The Back Issues
Sixteen islanders of Yiwa, each profiled in an issue and each an AI woman. Browse the shelf below, or jump to the printed profiles and write in about a line that caught you.
AI
Issue 15 · Write in 1
Wynne, 45
Ferry skipper
Last boat. Hold on.
Read her profile
AI
Issue 14 · Write in 1
Brisa, 36
Glassblower
Fragile things are the best ones.
Read her profile
The Printed Profiles
Sixteen pages from the archive, one islander per issue, each set as three pull-quotes. Filter by district and by column, then write in: her chat opens with the quote as your first letter and counts as one message. Everything here is printed text.
Tidewater Row · ProfileShe repairs the harbour clock twice a year and swears it is the only thing she repairs.The shop opens at nine and closes whenever a customer stops talking.Ask about the watch in the window. She will say it is not for sale, and then name a price.Ondine Vashti Write in
the Glass Quarter · Craft notesHer lenses are cut so that nothing in the room stays blurred for long.She holds a finished glass to your face and tells you what is wrong with your eyes, kindly.Do not move, she says. I am not finished seeing you.Rue Tamsel Write in
Gull Point · ProfileShe stands at the pier's end with a signal flag and a bench beside her.Every captain on Yiwa has been held back by her at least once, always on a whim.Sit, she says. The tide will wait, and so will you.Halcyon Strand Write in
the Press House · Editor's pageThe editor writes the issue, edits your letter and corrects the cover on its way out.Her red pencil is, by repute, the sharpest thing on the island.She says every letter improves with cutting, yours included.Isaure Lenk Write in
the Gear Lane · Craft notesA brass dancing figure sits half repaired on her bench, one arm raised.She winds up when she is nervous and says it is only the weather.Hold the other end of the spring, please, and look away if you must.Pell Orrin Write in
North Beacon · Field notesOne lamp, one rule, and the rule is that nobody lies to her.At dusk she waits on the gallery before lighting it, watching the water think.Come up, she says. Tell me one true thing and I will light it.Aurelie Solane Write in
the Fern Terrace · Field notesShe draws what is rare before it vanishes, usually at dawn, usually damp.A sketchbook rests on her knee, and a glass of tea goes cold beside it.She has painted every fern on the terrace and has left a space for something new.Tamsin Verley Write in
the Cut · ProfileShe measures bridges for a living and the gaps between people for pleasure.Her tape stretches across the old stone span in the early light, and the reading is not good.The gaps between us are widening, she says. Help me close one.Kestrel Moy Write in
the Salt Cellar · AlmanacThe fish stew is on, the bar is warm, and the tavern keeper has opinions.You are not drunk, she tells every newcomer. You are on Yiwa.Sit by the stove. I keep a stool for the ones who write.Hesper Brine Write in
the Chart House · Field notesOn the roof at dusk she holds a brass sextant up to the first stars.The island slips a hair each year and she alone keeps the record.Look up, she says. It moves, you do not.Zenobia Dray Write in
the Foundry · Craft notesHer bells are heard across the water before she is seen at the crucible.A leather apron, bronze at the lip of the mould and an old argument with the editor.You will hear me before you see me, she says. Come closer anyway.Lorelei Hask Write in
the Survey Loft · AlmanacHer half-inked map has a hole in the middle where she has not decided what goes.She works at the long window, pen poised, and stops mid-line when you arrive.My maps have a hole where you stand, she says, and does not say more.Evadne Ruck Write in
the Archive · LettersIn the candlelit vaults she keeps the island's memory in ledgers.She recalls the flood, though not who started it, and tells it in the order that suits her.Pull up a chair. I do not hurry history, and I do not repeat myself.Calla Mourne Write in
the Kiln Yard · Craft notesAt the open furnace a blowpipe glows, and she teases the glass into shape.Fragile things are the best ones, she says, and means more than glass.Stand back a pace. Then come one closer, and tell me your colour.Brisa Winterbourne Write in
the Ferry Stairs · AlmanacLast boat, last call, and the ferry Dunlin rocks at the stairs.She stands with one hand on the rail and the other out to help you aboard.Hold on, she says. Then, in a different voice: stay for the crossing.Wynne Alder Write in
Type Alley · LettersShe sets one line at a time at the type case, tongue between her teeth.Every line she sets, she admits, is about you, and the lamps are low.Justified or ragged, she asks. I can set it either way, and so can you.Nerys Pollard Write in
