The Four Corners Writers Group, named after the intersection of borders of Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona and Utah, began as an informal gathering of local writers at the Cortez, Colorado Public Library in 2017. The first few literary members gathered to discuss their craft from both a creative and practical perspective: their shared love and practice of writing, and the practicalities of how to distribute their work and make it economically feasible.

In the eight years since, the group has grown and changed meeting spots a few times, the latest being Cortez’s ZU Gallery which displays art and also functions as a wine bar and music venue. In addition to their monthly evening meetings, the Four Corners Writers have undertaken to publish Four Corners Voices, supported by the Cortez-based Launch 81321, which works to get things in the Cortez zip code off the ground, and the multi-state, rural-life advocating LOR Foundation, which brings resources to bear on pastoral projects.

Lisa C. Taylor, editor for poetry

Chuck Greaves, editor for fiction

Mark Stevens, editor for nonfiction

Four Corners Voices Vol. 1 includes 12 short stories, 24 poems and 13 essays gathered through submissions in the summer of 2024, edited by novelist Chuck Greaves for fiction, novelist Mark Stevens for nonfiction and poet Lisa C. Taylor for poetry. The collection covers a wide range of subjects from the whimsical to the political, from a wide variety of contributors as various in age as high school emerging writers to solidly established and award-winning adults. Unsurprisingly, several write lovingly and knowledgeably of the spectacularly beautiful and often brutal high-desert environment they live in.

Poet, printmaker and collage artist Renee Podunovich contributes prose focused on the dramatic circulation of air across the landscape: “On some spring days in the high desert, the wind is intolerable. But today it feels like being shaken awake, purified, cleansed. … Through Sage, Juniper and Yucca tangled into a waving of peculiar geological mishaps, I travel so far that I am suddenly small and unknown. But somehow at home.” Podunovich communicates much of her direct physiological experience through her words. Her respect for sage, juniper, and yucca is expressed through her grammatically unnecessary but psychologically fitting capitalization of  generic plant names.

Gustav Hallin, a Durango physician, brings a blend of medical and  mental to bear in his contribution, “Covid Comes to Colorado.” Through eloquence and insight, Hallin makes readers wish that more physicians would undertake writing in addition to their already-demanding jobs that require an abundance of scientific education. “The second year, including the tsunami that was the delta wave in late 2021, showcased how incredibly fast and effective the mRNA vaccines could work,” he writes. “That stretch also revealed how many people had lost their trust in our institutions and refused straightforward, life-saving recommendations.” He writes of his fury at politicians opting for cash-generating spectacles over actual efforts to save peoples’ lives, and quotes Mark Twain: “Suppose you were an idiot. And suppose you were a member of Congress. But I repeat myself.” His dedication to doing the good his profession is intended to do, and empathy for his own patients comes through forcefully and compassionately. He sums up his philosophical wisdom in a way that could serve as the guiding principle for any health-related institution: “We all share the same two worlds, the physical and the psychological, and we do better when we expand the team and reciprocate fairly with one another.” As America is likely on the verge of having an enthusiastic anti-vaxxer with a good last name as head of the Department of Health and Human Services, Dr. Hallin’s words ring with grave significance and welcome understanding.

Kevin T. Jones, for his colorful part, contributes a story not distinguished as either fiction or nonfiction that jumps off the page with enough verifiable details of the rural setting that imaginary and actual life seem quite interchangeable. Jones’ tall tale centers on a character known as Rex Jex, introduced in the first simple sentence as a “well-known tough guy.” Jex’s business, such as it is, ranges from bodyguard to persuader, debt collector, intimidator, contract negotiator, risk manager and semi-abstract doer of government relations that may or may not include killing people on demand. Many good tales lie therein. His story either begins or ends—depending on which way you wish to see it—when an old woman hits him on the head with a frying pan for running his mouth, something Jex is in the habit of doing. His recovery from this injury gives him time for contemplation that transforms him into a gracious, enterprising craftsman/fashion designer/chef. In the mix, like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow, Jones graciously includes Rex Jex’s recipe for “Cast Iron Miracle Skillet Cornbread,” which sounds not only delicious but also like a very good alternative to murder.

Aidan Gaughran, an author who has lived in various places abroad but has called the Four Corners home for the past three years, writes in his bio that his journeys have trained him “to listen and marvel at the thin line that exists between the magic and the real.”  Like other Four Corners Voices creators, he dissects and recasts language to suit his own interpretation: “But hearsay (what people here say) is one thing, and reality is another, and I have reached the age where I feel the need to distinguish between the two.” In his distinctions, Gaughran might well leave you, like many Four Corners Writers, finding the actual a tad unstable and delightfully worth digging into.