Chia-Lun Chang, Prescribee

 

I need to gain the most profound words
to prove to the speakers:

I’m valuable &
look good in the morning. (“ENGLI-SHHH ISN’T YOURS”)

Born and raised in New Taipei City, Taiwan, New York City-based Chia-Lun Chang’s full-length poetry debut, and winner of the Nightboat Poetry Prize, is Prescribee (New York NY: Nightboat Books, 2022). Following the chapbooks One Day We Become Whites (No, Dear, 2016) and An Alien Well-Tamed (Belladonna*, 2022) [see her poem in the “Tuesday poem,” as well, here], Prescribee exists as an assemblage of lyric fairy tales or fictions, narratives of truths and truisms, offering reportage from an America discovered, yet still at a distance. “I came to the United States for love. When men asked about / my past,” she writes, as part of the poem “PARENTS,” “I replied, Father said we must not talk about // feelings. I practice a man coming to me by holding my breath / under the water. We’re repressed and they’re satisfied.”

Composed as a love song of the immediate, Chang [see the 2016 Belladonna* small press interview I conducted that she was part of] writes of the outsider, one that seeks both entry and distance; writing of memory and history, arriving and departing, and the lonely, lyric architecture of in-betweenness. “After reviewing your personal history / bilingually,” she writes, to open the poem “THE FORM OF POMELO,” “the receptionist of the clinic praised / you on your first language. / In a distant land, what you were / born with became a talent.” She writes of the immigrant; of masculinity, and the false ethics of capitalism. “dip a spoon of honey after ordering a hive online,” she writes, as part of the poem “SIMPATICO,” “feeding bees / in spring, anesthetizing their tongues and poisoning them to / death in the winter // drink a cup of coffee every morning after the bean picker / collects 120 pounds in the rainforest, paces on slippery bare / feet and stumbles home in the heat [.]” In many ways, this is a book of frustration, composed of sharp, observant lyrics offering biting commentary on language, exhaustion, cultural distances, departures and arrivals, attempting connections and the mutability of memory, and responding to a sequence of racist microaggressions. In many ways, the poems that make up Chang’s Prescribee articulate and repeat the same simple rhetorical offering: what is so difficult about wanting everyone to be nicer to each other?

She writes of the past, but refuses nostalgia, offering instead parcels of meaning she might be able to carry through to the present; she writes of consumerism, and how certain advancements only seem to emerge through the slow destruction and devastation of something else. “We have to sing continually so our bodies can generate ecstasy.” she writes, as part of the poem “BEING POOR.” “So sweet it tastes like sugar and a bit like tomorrow.” Chang writes, one might say, to actively resist, whether false memory, labelling or even the false perception of others upon her. These poems are about her resistance; in truth, they document and display simultaneously. “Foreign bodies / Are dangerous.” she writes, to close the poem “UPON DISRESPECTFUL ADVICE,” “Still, I exist without consent.”

6x6 #36

I have been told that I walk like a man.

Last night a woman followed me at a party. I see something in you, she said. You’ve been raped. I know because I have too.

I want to ask you: Can you bear the life that you have?

Walking my dog down the street, passersby ask, “How old is he?” My dog is in fact a she. The mounting irritation I experience seems puerile, for what does it matter if a stranger incorrectly refers to my dog as male?

Today a tampon unwrapped and ejected itself into my tote bag.

When you talk about someone, it is a way to talk about yourself.

Sometimes I get a sore back.

One time, at Gussie’s urging, I took the neighbor’s baby for a walk in the carriage and, inspired by passersby admiring my beautiful sister, offered to sell her for three dollars.

When I use my left hand it doesn’t feel like I’m me anymore.

The knot, an associative network that intersects at a hidden center, rising to the surface as a word.

This is the nodal point where discourse forms a hole.

A lunch bag full of donuts. A blank face. This smelly life.

If a topologist cannot distinguish between a coffee mug and a donut, since a malleable donut can be reshaped into a coffee mug, then how do I know whether I am a man or a woman?

I can be one as easily as the other. (Sarah Wang, “An Image Always Precedes”)

I’ve long been an admirer of Brooklyn’s 6x6 [see my prior reviews of issues #35, #32-#33, #30, #26 and #25], produced through Ugly Duckling Presse, and the most recent issue #36, is the final in the series. There hasn’t been much explanation anywhere as to specifically why they’re ending the run of the journal, other than the suggestion that they want to try other things, and the hint that there might be another project come up in its stead. Still: 6x6 is not only one of my favo(u)rite American poetry journals, but one of those (now) late-lamented journals that I’m very disappointed I couldn’t manage to get any work into (along with Nate Norward’s The Gig). So, while I’m sad to see the journal end, I can at least remind myself that multiple back issues are most likely still available through the Ugly Duckling Presse website, which will allow me, potentially, a few more opportunities to discover writers I might not have been aware of (6x6 facilitated my discovery of writers such as Anna Gurton-Wachter (who now has a chapbook forthcoming with above/ground press), Judith Goldman, Cat Tyc, Tony Iantosca, Jon Boisvert and William Minor, among others, for which I am entirely and eternally grateful).

The final issue, subtitled “prodyourheadwithastick,” includes (as it always does) new work by six writers: Anselm Berrigan, Chia-Lun Chang, Cheryl Clarke, Lisa Fishman, Vasilisk Gnedov (translated by Emilia Loseva and Danny Winkler), and Sarah Wang. New York City writer Sarah Wang’s extended prose piece, “An Image Always Precedes,” is incredibly striking, and I’m surprised, slightly, that she doesn’t seem to have a book out yet, despite work published in Joyland, n+1, The Los Angeles Review of Books, Conjunctions, Stonecutter Journal, Story Magazine and The Third Rail, as well as an excerpt of a novel-in-progress in BOMB magazine. I’m quite amazed by how the disparate sentences of her six-page work manages to cohere, even as it moves in multiple directions. Contributor Chia-Lun Chang, a Taipei, Taiwan-born poet, artist and translator, currently a member of the Belladonna* collective, is also the author of the chapbook (already out-of-print) One Day We Become Whites (No, Dear, 2016). Her six poems included in this issue are unapologetically political (concurrently responding directly and indirectly to the current political climate of the United States, and their current President), lyric and restless, and very much make me want to see what else she is capable of:

The Government Makes Me

lie if I want a visa. They paint me

a bunch of aloe. Locked fluid inside

my skin. But I’ve become a cactus

by adjusting to dryness. Others suggest

to mimic a rose. That’d make it easier to

get picked up. No one appreciates aloe,

people squeeze it to swallow and

apply on skin in summer kitchens

only. Check the box for venus flytrap,

to be a frozen predator.

None of the above dare to grow roots

until the government announces

that all of the thorns build a fence

preventing connections

from another side.

What can I say about 6x6? Just read it; just read everything in every issue. I mourn the loss of such a fine journal, yet eagerly await what might just be to come.

12 or 20 (small press) questions with Emily Brandt on No, Dear

No, Dear Mission Statement:
No, Dear aims to bring together the voices of New York City poets who might not otherwise be in dialogue: both emerging and established poets from diverse backgrounds who are living and writing in New York City’s five boroughs. We aspire to disrupt a field that has historically privileged white patriarchal perspectives by building a publication and communal/critical dialogue that strives to be largely representative of women-identified poets, and poets of color and of all gender orientations.

Emily Brandt is a cofounding editor of No, Dear, Web Acquisitions Editor for VIDA, and the author of three chapbooks. Her poems have recently appeared in LitHub, The Recluse, and Washington Square Review.

When did No, Dear first start? How have your original goals as a publisher shifted since you started, if at all? And what have you learned through the process?
No, Dear started in 2008, and at that time, our goal was just to publish poems coming out of a workshop the original editing team was a part of. That goal quickly evolved to learning about and supporting an ever-expanding circle of poets. Because we have only always published NYC writers, our launch readings have always been and continue to be spaces for poets to get to know and celebrate each other. The poets we publish are our greatest collaborators. We now publish dialogues between issue poets, and host readings co-curated with the poets we publish. We’ve also invited many poets we’ve published to guest edit issues or to submit chapbooks. We are interested in fostering genuine community in a time and place that moves so quickly that community time and space can be a challenge.

What first brought you to publishing?
I wrote and distributed a small newspaper when I was 8, which was significant among my stuffed animal tribe. As an early/mid-adolescent, I was into zine culture, which taught me the art of doing what you need to do and saying what you need to say. As a late-adolescent, I interned for the Favorite Poem Project, which taught me something about the many different roles poetry plays for people. Later, I got into No, Dear.

What do you consider the role and responsibilities, if any, of small publishing?
We can take more risks than big-house publishers, and support more emerging and subversive voices. Small publishing needs to be true to the people who are participating, via writing and reading, in the community. No need to replicate what’s on the shelves at the B&N.

What do you see your press doing that no one else is?
We only publish New York City poets, bringing them together for launch readings, collaboratively curated readings, online dialogues, and more. Focusing on just the local community allows us to build more bridges amongst poets in person.

What do you see as the most effective way to get new books out into the world?
Plan a really good launch and publicize it well. For ND/SA, our runs are small enough that we don’t need to do a ton of work to sell out. We put our efforts to a big launch, some targeted publicity work (reviews/social media), collaborating with the author and their community, and developing and maintaining relationships with our fantastic local bookshops.

How involved an editor are you? Do you dig deep into line edits, or do you prefer more of a light touch?
It depends! For issues, a light touch, for sure. The editorial team and I will sometimes recommend a tweak, but generally publish poems as they are submitted. For chapbooks, it depends on the manuscript. Sometimes we’ll publish it almost as is, and other times we do several rounds of pretty deep revision suggestions. I prefer to publish work that feels polished but not too sheen, and sometimes an editorial eye is needed to get there. I dislike an overcooked poem, so would sooner overlook a few spots with potential for more than push a writer to go into high-sheen revision. That can fuck up a good poem.

How do your books get distributed? What are your usual print runs?
We sell our chapbooks and issues three ways: at launch and other readings, via our website, and at local bookstores, including McNally Jackson, Housing Works, Greenlight, Berl’s, and Quimby’s. We also have subscribers to whom we send issues. At this point, we print 150 copies of each new issue and 100 copies of chapbooks.

How many other people are involved with editing or production? Do you work with other editors, and if so, how effective do you find it? What are the benefits, drawbacks?
For issues, we usually have at least three editors at the table - Alex Cuff and I have usually been two of those people. We’ve had a wonderful range of founding and guest editors over the years, and are thrilled to now have t’ai freedom ford on board as an editor. For chapbooks, we collaborate with Jen Hyde from Small Anchor. I always learn so much from working with a team of editors -- it’s important to hear other perspectives and have your own perspectives challenged. I’ve definitely become a sharper and more engaged reader over the last decade. The only setback is time -- the editing conversations we have are amazing and for me, the most valuable, fascinating part of the process. However, the more voices at the table, the more time spent discussing the poems. That’s a good thing! But also, time is sometimes hard for humans. As for production, most of layout and production falls on the editorial team, but we collaborate with artists for cover images, and welcome help from production volunteers. (Call me!)

How has being an editor/publisher changed the way you think about your own writing?
It’s great reading so much emerging/new work, to balance all the published (new and old) work that I read in books and journals. Seeing everything that comes through makes me even more aware of content and style trends and the ways in which different writers handle those things. I get a clearer sense for myself of what works and doesn’t in a poem, and in what ways what I’m writing may be in conversation with something larger.

How do you approach the idea of publishing your own writing? Some, such as Gary Geddes when he still ran Cormorant, refused such, yet various Coach House Press’ editors had titles during their tenures as editors for the press, including Victor Coleman and bpNichol. What do you think of the arguments for or against, or do you see the whole question as irrelevant?
Do what feels right to you. I have poems in early No, Dears, at a time when our goal was just to publish writing from our workshop and surrounding community. That made sense at the time. I haven’t self-published anything in a long time now, and don’t know that I would again. But I don’t think much of that matters.

What, as a publisher, are you most proud of accomplishing? What do you think people have overlooked about your publications? What is your biggest frustration?
We’ve been doing this for ten years, and it still feels exciting! That longevity is something I’m really proud of. We’ve published so many amazing writers over the last decade, and for some were among their first publications. There’s so many different steps to the process and not all of it is fun or easy, so sometimes I get frustrated with how much time and unpaid labor is necessary to make this all happen.

Who were your early publishing models when starting out?
In 2008, I remember looking at Birdsong, edited by a collective including Tommy Pico, and that gave me hope for making a worthwhile DIY print publication. In the early days, some folks at Ugly Ducking Presse gave me invaluable production advice - at a time when I had no idea how to do anything besides make a scissors-and-glue-and-photocopy zine.

Do you take submissions? If so, what aren’t you looking for?
We do! And we are really interested in good poems that have something to say. Pretty simple. One tip to writers looking to submit: we publish very slim issues, and as such, only print one or a few long poems in any given issue. So unless a long (more than a page) poem is really a perfect fit for the issue, we’re probably not going to take it. We used to limit submissions to 40 lines each poem, but we do like to print the occasional long piece. That said, 40 lines is a good limit to keep in mind.

Tell me about three of your most recent titles, and why they’re special.
Our REPUBLIC (#19) issue: our first post-Trump publication.

Our BLACK POETS SPEAK OUT (#18) issue: the brilliant Mahogany L. Browne used this issue to showcase work from #BlackPoetsSpeakOut, even including a few non-NYC writers.

Chia-Lun Chang’s One Day We Become Whites: after a dozen reads, I still can’t keep up with this chapbook.

12 or 20 (small press) questions;

12 or 20 (small press) questions with Shaun Marie (with ChiaLun Chang, Sarah Francois, Krystal Languell + Monica Sun) on Belladonna*

Belladonna* is a feminist avant-garde collective, founded in 1999 by Rachel Levitsky. 2016 marks the 17th anniversary of the Belladonna* mission to promote the work of women writers who are adventurous, experimental, politically involved, multi-form, multicultural, multi-gendered, impossible to define, delicious to talk about, unpredictable and dangerous with language.

Interview answers from: Shaun Marie is a poet based in Brooklyn, studying Creative Writing at Pratt Institute. She has a chapbook titled In the Land of Women published through Thistlemilk Press. She is currently finding ways to marry film theory with poetry.

With additional contributions from:

ChiaLun Chang is the studio manager and intern coordinator at Belladonna* Collaborative.

Sarah Francois is a new graduate from Long Island University Brooklyn Campus with an MFA in Cross-genre Creative Writing.

Krystal Languell is the finance manager for Belladonna* Collaborative and her second book, Gray Market, comes out from 1913 this fall.

Monica Sun is an undergraduate student currently at Wesleyan University pursuing the Dance Major and the Writing Certificate.

1. When did Belladonna* first start? How have your original goals as a publisher shifted since you started, if at all? And what have you learned through the process?

Belladonna* was founded in 1999 by Rachel Levitsky. But for me, Belladonna started when I became an intern during the Spring 2016 semester of my studies at Pratt Institute. I had heard of the press from many of my poetry professors, who insisted I send in my resume. Once I started, it was such an easy transition (as it should be for any future interns). There is a collaborative spirit, a community of poets and writers supporting each other. When you hear about Belladonna* being a non-profit and existing and flourishing solely because of its team leaders, that’s the honest truth. Everything made by Belladonna* is the result of individual women dedicating their time and efforts to the creation of smart, progressive, and challenging poetry. It really is like a plant growing from the ground up. It needs water, it needs air; it’s an investment and it takes time. I have a new respect for how responsible my supervisors are and how they are able to keep Belladonna* thriving.

2. What first brought you to publishing?

I am a writer first and foremost. I am a poet. I study Creative Writing at Pratt Institute with a minor in Cinema Studies. I took a chance interning at Belladonna* and was pleasantly surprised by how immersive the editing process is. My internship responsibilities vary day by day, but I do partake in the publishing process. Seeing the drafts and final manuscripts of our chaplets, seeing events and readings come together and people coming out to support our featured writers is the best experience. It’s incredibly rewarding, and also reminds me that it takes a village, a community to allow art—good art—to reveal itself. Belladonna* dispels the misconception that people are just born with golden nuggets of genius; rather, people are provided opportunities and avenues by which they are able to create. Belladonna* is a vehicle for that, and keeps giving and giving and renewing itself.

3. What do you consider the role and responsibilities, if any, of small publishing?

Our responsibilities are especially condensed, and we are entirely reliant on one another. If one person is sick or out, another must step up to the plate. That’s why I’ve grown to really respect the women of Belladonna*. It’s a true commitment that they have integrated into their lives, this bond to a press that sometimes isn't easy or immediately rewarding. The reward is in the community; seeing a recent chaplet sell out, or watching new books win awards[1] and get mentioned in the New York Times[2]. To be a part of Belladonna*, you have to be willing to let go of your ego, or the individualist mentality. Our team is a support system, and that means a lot of people are shaping and changing the aesthetic and the makeup of the press. You have to allow for that type of change and realize the goal isn't to serve the self but to serve others by serving the poetry. And I think our team does that very naturally. These women have families of their own, are in school, are teaching, working, and moving all over the place—they still find the time to give what’s needed without expecting something in return. Sometimes you don’t always receive a thank-you in small publishing.

4. What do you see your press doing that no one else is?

Belladonna* is very genuine. The aesthetic of a small press or underground poetry press can often be used to sell the press as this cool, up-and-coming organization. But Belladonna* is the definition of collective. It is a small press to its core and it doesn't try to be anything else. Its backbone is made up volunteers, interns, and collective members. You give what you can. It’s very fluid; people come and go like a wave. So I would say Belladonna* is the type of press that stands by its word. Not to say that this is uncommon, or not being done by other small distributors, but when you read a Belladonna* book, you know it's the result of many hands working together. You know it's a product of the community.

5. What do you see as the most effective way to get new books out into the world?

That’s hard to answer as literature in general is becoming a medium that is accessible on social media platforms like Twitter and Facebook. People are able to publish their work immediately. There’s definitely a sense of authorship, but a lack of ownership. Things are so easily accessed and distributed. You find yourself questioning the original source or the validity of the work. In terms of publishing, the most recent changes are the changes that render writing an easily accessible and digestible medium. Belladonna* has the chaplet series which features the work of poets still in the process of working through and editing their final manuscripts. So the chaplet is a medium of its own, and stands as this testimonial or documentation of the writing process. In a way, our chaplets have built this elaborate archive of works in their beginning and final stages. I was able to see Tonya M. Foster’s chaplet (#34, published in 2002) for A Swarm of Bees in High Court in the studio in its early stages. Now it’s become a celebrated work, but I have seen the amount of time and attention Foster dedicated to honing in on the sound and the word play, which has made it such a great success. I’ve recently found authors who ask for donations to provide access to their writing process online. To me, that’s such a fascinating idea. People are interested in the process, in the editing stages of a work just as much as they are invested in the final product. So in terms of new ways to release books, I think making the process visible makes it an act of community-building. It becomes a gesture to the reader. I think the goal is to sell books, but also to make the book a collaborative experience as a whole.

6. How involved an editor are you? Do you dig deep into line edits, or do you prefer more of a light touch?

Towards the end of the semester, I did a lot of outreach and grant writing and researching. When we had more chaplets coming out during the middle of the semester, I did a little bit of copy-editing and was responsible for organizing the Studio Assistants chaplet, which was a great opportunity Belladonna* gives its interns to publish our work. This has been an annual event for interns since 2012 now. It’s an interesting process because poetry isn't edited like fiction. Of course, there’s the occasional typo or misprint, but editing poetry is like editing music and language and space. Nothing is fixed. Everything is intentional. The space of the page is engaged in a manner you don’t see in fiction, unless it’s prose poetry or experimental fiction, but even then, it can adhere to the formal aesthetics of fiction. I enjoy how Belladonna* is an open book. You have access to the emails and you can see how the process is coming along from one message to the next. You know when a chaplet is being finalized with the designer, Bill Mazza, and you know when it’s being sent to the print shop. We are in direct contact with our writers and contributors. The process is organic and I suppose because of that, it’s even more transparent. You understand fundamentally what this community is truly doing and why it’s so important, especially when you're working with writers who are producing content that is urgent and necessary.

7. How do your books get distributed? What are your usual print runs?

We reach out to poets, and invite them to be a part of our reading series. They publish a chaplet of their work and participate in a reading with said chaplet and/or recent work they want to discuss. The writers are given a lot of authority and authorship. The chaplet exists as a medium small enough to open up a dialogue about the new work without stifling it with criticism. It’s like a mini writing group; a preview of the work that helps guide the authors in their final steps in producing their works. A discussion begins and the author can then work with it.

And we have our full-length books of poetry, which are of course more permanent, and these are really compelling. For most of these works, we do a first print run of 1,000 copies. Tonya Foster’s A Swarm of Bees in High Court is a favorite of mine, but you also have these amazing sound-based works like LaTasha Diggs’ TwERK that are very powerful and urgent.

8.  How many other people are involved with editing or production? Do you work with other editors, and if so, how effective do you find it? What are the benefits, drawbacks?

It’s a matter of determining what work is needed and how my time will help the quality of the work being published. Sometimes I’m not needed, but there are other small tasks that I can be involved with. As an intern, you realize that your time can sometimes inconvenience others if you overstep where you're needed. It doesn’t make sense for me to be involved in something that requires more expertise. In those cases I usually take on the role of shadowing so I can learn and adapt. I’ve also learned that listening in some cases is more beneficial than doing. I’ve been introduced to amazing writers and amazing organizations that support new writers. Belladonna* is extremely focused on the community and the volunteers that keep our organization alive. In terms of collaborating with other editors, the posthumous publication of Beth Murray’s Cancer Angel would be a great example of Belladonna* working together with writers and editors in the San Francisco Bay Area. Cancer Angel stands as a collaborative work, one that I know proved how flexible and intuitive this collective can be in the hardest of circumstances.

9. How has being an editor/publisher changed the way you think about your own writing?

I appreciate space now when I sit down to write. When you spend time studying and editing the way in which others use sound to support their work, there’s an appreciation for music. The form should match the content. When I say form, what I’m referring to is content as composition. Is the content self-reliant? Is the content contained in itself or does it allow for a discourse? In lyric, too often the focus is on the I and the I in relation to the object of desire, the you. I’ve enjoyed seeing this subverted, seeing the form allow for multiple accounts and perspectives, but mainly the I as ever-changing, ever-expanding. Is the form capable of caring for the content? Is it allowing the content to expand and develop as it’s intended? Is using a couplet here hurting or helping the content? It’s a composition; they communicate with one another. If you're worried about aesthetics, you're probably more concerned with writing something that’ll connect with or start discussions about trend writing, the writing that we all fall into when we attempt to write things uninspired. And of course it's not good. It’s impressionable. Working with Belladonna*, I’ve thought a lot about what it means to be a feminist. There’s a collaborative spirit a lot of the time with feminist literary works. There is reclamation of self and community, a celebration of supporting and recognizing each other. And this transpires into the space imbued within the poetry. The sense that you are cared for and acknowledged. You have to allow for that in the work.

10. How do you approach the idea of publishing your own writing? Some, such as Gary Geddes when he still ran Cormorant, refused such, yet various Coach House Press’ editors had titles during their tenures as editors for the press, including Victor Coleman and bpNichol. What do you think of the arguments for or against, or do you see the whole question as irrelevant?

Being published by a press is always followed with the sense of accomplishment. The idea is: you worked with editors, your work was accepted, and someone found you worth investing in. But in opposition, there’s the reality that people have a lot of power in today’s age. You can self publish on a multitude of platforms, and although any work you self-publish is subject to your own outreach skills, there is a sense of reclaiming the authorship of your work. The deadline and release date are entirely the decision of the writer, which is a form of creative freedom, but what’s missing is the support system and tools you'd be able to access with a team behind you. But I suppose that’s why I appreciate small presses. They maintain a level of respect and empowerment with the author. I don’t think the writers compromise or give up their agency with Belladonna*; it’s a true partnership and that’s ideal.

11. How do you see Belladonna* evolving?

Though Belladonna*’s aesthetic is ever-evolving and changing, I’d like to see an aesthetic that is immediately acknowledged as a Belladonna* product. I like seeing beautiful books, books with evocative and alluring art that draws the reader in. I also see Belladonna* gaining even more participants, volunteers and collective members. I’ve realized how much my supervisors and peers pay attention to the ways in which our society engages with literature and poetry. I think Belladonna* has the potential to eventually make the writing process a medium to invest in, like featuring artists and their personal journeys with major projects they are undertaking. There’s a genuine connection to the writing practice and the finished product. They are inseparable. It’s of the body, it can’t not be.

12. What, as a publisher, are you most proud of accomplishing? What do you think people have overlooked about your publications? What is your biggest frustration?

I enjoyed seeing the success of Tonya M. Foster’s A Swarm of Bees in High Court. This book inspired me in my personal work, but also reminded me that a community is responsible for making good art accessible and visible. It reminded me of why the small press is such an important part of the literary community. You're reminded poetry must exist in a space where people are eager to engage and work with it. I can’t say that I’m frustrated by much; rather, I understand now that sometimes there simply isn't enough energy to go around. Sacrifices are made when running small publishing organizations, and you have to remember that the strides we make in the community affect the present and future. I’m most satisfied when the work I’m surrounded with is truly communicating and engaging with dialogues capable of rendering change.

13. Who were your early publishing models when starting out?

I use Belladonna* as a model because I know how we work. I know how this press keeps itself alive and thriving and I know how this press deals with success and failure. I have a lot of respect for the collective and I think Belladonna* has taught me that a press relies on its community.

14. How does Belladonna* work to engage with your immediate literary community, and community at large? What journals or presses do you see Belladonna* in dialogue with? How important do you see those dialogues, those conversations?

Until I started interning, I didn’t realize how involved our press is. We are in direct contact with a lot of small publishers like Litmus and Futurepoem. Our events are hosted at a multitude of locations that help bring visibility to independent bookstores and poetry-based organizations. I think the way we share resources with these other organizations is crucial for our survival.

15. Do you hold regular or occasional readings or launches? How important do you see public readings and other events?

Readings and events are the press’s backbone. Readings are a sign of community and a sign of outreach. I’ve learned so much about my work from going to readings and engaging with writers. It seems only natural that writers support one another at readings; it allows the work to exist in a space of care, but it also shows an amount of respect for the work and the time that was put into the finished product. Readings and events reveal the work that’s being done behind the scenes. It goes back to the idea that everything is sustained by a caring community, and that this community is responsible for making sure people are being heard and recognized. At most of our events, the host takes a moment to call out the names of all the Belladonna* members, volunteers, and interns who are present—and this roll call further highlights that behind the scenes labor.

16. How do you utilize the Internet, if at all, to further your goals?

I think the internet is as essential as drinking water nowadays. We not only consume media at a fast pace, but we also consume media as entirely image-based now. The internet is like a form of cinema. So it follows that small presses use social media to reach as many people as possible. It’s not that we’re selling the Belladonna* brand or capitalizing off of the system; rather, we’re adapting to the way people engage with work. It’s all one big conversation, and if the conversation must also exist online, then we adapt. It makes sense to do everything we can to make these dialogues possible, and to provide avenues and ways to connect with one another.

17. Do you take submissions? If so, what aren’t you looking for?

Belladonna* does consider queries as they come in via email, but we most often take on projects through the readings series and proposals by members of our collective. Sometimes, submissions are sent in that disregard or overlook that Belladonna* has a non-hierarchal, feminist, avant-garde collective mission. Nonetheless, we are always accepting new volunteers and interns who are eager to help build and shape the press.

18. Tell me about three of your most recent titles, and why they’re special.

Tonya M. Foster’s A Swarm of Bees in High Court is a beautiful ode to Harlem, race, identity and space. It’s sound-based, brilliantly written, and takes on multiple voices and perspectives. Another favorite of mine is LaTasha N. Nevada Diggs’ TwERK. I think TwERK is extremely urgent and impassioned. Also, a lot of detail is given to the sound and music of the work. I also enjoyed R. Erica Doyle’s proxy, which I think is a very sexy and challenging book. It keeps me alert and sensitive in ways other books with similar content fail to do. It gets under my skin, and I feel like I have to properly metabolize it when reading it.

12 or 20 (small press) questions;

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[1] Most recently, Beth Murray’s Cancer Angel won the Gold Medal for Poetry from the California Book Awards.

[2] Tonya M. Foster’s A Swarm of Bees in High Court