To paraphrase the popular saying, writers tend to write what we know. Whether we intentionally follow that advice or not, the end result of hours in front of a word processor (or journal, or typewriter) will bear the unmistakable imprint of our life's struggles and the people with whom we experience it. One of our writers finds himself in front of the mirror, admiring his progress after a hilarious and sadistic exercise program. It's not always so direct, however. The poets in this issue find expression through scents, through sights: the smell of bodies on a dance floor, a video a lover made for someone else. A scholar tries to reconnect with a lost love for the novel and, in his frustration, discovers new ways (and genres) to read. Our most unusual piece finds an American living in London commenting on his new home with a romp in which the detritus of humanity, deposited at a bus stop somewhere in London, are attacked by a fearsome gaggle of art students. In this edition of SWELL, each contributor finds a new way of looking at our lives and the world in which we find ourselves, bending words into new and fascinating shapes.