About Silver Rain
Silver Rain is here exclusively to promote good writing. Writing which heals, makes well, fortifies, and engenders new, inspiring thought, perception, and attitude. Whether this be through a new take on archaeology, the issues associated with world migration, or a human interest story, in the importance of the small and (often) overlooked, Silver Rain will cover it all with care, tact, and dignity—extending these same qualities and attitudes to its subjects..
Within years, the stories flowed, both fiction and nonfiction. Human interest stories, from South Africa to Japan to China and beyond, and Puerto Rico, the hidden caves on Mono Island (Monkey Island), where a possible chance for a new type of New World was documented, and almost found expression. Earlier visits to Uzbekistan, to Samarkand and Bukhara, and the beauty of worlds encompassed and given dynamism by the Silk Road, from China and Mongolia to Europe, shattered by the advent of colonialism, these too entered our writing.
An artist, translator, and journalist in South Africa, in the Karoo, working away diligently at his translations, surrounded by languages other than English, yet holding the spark of the language there, in the loft of a barn, his home office, between his walkabouts in the desert.
What Silver Rain will not do: dazzle, shock, try to impress, overexplain, latch on to the most recent trends or all-too-often ephemeral, and ultimately insignificant (in the larger picture), in the daily and weekly news cycles.
What Silver Rain will do: write, or try to write (the work in this is ongoing), with sensitivity and a special attention to language, in whatever form it may take. If the piece is descriptive, we’ll go all out, with detail and specificity, and whenever possible, three dimensionality. Caricatures and undercutting the value of a story by watering it down to meet a deadline are out; full features, and character portraits (for both fiction and narrative nonfiction) are in. Overall, Silver Rain will do justice to its subjects, its themes (self-chosen or self-arising), and the many players, seen and unseen, who go to make up a good story, and not only that—one written well.
Silver Rain (noun)
sil·ver rain [ˈsil-vər ˈrān]
1 | The time just as day turns to night, or night to day, as the surface of the Earth, rotating around the planet’s axis, moves from one state to another: TWILIGHT. (See: DAWN, DUSK.)
2 | The atmosphere which gathers at said (dusk or dawn) time, often accompanied by birdsong, or—in the proper latitudes, seasons, and climes—frog- or cicada-song, and whole symphonies of fireflies flashing on and off, their lightshow often timed precisely, in unison. An organic change in the planet’s electromagnetic activity, palpable and, for the initiated, visible as a light shower of electrics, droplike, sparklike, for up to half an hour during the change of state.
3 | The resultant electromagnetic, atmospheric change of state at these times, wholly conducive to implementing new intentions, developing new ideas, and, on the whole, fostering creativity. (See: CONDUCTIVITY.)
4 | A similar state of activity and balance in the human brain and mind, known to writers and poets throughout the ages, and more recently confirmed by scientists: MUSE. INSPIRATION.
5 | The third state or vector required for positive, bright, constructive change, whatever the ecology or environment, landscape or (human) topography. The weather of the between-state, the edge of inspiration and heightened sensitivity (to word, sound, rhythm). (See: AWE, WONDER, PASSION.)
Our Story
It was a day in 2015, like most any other—or so it seemed. The founder of Silver Rain, which had yet to come into being, looked out his window in Western Europe and saw a new light: it was 4:30 am, in the summer, near his birthday, and a curious form of illumination had overtaken the landscape. The landscape—grasses, trees—a mulberry and acacia and sophora japonica—and walls of stone, granite and a sparkling mixed quartz from Norway, all seemed aglow, brought to life, by some new force of nature, outside of nature. (This was in the city, and despite the wall of bamboo, the towering acacia beside the house, the sounds of traffic already entered the garden at this early hour.) The birds, the gulls and especially the bluebirds (which are black), and the newly arrived green parakeets, had begun to sing up a storm. Within minutes, the whole sky was alight with song and the sounds of wings, high and low.
Fast forward, to 2017. This one event, taken note of earlier, then sparked a whole new understanding: Silver Rain, as the line between two worlds, dawn and dusk, sunrise and sunset, and the ever shifting line in between—this is what makes for good art, good writing, good anything. Being on the edge like this, supported by two worlds simultaneously, one thing with three, two obvious things, contrasted, buttressing a third—this is the writer’s edge, and the source of her potency, however it finds expression.
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