At the outset here, we’re making the choice not to decorate contributions with images, unless the image is made and provided by the author. It seems to us that ubiquitous stock photos all over the internet lower the value of images and detract from a more important element: the writing itself.

We see, in fact, a lot of the same images as we pursue our online reading, because most posters of content are going to the same, free, sources. Whether via Morguefile, Pixabay, or Getty Images, everyone seems intent on attracting attention with something nice to look at before the reader skims through the text like a bingeing Pringles eater. In fact, though, the pictures have become more of a formatting device, a block taking up space on the page to make it look more designed.

That said, we do welcome images that are contributed along with the writing. Like we’ve said in our mission statement and Editor’s foreword, we can imagine writing that actually is photography. Pictures of writing. Elements arranged to tell a story and then photographed for publication. Yes, a story in tattoos is conceivable.

We also welcome drawings and other kinds of illustrations made by contributors. Or pictures of things you’ve made. The Bayeux Tapestry is a story. In keeping with the direction this journal hopes to go, remember that narrative doesn’t have to be restricted to twelve-point Times Roman, nor does it have move from A to Z or 1 to 10. Anytime an image, or multiple images, can enhance a piece of writing or turn it into something more than just the text, we’re intrigued.

If you do contribute a piece that is enhanced by the perfect stock or free image you’ve discovered online, be sure you understand the reproduction requirements stated by its maker. We will have a policy of citing the sources even when it’s not required by the provider, such as Pixabay, using a format similar to this: “Photo by Kevin Brennan via [link], under a Creative Commons Attribution [or whatever applies] license.”

That way everyone will be happy.

We’re eager to see what kind of visual creations you might morph into something that can be called literature.