December 7, 2023

EXIT INTERVIEW #2, Part 2

Mila and Amanda

The following is Part 2 of 2 of EXIT INTERVIEW #2.

To catch up, read Part 1:

AM: I probably have way too much to say here, like a book-length work about art and capitalism and social media and fascism and cancel culture. Here is what I will try to say succinctly: in a world that doesn’t value art or artists, resources are limited, whether that’s money, teaching jobs, residencies, etc. The vulnerable nature of art-making, for me, is something that draws us together. I fell in love with people through their work (I mean this literally and figuratively). So there is this deep feeling of community and belonging–but you’re also competing with all of these people to survive, or to become one of the lucky ones to make a living/life out of making your art. Authenticity is something I value almost above anything else, in myself and in people I choose to share my life with. But it was hard to know when someone was asking for me to submit work because they liked my work or because they knew I ran a journal or a press and assumed I would repay the favor. Of course, this happens everywhere in every field, but it made me feel horrible. In addition, also as in every field, people with money and power are still the ones succeeding. For example, one of the biggest issues probably still facing the writing community now is the belief that we should fairly compensate writers for their work but very few people have the means to do that, especially if they aren’t University-affiliated (and that is its own can of worms). Online literary magazines aren’t always as respected, but they also don’t always have the funds, so they would charge submission fees. I saw this as a form of mutual aid and didn’t have a problem with it. As someone who came from a blue-collar family with no money, and had a shitty MFA experience, and entered into publishing in my late twenties/early thirties (AN ABSOLUTE DINOSAUR), it would have been nearly impossible for me to create a magazine and press that adequately paid writers, etc. I was lucky to be able to join something already in progress. But people with money and privilege would start the same caliber magazines but because they could immediately pay or create print journals or have a famous contest judge the first time out of the gate, us smaller magazines would get criticized for not paying writers. Meanwhile, the people running those places never wanted to talk about money and how they were able to do it, and lots of them were straight white men with good jobs or dual income marriages. And not primary caretakers of children. Which, I know, is no surprise in a patriarchal society. But I was once criticized very publicly on Twitter for complaining about people not being careful and taking their time with submissions—people complained I had disdain for writers, that they paid submission fees so should be able to send whatever and that I shouldn’t talk openly about submissions. For the record, no names were mentioned, and I was referring to work that wasn’t even given a second glance by writers, rife with typos, nothing we would ever publish at the magazine or press, and often, these people were following up two, three, four times about when their submission would be read. What about the readers and editors doing hours and hours of unpaid labor? Most of them also being writers, sacrificing their own writing time and energy for the greater good of building community and helping to usher lesser known writers’ work out into the world. I don’t miss the drama, and I don’t miss the inauthenticity, and I really don’t miss the complacency. I hope it’s gotten better, but I have my doubts if it’s at all reflective of what’s going on in the larger world. But maybe it’s a tipping point? I think it’s time we all unionized, honestly. That’s when actual community might be forged. Until then, it’s me at my desk, sharing Google docs with a few dear friends whose work I admire. And I’ve made my peace with that.

MJ: It’s always the ones who submit careless writing that have the most to say about how it’s received, right? It’s really hard. I mean, art is mostly a labor of love. I feel like you have to know that going in, and take that leap of faith anyway. There are no guarantees in this world, only what you’re willing to risk. You have to know your own stakes. 

I personally feel that if a magazine charges submission fees, they should pay the writers they publish. If they don’t charge submission fees and they don’t pay writers, I think that’s fine. It’s your choice where to submit. It’s also fine to pay your dues. Making $100 off a single piece probably won’t change your life that much, but getting a piece out there for free that results in a life changing connection absolutely can (like me, for example, meeting you!) 

AM: Hypothetically, I agree with this: here is where it is problematic for me. Even a basic literary magazine has operating costs, and at least one person (an editor or curator) doing work to make it happen. Likely many more people behind the scenes. There is a still a minimum buy-in, and there are times in my life where I could barely afford some months to pay for my own webhost, and I know, more and more, as our economy is fucking tanking (but shoutout to all of these workers rising up, I am EXCITED), people really are living paycheck to paycheck. So people who are working hard to make ends meet in whatever way, with no safety net, would be prohibited from starting magazines, meaning only people with money and privilege would be in those positions. I know this is how the world works, but I don’t want to be complacent about it, and I have always felt that artists had almost a calling or responsibility to be countercultural (at least the best ones). I also understand everyone needs money to live in capitalism. 

MJ: I totally get that! I guess it sort of depends on what you can do, what your non-negotiables are, and how non-traditional you’re willing to get. For me and anyone who has a Substack-based publication, we got lucky in that we don’t have to pay for hosting, but of course Substack is on the newer side. 

When I started Black Lipstick, one of my non-negotiables was paying writers. $150 for an essay, $100 for a review or interview. It’s not a ton of money, by any means, but it’s more about the gesture. Several writers have reached out and said Black Lipstick was their first paid assignment, and I remember my first paid assignment—the validation of the dollar sign when you’re young and new makes a world of difference. It’s solidifying. I’ve also recently heard that Black Lipstick pays more than LARB and I’m so into that.

But on the flipside, I also have months where I can’t publish anything because I can’t afford it! I had a crisis of faith this past summer when I quit my salaried job in favor of a creative path with more unstable income, and I briefly considered reducing my rates. Then I came to my senses. I’m in charge here, and if I’m not 100% behind a piece to the point of sacrificing the water bill, I don’t have to take it. If I’m feeling flush that month, I can be more liberal. But I also have single-editor privilege! There is no masthead at Black Lipstick. I can do whatever I want, and that also ensures a long life for the magazine. It will change and evolve right along with me. 

AM: I love this attitude, and I think you’re doing things right. And I am so proud of you too.

MJ: That means a lot to me! Will I get to help push your novel out into the world someday?

AM: PLEASE START A VANITY PRESS AND I WILL SEND IT TO YOU TOMORROW. Just kidding. Maybe. I do hope you can midwife this thing that I am working on out into the world whenever it’s ready. You have been one of my most incisive editors and biggest cheerleaders. And I’m enjoying the writing, the process. TANGENT: I was diagnosed with ADHD at 40 and started taking Adderall. I think I would have been a totally different writer if I had been diagnosed earlier, with a totally different career. I don’t have regrets, and I can see how my path would have always led to where I am, but I do find myself wondering, often, if I would have already published a book by now if I’d been able to focus more for longer stretches of time. That is not an excuse, but Adderall for me has been a fucking miracle so I can’t help but wonder. I feel like I would have been a better writer, editor, mother, partner, friend in a lot of ways. It’s something I’m grieving, but something I’m trying to make up for now, as this…new monster.

MJ: Okay this is funny because…I was also diagnosed with ADHD, and I’m finally doing something about it. I had a similar thought, when I worked as a technical editor in medical oncology. I had all these MD/PhDs writing papers and doing research and seeing patients and getting MBAs on the side and somehow not losing their minds, and I thought, How? How can they do all this? The level of organization and having-your-shit-togetherness I was witnessing seemed superhuman. It’s not intelligence, it’s something else, a special sauce. I wonder, sometimes, what I could have accomplished if my brain hadn’t been leaking like a sieve for 30 years. 

But I think I have the variety of ADHD that comes with obsessive hyperfocus, to which I credit my ability to write books. My husband was at home with me one day just watching me exist and literally said, You have zero attention span. I have no idea how you write. It’s chaos, but possibly a gift! If it ruined my ability to write, I would have been in that psychiatrist’s office on day one. That was always my gauge—can I work? If yes, then I’m fine.

But it’s amazing how giving yourself a power-up can turn things around. Life doesn’t have to be total war all the time. And I used to be so against mental health treatment. I thought it would flatten me somehow, dim my creativity. It’s taken me like two decades to finally entertain an antidepressant. I have something coded as “major depressive disorder” and I recently came around to the idea that it’s okay to get help for that. I started taking Wellbutrin last winter and I can’t even tell you the difference it has made. I’m not like, euphoric, I definitely experience emotions, but I can go a day without crying now. I don’t feel like I’m on the edge of a black hole 24/7. Listen, I’m a huge fan of pharmaceuticals. You have to use all available resources and do whatever works to keep your head above water. There’s no prize for suffering.

AM: I need a tee shirt with THERE’S NO PRIZE FOR SUFFERING on it. I was on generic Prozac for a long while, but it messed up my sleep so much that I didn’t even feel like benefits were outweighing that side effect, and trauma therapy has been more impactful than any medication for me. I am not sure it affected my creative side either way. Adderall hasn’t made me more creative, but it’s given me focus to finish things and to keep my ass in the chair for much longer stints of time. I never had the hyperfocus, but I had the starting a million things all over the place (especially hobbies and pieces of writing and house projects). It feels good to finish things. One of my other things I am working on is keeping promises to myself, and that is definitely one of them. Not giving up and not self sabotaging at the first sign of doubt or frustration or difficulty.

MJ: So true. I feel like when things are difficult or frustrating, it’s the universe doing a vibe check, asking me how serious I am. There’s something to be said for being forged in the fire. People say that if something is easy, it’s probably not worth it. When it comes to art, I believe that. Art is extractive. It takes something from you, something vital. When you encounter living, breathing work, you know. 

This concludes EXIT INTERVIEW #2. If you have an idea for an EXIT INTERVIEW, stay tuned for a call for submissions in Spring 2024.