in a box of crayons, white is the most unused one. It almost unarguably retains its pointiness compared to all the other crayons worn down by enthusiasm, and is hardly even acknowledged. So "The White Crayon" could be referring to invisibility, something we all experience, some enjoying it and some dreading it. Perhaps our journal encourages all of those who are perfectly alright in their unnoticed state, possibly like myself, to leave their safe, invisible zones where their work is only appreciated and criticized by their own minds, and try becoming a colour for once to the world. Which brings about another well-known debate- does someone's art, in any form, need to be exposed to everyone? Does it require praise and recognition, as well as analysis? Or can it be safely stored in the recess of your own mind? Our literary journal serves, in one light, as an experiment: to see if sharing all our gifts of art benefit any of us, to test whether any are deserving to see our talents whatsoever. At least it is a test for myself.

Is it a question of confidence? To this day, at sixteen, I can freely admit I still do not have some sort of established reassurance within myself that I am good enough. We all know there will always be those who excel beyond your reach, who can either motivate you to compete or simply reinforce your sense of resignation, shattering any definition of "good enough". But supposing there is a standard that you feel is satisfying enough, can or should we be reassured at all, if it is self-proclaimed? Or must it be confirmed by someone else?

Before it gets to be too much, I'll stop the Pandora's box of spilling questions. One can easily see that all of this does not simply deal with why the hell we named the paper "The White Crayon". It conveniently served as the first domino to knock over a series of hurried questions. Let's just see if The White Crayon provides some kind of answer.

-Amrita Mishra