All Things Pankish

Ask the Editor + Publisher + Rockstar: Jen Woods

[Roxane Gay / April 20th, 2010 / Interviews ]

At AWP ‘10, Matt and I sat on a panel about little magazines with Jen Woods, co-founder and president of Typecast Publishing and editor of The Lumberyard and we thought she was pretty awesome and she took some time from her busy schedule to answer a few questions for us.

1. We love Lumberyard. How did the magazine come about? Why the name Lumberyard? How do you set yourself apart from other literary magazines?

The magazine was birthed out of two driving forces: 1) I love the visual work my brother does at his design and letterpress studio, Firecracker Press, and would use any excuse to collaborate with him and 2) no one outside of my literary friends seemed to give a flip about poems. A lot of really great writers were publishing almost in silence, in secret, and not out and about within our wider culture. My friends who love music, art, philosophy, even science and math, weren’t willing to give poetry a chance. That bothered me a great deal. It occurred to me that if you combined visual art (especially the fun, textured kind that Firecracker was putting out) with poetry, perhaps you could erase people’s prejudice long enough to get them to read a contemporary poem and enjoy it—and thus, in a dream scenario, they would be tempted to start reading poetry again. I called my brother up, we talked it out a few times, and perhaps because I have the best big brother in the world, he decided to humor me for at least one issue.

The story of our name is not a very glamorous one, really. My paternal family, for several generations, owned and operated two lumber supply stores. Sweazea Lumber Supply was my grandfather’s outfit, where my father also worked and subsequently, where I spent most days after school. I loved that place, with all the tools and scraps and potential just lying around all the time. Not exactly safe, but a cool as hell place to hang out nonetheless (and luckily it was the 80s so no one was over-thinking safety, giving us free reign). During the recession of the 80s my grandfather loaned a lot of credit to his patrons, then a flood, then Lowe’s, then, finally, no more lumber company. I’ll spare you all the details after that, but let’s just say the men in my family were lost for a long time. The stress took a major toll on my father, who passed away about eight years ago. I think we named the magazine The Lumberyard as our way of holding on to the family business, a way of getting back to those magical afternoons hiding among giant rolls of flooring materials and catching garter snakes out in the sawdust piles. And to show respect for the elder Woods men, who, at their heart, are/were some of the most hilarious and decent guys I’ve ever known. Never mind they taught to me love a thing done “right.”

I don’t think we ever try to set ourselves apart, we just do what we like and I guess that ends up being slightly outside of the norm from time to time. Honestly, when we started the magazine, my brother gave me some advice that turned out to be the best thing I could’ve done. He told me to stop paying attention to what everyone else was doing, not to worry about it, because the magazine would be what it was going to be and I’d best stay out of the way. In other words, we try not to let the ego have any say. It was hard in the beginning, but it gets easier as you have some success to just follow your gut.

2. You are unique not only in how you present the work in your magazine but also in that you’re a for-profit publisher. Why did you make the decision to publish for profit? How successful has that choice been? Do you pay your writers?

Again, not very romantic, but we didn’t really decide the business model one way or the other as much as Lumberyard decided for us. In the beginning, we didn’t really think anyone would read this thing, let alone still be here and thriving four years down the line. But the first year I took Lumberyard to AWP I was approached by the NEA. I seriously thought it was a joke some friend was pulling on me. Besides, we were brand-spanking new and it would take three years of programming before they could give us funding. And besides that, I started hiving at the thought of having to answer to someone, of morphing our ideas to fit grant parameters, etc. I have a strong Objectivist streak in me that never wants to take a dole from anyone. Luckily, I hate paperwork and kept putting off filing for non-profit. Meanwhile, we started getting readers. And soon it was making enough money to make it worth our time. We weren’t running the publishing rat race at all, and yet we were able to keep going. At some point, I realized that all the time I would’ve spent filling out non-profit paperwork was spent trying to find readers for the magazine outside of the traditional places. I wanted everyone, working folks, people like my family and friends, reading the magazine and I never cared too much who in the “industry” was paying attention. That approach seemed to work.

We just started paying our authors with this summer’s upcoming release. It ain’t enough to go to Brazil or anything, but we do what we can. And now that we’re into books, we’ve created a business model that pays royalties slightly different than most indies, in the hopes of sparing our authors having to go grant searching to afford that one week writing retreat to finish the next book. Our bottom line is this: if we’re making money, the writers should be making money. We’re striving to make more, so that writers can make more with few strings attached.

3. On our panel you mentioned that you’ve encountered some resistance from other literary outlets because of your outlook. What is that about?

I’m not sure if resistance is exactly the reaction, but often when you start talking about profit there is a certain sour or condescending face you usually have looking back at you. Or, the worst––a lecture on all the things you can’t do in publishing, many of which Lumberyard has already disproved. There’s something about money and literary endeavors that, I don’t know, I don’t get it I guess. To talk of profit, in my mind, doesn’t diminish the art, it actually declares proudly that the work has value, which I truly believe poetry does. Let me go total nerd for a second, but poetry is SUPER RAD! I love it, I believe in it, and damn it, I think people ought to pay for it. We buy Snuggies and pancakes on a stick, so is it really that audacious to think people should pay for their poetry? The only difference is that the guy making the pancakes isn’t too proud to market to a wider audience—he’s not up late at night wondering if anyone will laugh at him for suggesting we all want that pancake on a stick. I watch dear friends give away their work all the time, and sometimes it’s a book that took them ten years to write. TEN YEARS! Ugh, it makes me terribly sad, and maybe I will never be the best writer of all time, but I can use my big mouth and my will to try to change the dynamic just a little so that talented artists can eat and pay rent, and hopefully, with those two things secure, write a whole lot more.

This is a topic I could on about for days if you let me, so let me instead just shamelessly plug my blog, “The Hustle Montage,” on our website at www.typecastpublishing.com/thehustlemontage. I’ve decided to come out of my cave a little and actually begin talking about these things more openly. The recent stock market crash, I believe, has people, especially young folks, recognizing that financial literacy is very important, and as much as we may want to duck our heads from this stuff as creative-types, people seem more receptive to our profit model than ever, which I hope is a good sign for the future of literature. Perhaps in dialogue with one another we can actually come up with great ideas to move our art forward. So come to the blog, talk to me, ask us questions. Let’s figure this thing out!

4. What did you do before Lumberyard?

Well, when I graduated college I was on the usual track. I had been accepted to UNC-Greensboro for an MFA and was on my way. Just before the semester was to begin, I was working in a tiny bookshop called Cyrano’s in Highlands, NC, when I got to spend an afternoon with Charles Frazier. I asked him about MFA programs, and he said I’d be better served to go live a life so that someday I might actually have a perspective from which to write. When he said those words, they became the permission I needed. I was twenty-one, for crying out loud. Never been much of anywhere, never done much of anything. So I dropped out of grad school, much to everyone’s disapproval. I became a whitewater rafting guide and took up kayaking. I found an M.A. program in western NC where I enrolled in an attempt to stay somewhat on track, but I dropped out of that, too, when I realized I wasn’t ready to settle down and teach (what was I going to teach anyone?). I got a lucky break and Gannett hired me as their Editor-in-Chief for a new magazine division. I loved making magazines, and my products were successful, which kept me from getting fired every time I gave an impassioned, Dagny Taggert wannabe speech about journalistic integrity in our staff meetings. I lasted two years, and then I had to return home to Missouri to care for my father who was in the final stages of cancer. After that, I took an insane job at a law firm doing research and writing for a lawsuit against the Catholic Church for childhood sexual abuse. That job almost ruined me completely inside and out (there really is such a thing as TOO MUCH INFORMATION), so I took a year off to write a novel, which sucked, and to travel the world. Then Sarabande Books found me and brought me home. I worked for them for five awesome years. I needed poetry in my life so badly back then, and there was my family, the one I didn’t even know was waiting for me, inviting me back in. It was during that time that the Lumberyard came to life, and I will always owe them a huge debt of gratitude for the support they gave me when I’m sure they thought I was a fairly silly gal (which I was).

5. Typecast Publishing is evolving and starting to publish full-length works. Why? Feel free to pimp your first book here, as well.

Because, it may have been subconscious, but I believe that was always the end goal. And because I think it’s important to keep challenging yourself or you become cynical. Books are a whole new challenge for sure, a beast of a thing. Luckily, I have help managing this beast. A dear friend, who is now my partner in this enterprise, came to me not long ago and said we should do books together. I couldn’t think of one reason why not, and we both almost immediately agreed. I wanted to publish more than just poetry, for one. But also, I wanted to give books to authors that they couldn’t wait to show off, to use what we had learned with Lumberyardand apply the best parts of it to full-length books. Now, we don’t mess around with the insides as much in our books as we do the magazine, but we are taking innovative approaches to book making, trying to create books that pop on the shelf and in the brain. Our first book, Monkey Bars, is by poet Matthew Lippman, and this is his second collection. His first collection, The New Year of Yellow, has been a good friend to me for several years now, and when I saw what he was writing about the anxieties of today, with his unique sense of humor, wit, and compassion, I just fell deeper in love. The book is hardback, with pages that are cut flush to the cover, so it’s aerodynamic and modern. Instead of a dust jacket, it has this gorgeous letterpress band that wraps around the front and matches seamlessly with the imagery on the cover. The end pages are illustrated, and there are one or two visual surprises inside as well, but nothing to distract you from the magic of Lippman. It’s going to be fun, and we can’t wait to show people. (And if you pre-order from our website right now, you get a fat discount which is awesome.) We want to create books that fans of our authors can have a life-long relationship with. After all, those are the best books, no?

6. What kind of writing is Lumberyard looking for? What are your biggest editorial peeves?

My biggest pet peeve is when writers take advantage of our electronic open submissions policy and they have not even carefully read our guidelines, let alone the magazine. We NEVER publish these submissions, and it just ends up making the whole process difficult and overly time-consuming, which ends up taking away from writers who actually curate where they send their work. We don’t ask much, our rules are simple, and yet many, many writers don’t do the bare minimum. Then we have to shut our submissions down and no one gets to submit. It sucks. I wish people would just read directions. That’s all.

We look for writing that doesn’t read like someone is watching. We like courage, we like honest. If you give us honest, we’ll love you forever. Just please, please, please, don’t be affected in your writing (or your query letter for that matter). We’re nobody, so please don’t treat us like somebody. The work belongs to the writer, and if the writer believes in it, that will show and we will be moved as well. Funny is also always good. Poetry doesn’t laugh as much as it should, and we happen to think laughter is as valid as woe and angst. And finally, brief is a plus (under a page) although I hesitate to give that out as a guideline because if we like something enough, we look at the length as a challenge that might help us discover a new tool in our belt. The prizes in the middle of the magazine are often the result of these “misfits” that we just couldn’t turn down.

7. Other than PANK, what are some of your favorite magazines?

The Economist. I know, it ain’t literary, but news of the world is definitely poetry. I like knowing what is going on. And then, from the fine arts side, I have always loved Forklift, Ohio and I’m proud to call those guys my friends. They, too, took me in early on and I owe them a great deal. I like A Public Space because the layout makes me feel calm and happy. Oh gosh, I could go on all day, really. A professor from undergrad gifted me with some vintage kayak magazines, and that is probably my #1 favorite. They are truly amazing and so totally hip without knowing. I can only hope that people want to hang on to Lumberyardthe way those who subscribed to kayak still hold on to theirs.

8. Lumberyard collaborates with Firecracker Press, which is run by your brother. I have brothers. I call my youngest brother almost every day and tell him our mother no longer loves him. Does sibling rivalry ever get in the way of your work?

No way. I’m really, really lucky. My bro is only 15 months my senior, and although we both love the same things mostly, we come to those things from opposite directions. This is why our collaboration works so well, I think. Perhaps if we were both the same gender, were both writers or both designers, I might feel more jealousy, I don’t know. But when he succeeds, I feel greater joy than when I do something right. We’ve just always been together, and I can’t imagine having to work with anyone else in the way we work on Lumberyard. There’s a certain Vulcan mind-link that seems necessary. We get a lot of work done without having to say all that much. I feel thankful for him every day of my life.

9. What does the future hold for Lumberyard/Typecast Publishing?

I don’t like to talk about the future too much, as it seems bad juju to talk about what you’re going to do instead of what you’ve done. Ideas are cheap, and I don’t expect people to simply “trust me”––I expect to have to show my work. But, I will say that we are going to continue publishing the magazine and we have nearly two years of books already lined up, so if we keep our noses clean and stay sharp, we may just have something to show for it all down the line. I hope people will come along for the ride, as we want the Typecast family to be one of those big, rowdy families that has a character in every corner and you just can’t wait for the next time everyone gets together.

10. Lumberyard and PANK meet at a bar, have drinks, hit it off. Do they a. go to a sleazy motel and have a one night stand or b. make out in the bar but leave it at that or c. exchange phone numbers, start dating, and live happily ever after? Show your math.

Oh boy. Well this is easy. If they had met in the first year or two, hands down a sloppy, awesome one-night stand in a sleazy motel that left them both feeling sorry in the morning for giving up too much, too soon. The math plays out like this: Lumberyard looks across the room at PANK and thinks, “Hey, you look nice.” PANK notices the stare and thinks the same about Lumberyard. But Lumberyard is no fool, and is pickier than you might give it credit on first glance. It wants to find out what all that aesthetic intent is about. So it walks up to PANK and says something outrageous. PANK, as it turns out, has a sense of humor. PANK is a little OCD and cynical, but, hey, so is Lumberyard and besides, PANK is also unassuming––a huge relief for the shy, reckless young Lumberyard. Lumberyard realizes it’s had one too many, thinks to itself, “screw it,” and then…you know what happens next. But, since they’re both older and wiser now, I think they missed their window for all that. I think now they exchange numbers. They go out for a proper meal. They ride, beautifully, into the sunset holding hands. Nice…

11. A big part of Lumberyard’s work involves collaborating with visual artists. How do you find the artists you work with? What relationship do you want to create between art and writing?

My brother chooses them—as in, it’s his staff at Firecracker that contributes all the visual talent in each issue. Because I trust him, I trust his staff. I’m one of those annoying, everything is connected people. It’s all math to me, whether you’re talking plants, music, animals, painting, writing, building, X is always trying to equal Y to survive, to stay balanced. So I think that principle applies to Lumberyard as well. There is always a mythical X on the visual side, trying to balance with the mythical Y of the text. At some point, it starts to look right and you let go.

12. When you’re not doing all things Typecast Publishing and Lumberyard, how do you pass your time?

OUTSIDE! Please, just put me outdoors. Nature doesn’t try to make anything more complicated than it is, nor does it apologize, and I need that in my life constantly to keep my head on straight. I have two dogs that I adore for much the same reason. I can be insanely impatient and they could seriously give a shit about all that. They force me to breathe. They make me laugh. And the rest of my free time, my husband, who is my polar opposite thank heavens, and I usually just sit around and talk about the cosmos, or he explains short-sells, options trading, and other things I don’t understand and don’t yet know are fascinating.

13. What’s the best thing to do in Louisville that most people don’t know about?

Down the street from my house there is a donut shop that has been around forever called, simply and honestly, Donut Kastle. The ambience is what my brother and I call “sawblade art,” which is a folksy, wood-panel look that permeated much of the homes we grew up around. The magic of this place is in the morning until about eleven o’clock, when the donuts are nearly gone and the coffee starts to taste like licking a parking lot. There’s this group of old-timers that gather every day and hold a bonafide salon, arguing politics and current events for hours. All opinions are passionately welcome. You don’t find that much any more. And they love new faces. Oh, and did I mention they are the best donuts you’ll ever wish you hadn’t eaten?

14. Anything good on TV these days?

Gosh, yes, always. I wish it weren’t so. I never had cable until my late twenties and I’m still not over it. Blasted color television., I’m probably missing Dr. Oz right now.

15. What did we forget to ask?

You forgot to ask me my favorite writer or favorite book, which is just as well, because I wouldn’t have told you anyway. I answered that question once honestly, and spend way too much time still defending that answer to this day to those who were there. It doesn’t really matter what the answer is now, because I’m always hopeful the day at hand will bring me a new favorite author or favorite book. And since the mailman just came up the steps with a new stack of manila packets in his arms, I suppose it’s time to get back to just that. Here goes nothin’….