Ambitious Books Were Necessary
readings about self-publishing
“… when I was married, I had bought a mimeograph machine, and I had joined the Mimeo revolution, starting in 1960 as well as doing a little more ambitious stuff than that, and I had simply outgrown it. I loved my mimeograph machine, but there's only so much you can do with a Mimeo book. I had fun printing everything myself. I used to strip all my clothes off and and play the ride of the Valkyrie and operate my $20 mimeograph machine. And it was a joyful thing to do. I had no body shyness. I was extremely handsome, if I do say so myself. And my wife was a little disturbed sometimes when visitors would come to the loft and and so she made me a purple loin cloth. But of course, the only thing that happened then was that I wore the purple loin cloth and ground out to the ride of the Valkyrie my publications, and that was still a fun way to live. But all good things must come to an end, because when I was through with that, I only all I had was a mimeo book, and there's only so much that you can do with them. And I wanted to get the kind of material that I was doing taken very, very seriously, and that involved being able to sell it through as many retail outlets as possible, and retail outlets have never taken kindly to the Mimeo revolution. And so what can I say? So definitely, ambitious books were necessary."”
~Dick Higgins at the Options in Independent Art Publishing Conference, held at VSW in 1979
Tate Shaw: Is there anything you’ve thought since about the significance of women who have formed these institutional spaces that became the Women’s Graphic Center, or Franklin Furnace, or VSW Press … [women] putting in so much labor to make those institutional, foundational spaces functional and practical in a way for people to make work?
Joan Lyons: Well, interestingly enough, I remember it must have been in 1972 or 1973, somewhere in there, somebody sent me a catalog in the form of a set of index cards called Women in the Printing Arts, and it was from California … it was amazing because here was, and each index card had a woman’s name, and an address, and I was quite delighted to get this. And I think whatever little book I was working on at the time, I immediately sent everybody on the list a book, and I think I got some things back. That was distribution in 1973.
~from a panel discussion about the 1979 Options in Independent Art Publishing Conference with Don Russell, George Mason University, and Skúta Helgason, Joan Lyons, and Megan N. Liberty (2024)
In a 1991 interview, Daisy Aldan “refers to the tendency to call self-publishing “vanity” publishing, saying, “Yes, I believe it’s only vanity when it’s not good … poets must publish their own work! And they mustn’t be ashamed. It will find its way in the world it it’s good.” … Aldan’s notion that the quality of the work will lead to its long-term circulation and validation … echoes in other accounts. Sometimes, like in Aldan’s idea of value, this sense is optimistic and future oriented, as when Hettie Jones, who coedited Yugen (1959-1962) says, “I do think the best kinds of work will finally come to the fore,” and when Patricia Spears Jones says, “Go for excellent, that is what lasts.” Other times it is a historical truth; about poetry readings, so often tied to the business of publishing through release parties, Eileen Myles, who edited dodgems (1977-1979), says, “And later on you learned that more people heard you than you knew. There was a nice thing of not trying hard but still feeling connected.” In both these instances, through readings and some small press publications, something that is almost ephemeral accrues value, primarily at the local community level but potentially expanding across time and place, in a series of moves so minor they are often invisible. In some scenes, this value comes primarily from a participant’s continued engagement with writing scenes; in others, it comes from surprising circuits of circulation and readership. The publishers are suggesting that the fact of whether or not the publisher and writer are the same person has very little to do with the accrual of value.” ~Stephanie Anderson, in the Introduction to Women in Independent Publishing: A History of Unsung Innovators, 1953-1989
Skúta Helgason: I have always said, I will say it again, there’s only so many people in the world that will buy artist’s books … you can broaden the field because you use different mediums and go to the fairs and things … but it’s inherent that there is a limited audience relative to what’s going on at this time. Does that make sense?
Joan Lyons: But I love that though, just think, people get a tweet out there and they get 20 million responses, and we’re happy if … a hundred books, I’m a success.
(from the same OIAP panel discussion)
“I founded Tuumba Press in 1976. It was a solo venture in that I had no partner(s) or assistant(s) but it was not a private nor a solitary one; I had come to realize that poetry exists not in isolation (alone on its lonely page) but in transit, as experience, in the social worlds of people. For poetry to exist, it has to be given meaning, and for meaning to develop, there must be communities of people thinking about it. Publishing books as I did was a way of contributing to such a community-even a way of helping to invent it. Invention is essential to every aspect of a life of writing. In order to learn how to print, I invented a job for myself in the shop of a local printer … the owner of the shop … took me on three afternoons a week as the shop's cleaning lady. A year later I moved to Berkeley, and purchased an old Chandler and Price press from a newspaper ad. I knew how to run the press but not much about typesetting; friends taught me a few essentials and a number of tricks … I was using leftover paper in Willits, but in Berkeley I bought paper from a local warehouse and used the trim size that was the most economical (creating the least amount of scrap). The list of authors of the first books makes it clear that for the first year and a half I was looking to various modes of "experimental," "innovative," or "avant-garde" writing for information; the subsequent chapbooks represent a commitment to a particular community — the group of writers who came to be associated with "Language Writing." The chapbook format appealed to me for obvious practical reasons — a shorter book meant less work (and expense) than a longer one. But there were two other advantages to the chapbook. First, most of the books I published were commissioned — I invited poets to give me a manuscript by a certain date (usually six months to a year away) — and I didn't want to make the invitation a burden. And second, I wanted Tuumba books to come to people in the mode of "news" — in this sense, rather than "chapbook" perhaps one should say "pamphlet." It is for this reason, by the way, that I didn't handsew the books; they were all stapled — a transgression in the world of fine printing but highly practical in the world of pamphleteering.” ~Lyn Hejinian - https://fromasecretlocation.com/tuumba-press/