It’s never really cut and dry, is it, the sets of rules associated with publishing. I say this now, having read Claire Light’s post on women and people of color writers, and whether they submit to publications as much as majority populations do.
I don’t want to speculate on how the submissions of women and people of color fare in slushpiles; I have discussed this before, whether or not there are expectations for what and how we write about ourselves, our cultures, etc., and whether these expectations come into play as editorial interns sift through mountains of written work. Many emerging writers ask me how to go about getting published, how to get work into the world. I don’t know how to answer these questions anymore. I realize my answers are always changing. I realize there’s never really “the right” answer.
I believe in and respect DIY, yet I constantly dissuade Filipino and Asian American poets from going this route, given our history of literary marginalization in this country’s industry (the caveat here: these two extremes of marginalization and mainstreaming depend on how we write our stories, in what languages, and to whom we direct our stories. See previous paragraph). I believe in ethnic venues. I believe in venues based on different literary traditions, aesthetics, gender, cultural, and political positions.
So then, I believe in having multiple publishing venues. I’ve blogged for the Poetry Foundation, Hyphen magazine, PAWA Inc., and myself. I’ve had chapbooks published online and with one-woman indie presses on opposite sides of the country. I’ve had books published with a specifically Filipino American, SOMA San Francisco based indie press; a Hawaii-based, innovative Pacific poetries-focused indie press; now I will be published by an indie press with a much wider reach than I’ve ever thought possible for myself.
So then, it depends on audience — who we want and perceive as our current audience, and who we envision as our growing audience, assuming that we envision a growing audience. Many writers of color are perfectly content with the audiences they currently have, and I can’t hate on this simply because my idea of audience doesn’t agree. I don’t believe we must limit ourselves to only one audience; yesterday, I was telling Anthem Salgado that I feel like I’m constantly resetting my focus, redirecting to whom I am speaking. Sometimes I feel crazy disjunctive, but most times like the challenge, and the practice I am getting discussing my poetry in multiple ways. How can this be a bad thing, this stretching?
I am writing this now because I am having trouble giving advice these days. I can’t assume things about others’ ideas of audience and community, and I can’t judge others’ ambitions. I just know that for myself, I enjoy having audiences who are Bay Area Filipino Americans, Asian Americans, folks of color, avid readers of poetry who are multicultural, monolingual and multilingual, who are students in Ethnic Studies, English Literature, Creative Writing in so many different parts of the country.
I guess that’s the advice I ought to be giving then; who do you want to be reading/accessing your work? That’s where you should be taking your work.
I was in a writing group back in college (where I was the only womyn writer of color). I felt a huge disconnect when I read my poetry to predominantly white students. I felt that they were either exoticizing me when they praised me or thought I wasn’t writing what they’re used to (the familiar Asian stories, as in East Asian imagery, immigration, etc). At first I tried hard to fit in with the Velvet Revolution (which was mostly a white audience while I was at SF State) and even diluted some work in hopes of getting into 14 Hills and Transfer.
This post reminds me of all those attempts to be noticed in a place that wants me invisible, that later turned into publishing attempts to be accepted.
I have no idea how to get published. Now, I just know that it feels good when I expand myself, “stretch”, learn from others, and share stories with journals that I truly connect with, even if I don’t get published.
Hi Niki, Thanks for your comment. I also don’t think I fit in with the VelRo, 14 Hills and Transfer folks when I was at SFSU. And that ended up being OK because I had community elsewhere. Out of curiosity, how diverse (or not) was the undergrad CW major?
(I’d recently responded to Craig Santos Perez’s Poetry Foundation post on multilingual poets in monolingual workshop settings that I don’t feel like I was “objectified” so much as the conversations about approaching my multilingual work were often more telling than conversations about the work itself, and now I don’t know whether my writing in progress was fulfilling expectations of what Pin@y poetry was supposed to be like/about.)
Anyway, I’ve been coming to understand that publishing venues generally depend on who the editors are, what they read, what are their preferences. There are journals to which I don’t think I’d prioritize submitting my work, regardless of how “prestigious” they are perceived to be. I think in publishing, we begin where we think our work would fit, and that over time, those places where our work fits enlarge, as our work continues growing too, as we get to know who the editors are who want to forward community, who want to encourage emerging writers of color, etc.
I say these things not trying to “diss” or discourage ambition in publishing, but rather to think about how we can be strategic in publishing.
(I may blog more about this soon…) Thanks again for commenting.