Featuring your questions!:
How do you think that operating in a smaller city has affected your
process (finding authors, distribution, community, etc).
When I started Horse Less, I lived in Providence, Rhode Island, and
then I continued editing the press while in Denver, Colorado. I’ve
been editing the press from Grand Rapids, Michigan for the last five
years. In both Providence and Denver, I was a graduate student and
pretty involved in the local poetry community, so I relied much more
on IRL communication with writers: I’d solicit work after hearing
someone read, and I was more likely to publish the work of writers in
my physical community, with readings and events in that community.
Both because I’m no longer a student and because Grand Rapids doesn’t
have the same kind of literary community, I definitely feel like the
press’s online presence has been more important, and I’ve been less
involved in the readings and even the direct distribution of books we
publish.
When you think about distribution, do you focus on expanding your
business or supporting friends/a smaller community?
At one time or another, we’ve felt more motivated by each approach.
Most recently I’ve been trying to expand our reach, and there’s a lot
of good that’s come of that, but it’s left me feeling spread a bit too
thin, and I think “business” is a real key word here – I don’t really
want to think of the press as a business, but at some point, expansion
seems to make that inevitable. Part of the reason that Horse Less
Press is taking a publishing break next year is so that we (I) can
reflect on our ultimate intentions and think about what a good balance
between maintaining intimacy and joy of the work and reaching outside
our familiar zone might look like.
Do you prefer when poets want to be very involved in the materiality
of their chapbooks, or do you find that more separate roles work best
in the layout and design process?
I look for some kind of balance that feels like a collaboration. I
really love it when authors have ideas about the look and layout of
their work; it’s especially great when authors have artists friends
they want to involve in the process. Occasionally we receive
submissions from writers who’ve already planned the entire layout and
design of their books, which always makes me wonder why they don’t
just make the object themselves! I’m not really interested in being a
printing service. When I lived closer to the writers I was publishing,
we’d sometimes get together to fold or bind their chapbooks, which was
nice; I miss that.
How does being a small press editor affect your being a reader of
poetry and a consumer of books?
I am a major patron of libraries, but because I realize how difficult
it is to support a small press financially and energetically, I make a
point to use all my book dollars to support the small presses I love,
especially via pre-orders and subscriptions. Though I rarely have the
time to write real book reviews, I try to use social media to help
boost awareness of those presses and books as well. I also find I have
a bias—which I know is sometimes problematic—in favor of writers I
know are involved in their literary communities in other ways: as
event curators or publishers or reviewers or writing teachers and
mentors. I have a tendency to listen to those voices more carefully. I
feel I’m also aware of how much good pr—the kind of pr that most small
presses can’t afford—can determine the success of a book; I know there
are great books out there not getting the attention they deserve, so I
try not to only read the books that everyone is talking about. I try
to remember to browse and hunt and work a little to find the good work
that doesn’t have the budget to yell about its goodness.
What do you do when you realize you've made a printing error? Any
coping mechanisms to suggest?
I curse and promise not to waste paper and time and money and ink next
time around and get on with it. We’ve gotten pretty creative with our
recycling, finding new uses for the errata.