I am very happy to be making the first post here on the Dustrabbit blog! This space will hold profiles and interviews from the writers & artists that collaborate with us, spotlights on external projects from those writers & artists, and updates on the magazine and the site. I thought to start off, I could briefly introduce myself—the person behind (web)pages.
I'm K.V. Gently, also known online as hee-blee-art (and several other names in various corners past, present, and probably future). I'm a writer-artist based in Ontario, Canada currently working mostly in fiction, illustration, comics, and audio storytelling. You can call me Gently, Gent, Gen, G, or any shorter iteration you can manage to whittle out of that, if you're in a hurry.
I've been telling stories and making art for as long as I can remember. I'm especially passionate about queerness, monstrosity, whimsy, and catharsis in works. I've been published in periodicals like Art + Type and PULSE Literary Magazine, as well as anthologies like Fear & Trembling Vol. 1. Currently, I'm working on a fantasy-horror novella, a horror audio fiction project, and lots and lots of comics and illustrated fiction, including Toyhouse Corners and Sir Adventure.
I schemed up this little magazine endeavour during the final semester of my undergraduate degree in Creative Writing. As I begin tiptoeing out into the professional art & writing fields, I've found it's easy to feel lost and lonely as a creative trying to divine their way through the world of publication, especially if your practice and/or your work are non-traditional.
As one with a gargantuan love of zines, webcomics, online artist communities, indie publications, and stories in general, I thought I'd fashion myself a little boat of my own to help keep me afloat through the tumult of the world—a little oasis where the strange and experimental are not only welcome but celebrated; where newbies, niche makers, nerds, and weirdos are the lifeblood of the project; and where I can cut my teeth on some wider aspects of publication while connecting with other artists, writers, and creatives.
In the past, I've had the cherished opportunity to head several collaborative e-zine projects such as Heartfelt and Kitchen Sink, and I am honoured to bring the energy of DIY-style digital collabs to a larger publication project. A pre-emptive thank you from the bottom of my heart to all who will join me in this endeavour, whether as a collaborator or a reader.
Now, I'd like to change the tune for just a moment here, if you'll bear with me.
This is perhaps as timeless a sentiment as can be, but the world is scary right now. The future is uncertain. People are, understandably, afraid—for their livelihoods, their communities, their loved ones, their lives. I am not the first nor will I be the last to say that in times like ours, making art is as important as ever, which is to say vital. It's in our bones. For centuries before you and me, people just like us have turned to cave walls and tablets and parchment and canvas and the sides of trains to add an irreplaceable note to the song of humankind: I'm here, I'm here, I'm here.
You are a part of that song by virtue of existing, and no amount of hate or fear, no bit of legislation, no egomaniac in a suit and tie can take that away from you.
Thrones are only chairs, crafted by the hands of makers. The real power comes from those hands, those minds. Never forget the value of those hands and what you make with them—your voice, your work, your mark on the world matters. Sing your heart out, and take comfort in the voices singing with you.
When it feels like there's no place for you, sometimes your only choice is to carve out your own, but there will always be kindred souls out there willing to lend a spade. I hope collaborators and readers alike can find a spark of something meaningful in a bunch of fellow humans coming together to revel in the act of creation—whether to laugh or cry or wince or celebrate; whether silly or soulful, creepy or charming, heartbreaking or heartmaking; or all of the above—and I hope that spark can keep us all a little warmer.
I couldn't be happier that you're here, whether our ships but briefly pass or whether this is just the beginning of something bigger. I'm glad you exist and I hope you continue to find angles and nooks and corners of this world that keep you curious and inspired.
If you're also passionate about art, words, and stories and you want to take part in a bit of friendly & casual indie publication, you'll be right at home here. I can't wait to build something beautiful here with you all, and just once more: thank you.