To compile the articles and essays for Paper Dreams, you had to knock on some doors and speak to famous authors, editors, and in some cases, their families. What was this experience like?

It was awesome, as I was able to share my passion for these publications with my writing and editing heroes—it gave me a reason to bug them, to tug at their ears. And what was most rewarding was how necessary everyone thought the project was, how excited they seemed about the possibility that a book celebrating the history of the American literary magazine would get made. Charles Newman and company had made a similar book back in 1978 and it’s still a great book, but it didn’t cover that much ground and, as everyone knows, a lot has changed for literary publishing in the past 35 years.

Why do you think that these conversations on the topic of the American literary magazine need to be compiled now? How would you describe the current state of the American literary magazine?

The impetus for the book came from my experiences in college and graduate school—in the writing community in general—where a ton of us wanted to be published in these magazines and read these magazines, but we didn’t know a whole hell of a lot about where they came from, what publishing demands they were reacting to, or why, culturally, they were so important. The research for the book was to combat my own ignorance regarding the matter. And I think the information in it will feel important and exciting to anyone interested in literature and magazines, as a reader, writer, scholar or editor.

 The research for the book was to combat my own ignorance regarding the matter.

There has been a lot of commentary in the recent decade that literary magazines are in a renaissance, and I completely agree. Things like the indie-ization of literature, creative writing programs, the expansion of the AWP conference, the internet, on-demand publishing and so forth have greatly increased the reach and demand of literary magazines. They are everywhere today in a way unprecedented in their history. This isn’t always a good thing, I suppose (Roxane Gay and Benjamin Samuel both write about this in the book), but that’s how things are right now, and there is no sign at the moment—aside from academic institutions changing their relationships with many prominent magazines—that things will be changing soon.

What are a few of the reoccurring arguments or conversations you noticed while researching for the book? Are there certain topics that authors and editors seem to be obsessed with? Are there any from which they seem to shy away?

In the 50^th anniversary issue of The Paris Review a bunch of literary magazine editors are interviewed. They all have elaborate answers to the questions, except for Grand Street founding editor Ben Sonnenberg, who has these really short, to the point answers. Like just five or ten words each. I imagine he just couldn’t be bothered for the interview or someone pissed him off or something—I don’t know—but his answers distill the three things that all literary magazines seem constantly interested in: publishing the new, getting readers, and staying afloat. And so the writers in the book tend to talk about these things a lot, whether they are critics, readers or editors themselves. How do we find good writing? How do we get it to people now and in the future? How do we keep publishing [works of literature] or why should we stop?

I don’t know that anyone shied away from any topics, at least not that I can think of right now, but I think there is certainly more to be said about structures of power within the publishing landscape, both in terms of economics (corporations, access) and representation (race, gender, culture). I’d like to read/learn more about this personally. Thankfully people such as the VIDA group are getting the word out about these issues. They deserve more attention. We need the Foucault(s) and Butler(s) of literary publishing to step up.

In your introduction to Paper Dreams, you mention that it is hard to say where and when the literary magazine was born. The book covers the history of the American literary magazine, but begins with its pre-origins. How did you decide where to start?

I just landed where I did through where my research led me. It was tough—there’s not a lot of literary magazine history out there. (Though Oxford University Press has just put out three massive and essential academic books on the subject.) In the end I followed Lewis Simpson’s lead—as mentioned in the introduction—and couldn’t find a more persuasive case for an origin point.

 [W]e have these magazines, we read and write them, because they create an imagined community of letters…

What space do you think literary journals fill in our society? Do they advance us in some way that books or anthologies cannot?

That’s a huge question, obviously, and the entire answer is the point of putting together Paper Dreams itself, getting at that answer by bringing together the history of all those reasons people make arguments for making and reading and writing literary magazines. There are just a lot of answers, which makes these magazine sort of rhizomatic, sort of connecting all over the place to readers and writers and teachers and agents and editors and and and and and, etc. My favorite answer has always been that we have these magazines, we read and write them, because they create an imagined community of letters, something like a literary salon combined with a bookstore all at once. A place for literature, both physical (in your hands or on the screen) and virtual (the reader imagining all the people/ideas/history behind the magazine, all the other readers, all the connections, etc). Or as G.C. Waldrep says in the book—channeling Margaret Anderson—“literary magazines and journals have always represented, to me, the best sort of extracurricular conversation.”

Was there a certain heyday for the literary magazine, or do you think that their popularity has grown linearly?

The Modernist period was the first huge heyday for literary magazines; this was a time when they were written about in major media and affected the shape and direction of American letters. The prominence and history of these Modernist magazines have been written about thoroughly, particularly in these three must-check-out books:

• Mark Morrison’s The Public Face of Modernism
• Robert Scholes’s Modernism in the Magazines 
• and Jayne Marek’s Women Editing Modernism (excerpted in Paper Dreams)

What do you consider to be the greatest challenge or obstacle facing the American literary magazine today?

One of the greatest challenges today is connecting to readers buried beneath more text and narrative then ever before in human history. There is just so much data now, so much language and narrative. How do you get the writing/art across, get it heard, seen in the avalanche of information, when every tweet, news flash and side boob (thx HuffPost) seem to be vying so hard for our attention?

What are some of your favorite literary magazines and why?

In the introduction I write about how The Paris Review was the first literary magazine I ever read, the one that sent me down this rabbit hole and so that in many ways led me to Paper Dreams, not to mention to my career as a literature and writing professor. So that publication has always held a special place in my heart. And I’m sure I’m not alone here.

How do you want readers to use this book? Is it meant more as a casual read, or is it a call for involvement in and support of literary magazines?

All of the above and more. I would read it for pleasure, but maybe I am a strange bird. Personally, I’m very excited to have it as a reference, to have all these great editors and writers on the subject now between two covers. It’s just fantastic—really, I’m excited this book is around. These writers in here are brilliant. I was just lucky that they let me bring them together. (And Atticus did a fantastic job!)

I’ve heard from lots of folks that they hope to use it in a publishing or literary magazine classroom; that would be really exciting. I’m using it in my own class on literary magazine history and production this fall; I’m looking forward to it and I hope the students enjoy.

#73  TRIXIE

Mary Ann “Annie” Lankowski

Editorial Assistant

Knopf Publishing

New York, New York

Dear Annie,

I’m back at last, courtesy of my friends at The Zeppelin Society. My second stay at Headquarters was brief. I worked out a deal with Hans and Vik, a plan that would raise public awareness of zeppelins, and I guess it worked. It made the papers, anyway, as you saw. That was enough for Hans and Vik, and they released me and offered me a ride anywhere I liked.

On a whim, I asked them to drop me at my old house, the one where I’d been renting a room in the attic.

After hugs from Hans and Vik, I walked up the gravel drive, my nerves abuzz. The landlady must have been watching out the window. She swung the door open, stepped out and gave me a hug. She cried. I admit I got a little teary, too. Then she apologized for kicking me out and offered me my old room back. But no heat, she said, until I start paying the rent again.

So here I am.

I’ve missed you, Annie, and I’m glad to be in a place where I can write to you more often, without people looking over my shoulder or shooing me away when my time is up. The room is just as I’d left it. Computer, books, notes, all my personals. If anything, my landlady straightened up a bit.

It feels good to settle into my old writing space. I have a room of my own, and even if it gets chilly at night, it’s as comfortable as I have a right to expect. I have a little window where I can look out on the roofs and treetops of the neighborhood. Birds and squirrels are my only visitors. I open the window and feed them seeds when they come begging. The neighbors, if they see me at all, must think I’m a crazy nephew locked up for the public good. That suits me fine.

I’m back to work on my book, too, and the ideas are coming fast. I’m leaning away from tomatoes now. Michael Jackson, too. Yet Easter Island still lingers. I’ll use the setting somehow. My novel will be about love. I keep coming back to that. The love of people and books and moais. The interconnectedness of these things. The dancing foxes are still there, and still sporting their mirrored sunglasses, but now the image is much sharper. I can zoom in and see my reflection in their lenses, and the world behind me, the way the ground, the air, the laws of physics all must exist in their proper order just for me to stand there and view my own reflection, and I’m immensely grateful for all of it. The novel will be about this, too, and also about the world’s mysteries, all the unknowables that renew our affections daily. It will be about all these things and more. It will be about everything I can think of.

I’ve got what I need to write. Time and space. My desk. My computer. My whirring thoughts. And my one companion, a little dog that my landlady took care of while I had my adventure. She’s a hyper little toy poodle named Trixie that only calms down when I type. I borrowed her a few years back from someone you know. Guess I’ll keep her a little longer.

Yours,

John Henry Fleming

#72  ON A MACRO LEVEL, I CARE

Dear John Henry Fleming,

I’m writing this final email to forestall you from contacting me about your book.

Don’t do it.

I need to get my life back. I have my life back, and I want to keep it. I have my job back. My freedom. I kicked Seamus to the curb, and when he came back begging, I kicked him there again.

You’ve already explained in great detail how you’re writing a book, or planning to. I understand that. And I understand you want me to care about it and help you. I do care. On a macro level, I care. But I can no longer afford to think on a macro level. I have other things right here in front of me, and if I don’t attend to them, they can be taken away. That’s my lesson from the weeks in jail.

Plus, I have actual manuscripts to consider. They appear on my desk. Before me now is one written by a library writing group calling themselves the Grandmoirs  I haven’t read one word and I already know I’m going to publish it. If it’s bad, we can hire someone to make it good. The draw of a septuagenarian writing group hitting it big is too promising to pass up. Imagine them on the Today show. Imagine them on Oprah. I’ll write the damn thing myself if I have to.

That’s the state of things.

As for me, I can’t think of the past anymore, and I can’t use you to do it. I wish I knew who you were, but it’s better I don’t. I invite you now to retreat into the past that I will from now on seriously avoid thinking about, and I hope you have a happy life there. I admire you for living in a different world. I admire your faith and your endless optimism, which I hope for your sake is not also a bottomless pit. In any case, I’m blocking your email address.

All my best to you, John Henry Fleming. May you someday have what you want.

Sincerely,

Roberta Hollymore
Senior Editor
Knopf

#71 LOVE IS A RED TOMATO

Dear Mr. Fleming,

I hope this finds you well.

Good news! The restored Mrs. Shill (that’s right, we re-tied the knot, tighter this time!) and I have landed a contract for our tomato recipe book! The book will be published by Dirt Visions, the new spirituality and organic cooking imprint of Simon & Schuster. We expanded the book’s scope to tell the story of our rekindled romance. We’re calling it Love is a Red Tomato: The Illustrated Guide to Romance, Sexuality, and Cooking after 60.

Mature romance and organic cooking are hot sellers these days, and Love is a Red Tomato delivers this double whammy like nobody’s business. Sir, this book is hot, hot, hot—even when the recipe calls for an hour of fridge time. (Because what can a pair of lovebirds do during an hour of fridge time? Cue the soft-focus illustrations, my friend!)

And with our six-figure advance, we can finally remodel the apartment, starting with the new kitchen/bedroom. Who wants to haul the old bones out of bed just to turn off the oven? Problem solved. And why separate the basic human needs of food and sexuality? Okay, some point to hygiene issues. We’ve solved that problem, too, with a new line of luxury disposable kitchen mitts we call Condomitts. “Add zest with Condomitts!”

The book is only the first in a series. We’re considering squash next. Then beets. They say the market’s saturated with potato books, but Mrs. Shill and I have some fresh ideas that will shake up the industry. We’re suddenly on the cutting edge of the mature erotic cooking field. Pun as you will!

I’d be remiss if I didn’t speak of the downside to this. Sorry to say, I can no longer serve as your humble and admiring agent, the champion of your work. The truth is, I no longer have time for agenting, and I’m giving it up altogether. It hasn’t made me a decent living in twenty years. Still, I thank you for giving me hope again, and I owe you some gratitude, too, for the role you played in bringing me and Mrs. Shill back together. We’ll think of you sometimes as we cook in our new bed.

I still believe in you, and I hereby make it my final act as a professional agent to opine that your book is a surefire winner, especially after Love is a Red Tomato raises public awareness about the virtues of organic tomato farming. And when you throw Michael Jackson into the mix? What could be better?

Wishing you the best in life and writing.

Yours,

Martin Shill
Author and Husband

Literary magazines are like a good party host. They connect people–readers to new authors and authors to new readers. They give us a taste and leave it up to us to ask for a number or try and hit it off.

In August, we publish Paper Dreams: Writers and Editors on the American Literary Magazine, but before we make history, it is only polite to introduce you to the literary magazines that impress us the most, publications that have turned us into better writers and voracious readers.

Nathan Leslie, author of The Tall Tale of Tommy Twice, shares a list of literary magazines to party with.

Fiction International

Run out of San Diego University, Fiction International publishes fiction, nonfiction, intermediate prose, and visual art emphasizing formal innovation and progressive politics.

Nathan: “I like the edgy work.”

Scribble

A print magazine from Baltimore, Scribble was born in 1997 as a grad school project. Since then it’s published poetry, fiction, and creative non-ficiton, from all over the world. Check out their sleek black and white, sideways layout.

Nathan: “Great magazine.  Really supportive of local authors such as yours truly.”

Boulevard Magazine

Nathan: “One of the best magazines out there.  I’m honored that they published me a few times.”

Out of St. Louis University, Boulevard has been around for 28 years and publishes fiction, poetry, and nonfiction. You can read excerpts for free on their site here.

North American Review

Nathan: “Ditto.”

The oldest literary magazine in the country, The North American Review is published four times a year with poetry, fiction, and non-fiction.

#70 MINI-ZEPPELIN FAILS IN BOTCHED ESCAPE ATTEMPT?

Dear John Henry,

I almost never read the news because I don’t like to be reminded that anything is happening. Today was different. Someone left a Post on a bench in the 33rd floor elevator lobby, and I had to check for news about you. A shootout involving elderly memoir writers? I wasn’t sure what to look for. Here’s what I found instead:

MINI-ZEPPELIN FAILS IN BOTCHED ESCAPE ATTEMPT?

The Brooklyn detention center received an unexpected visitor from the sky—and no one knew what to do.

At 12:30 p.m., female inmates were milling in the exercise yard when a low-flying black shape appeared over the wall. One guard thought it was an inflatable novelty football. Another asked for permission to shoot at it.

Turns out that wasn’t necessary. As the small, motorized dirigible hovered over the yard, the onlookers were astonished to see a trap door open in the gondola and a rope ladder tumble out.

“Now I really wanted to shoot it,” said one guard. “This was obviously an escape attempt, I don’t know if by aliens or what.”

The inmates were not ordered back inside, and the warden is not saying if regulations were followed. It’s also not clear if the unidentified craft had enough lift to carry away an adult female.

Before the ladder reached the ground, whoever was piloting the zeppelin—human or alien—lost control. The craft bobbed and spun and eventually crashed into the wall. In a scene reminiscent of the Hindenburg disaster, the zeppelin burst into flames and crinkled itself over the high wall.

As of late afternoon, the metal skeleton still lay there like a broken slinky.

No one was injured. The warden has refused to comment on the zeppelin or on the breach of security until an investigation is complete.

I’m not going to call with information, but I have to think The Zeppelin Society was involved. Have you been in contact with them?

I also have to think that the ladder was meant for Ms. Hollymore, and you’re the only one who could have told them about her, right?

So are you back at the Zeppelin Society Headquarters? Please, please, please, let me know!

Also, the escape attempt wouldn’t have worked anyway because Ms. Hollymore’s been released. She’s getting her job back, too. That’s right, the board already met, and I’m being demoted from Interim Senior Editor to Editorial Assistant. I guess it will be good to have something to do again. Those long walks in the park and around the building have been losing their effect, like I was in a movie that should have ended an hour ago. Like, Ah, how do I get out of this endless montage!

Ms. Hollymore’s coming back tomorrow. That should be interesting…

I hope you’re okay. Please let me know. I miss your emails. I miss you.

Sincerely,
Annie Lankowski
(For the Last Time) Interim Senior Editor

Allow us the guilt-free pleasure of leading you to publications that have turned us into better writers and voracious readers.

Steven Gillis, author of The Law of Strings, shares a couple of the lit mags he loves to read, both print and e-only publications.

The Collagist

Edited by Matt Bell, The Collagist is a monthly online journal founded by Dzanc Books. Along with publishing great literature, it also has an active blog with tons of great interviews with new authors.

Steve: The Collagist is the online journal of Dzanc and has everything I love in a journal–great, amazing works of fiction, the best book reviews (not just a short blurb, but full literary criticism), novel excerpts, and poetry.

Absinthe: New European Writing

Now on its 18th issue, Absinthe is a print magazine that publishes prose, poetry, essays, interviews, book reviews, art, author photos, and more from contemporary European writers. It is published biannually and edited by Dwayne Hayes.

Steve: Absinthe is a journal devoted to the best in European writing and I have always been a fan of the European sensibility which understands irony much better than Americans. I have long been a friend of Dwayne and respect much of his vision and devotion to bringing the best of European literary writing to America.

#69 CONTINUATION OF THE NARRATIVE OF THE RECENT CODE GREEN EVENTS, AFTER THE VOTE FOR THE PREVIOUS SECRETARY WAS NULLIFIED DUE TO A LACK OF QUORUM, THUS RESTORING THE ORIGINAL SECRETARY TO HIS OFFICE

TO: Grandmoirs Distribution List #7

FROM: Harry Ellicott, Restored Secretary

SUBJECT: Continuation of the Narrative of the Recent Code Green Events, after the Vote for the Previous Secretary was Nullified Due to a Lack of Quorum, Thus Restoring the Original Secretary to His Office

Resuming Moment of High Drama: “Because your father didn’t write it,” Probationary Member Fleming stated to the lighter-wielding thin man.

Thin Man stares. Margene faints. Bill catches her. Someone won’t admit to screaming.

Dramatic silence. Possible inclusion of traffic noises and sneezing from the allergy-afflicted. A dusty environment. Weaknesses of the body do get in the way. Lesson taken from my submarining memoir.

Nevertheless, the two leather-pants Germans appear confused.

“What do you mean, liar?” asks Thin Man.

“That book in your hands was written by your mother,” Fleming says. “She wrote it, and she’s alive.”

Telling detail: A bubble of spit expands on Thin Man’s lip. Eyes of a crazy man. He’s still got the lighter in one hand and the book in the other. Some of us are thinking that the flame will soon burn itself out and leave him defenseless. Do we wait it out or attack in his moment of weakness?

We wait.

The book is called The Devil’s Good Graces. None of us have read it. Ellen thinks she read a review years ago, but that’s the line she uses whenever someone mentions a book, even a new one.

“Don’t talk about my mother!” Thin Man screams. “Don’t!”

“I sat in her car,” Fleming says. “I had lunch with her. Until that day, she worked at the library telling stories to kids.”

“Liar!” He jabs the flame at Fleming’s face. More unclaimed screams. A motorcycle helmet is kicked.

“I heard her read from The Devil’s Good Graces,” Fleming continues. “Actually, she didn’t read from it—she had it memorized. Do you know why? Because she wrote it. That was her big secret. Your father didn’t write the book. She did.”

Fleming describes a passage from the book. Something vague and poetic like a mountain stream. Not to my taste—I like water only to the extent that you can put a sub in it. After that, the water is your enemy. It wants in.

A flicker of recognition crosses Thin Man’s face. He doesn’t see how close the flame is to the book. Fleming goes on to describe a silk bookmark, cream-colored, and Thin Man seems to remember it from long ago. He lets out an anguished scream that rouses Margene only until she realizes what’s happening and faints again.

Now the book is on fire. It’s old and dry and flares up like tinder. The Thin Man drops it, still yelling, stooped over and boxing his own ears. The lighter flame flickers out as the book crackles and blackens.

The German steps in. “Stand back, everyone!” He moves three of us with one thick arm and shoves aside Thin Man, whose wails continue uninterrupted as he falls to the floor.

The rest of us cower in stunned silence, the book a full-throated symbol of something or other.

German man unzips his leather pants. More screams. Coughs in the background. Margene faints harder. No one is taking notes. The flames are doused by a German stream.

Smoke rises. Scent of urine. An ashy yellow puddle creeps toward us. We slide our feet back and help Bill carry Margene to safety.

We are distracted. Thin Man is still wailing. We want to get far away from the creeping urine, and we move toward the back door and the sufferers whose noses evidently did not respond to Margene’s alleged Claritin.

When the front door bangs, we turn around.

The Germans are gone. And with them, Fleming.

“Gutsy and gritty, these raw-boned stories introduce readers to a brave and excellent writer in Matt Mullins…Mullins, in a fresh and unforgettable voice and writing style, has reached across the human condition, exposing the sinew that holds us together, even while it hopelessly, inevitably shreds.

Despite what’s gone wrong with the peoples’ lives in this collection, it flares with an uncommon energy and wit. Midwesterners—and, especially, Michiganders—will recognize the physical landscape.” – ForeWord Reviews

ForeWord’s Book of the Year Awards program highlights the year’s most distinguished books from more than 700 independent publishers. Librarians and booksellers who are on the front lines, working everyday with patrons and customers, select the finalists and award winners from 1,300 entries in 62 categories.

ForeWord Reviews, a quarterly print journal established in 1998, is dedicated to exclusively reviewing independently published books to provide booksellers, librarians, agents, and publishing professionals with reviews of the best titles from small, alternative, and academic presses.

“These books are examples of independent publishing at its finest,” says Dan Cafaro, founder and publisher of Atticus Books. “We’re delighted to have Matt [Mullins] recognized for his outstanding debut. His work deserves the accolades.”

OF VIOLENCE AND LOVE

Fondly, two novellas by Colin Winnette

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:
March 6, 2013

MADISON, NJ — It seems that Colin Winnette may be the world’s most productive houseguest. When he stays a while with friends or family, he writes a book. Both of the novellas in Fondly (Atticus Books, $14.95, August 6, 2013) were written on trips away from home.

Gainesville was written to Fleetwood Mac’s song, “Honey Hi,” played on repeat 498 times while Colin visited his father one summer. It is a darkly whimsical tale of a Texas family bloodline from cradle to grave and back again. Entire lives span a small number of pages, and as each character grows they move in and out of the same confusing struggle between violence and love that troubled their ancestors.

As Colin puts it, “Both books deal with love, but love is a difficult thing to pin down. It means different things at different points in the books. It is a slippery feeling, however strong.”

In One Story, The Two Sisters was written while Colin visited a friend in Vermont. It recasts two characters into new worlds and surrealistic circumstances over and over again. In one story, one sister is blind and the other is in a wheelchair. Then they become two olives in a martini. Then they are transoceanic swimmers and mermaids and nuns. Then they have children. Then they share wings. Like the family in Gainesville, the sisters of In One Story regenerate and begin again.

An exploding head on the cover complements what Colin says about the book, “There is a lot about the creative impulse, what it means to make, to unmake.” In both novellas, characters are taken apart and reconfigured, wound and released to new settings. They murder, cry, beat, and deceive the ones they care for, but they also get second chances, either through their children or a new version of themselves. Illustrated by artist Scott Teplin, the drawings and the language of Fondly push far beyond conventional storytelling to depict family and love as they are rarely seen: utterly raw, mystical, and wholly dysfunctional.

Fondly arrives in bookstores August 6, 2013.

                            ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Colin Winnette is the author of two other books, Revelation, a novel available from Mutable Sound, and Animal Collection, a collection of short stories available from Spork Press. He was the recipient of the 2012 Sonora Review’s Short Fiction Award, and his writing has appeared or is forthcoming in American Short Fiction, The Believer, and Hobart, among others. Colin lives in San Francisco.

PAST PRAISE FOR PREVIOUS WORKS OF COLIN WINNETTE

For Revelation

In Revelation, Colin Winnette sets fire to the world, and in the aftermath, characters wander through smoke, struck dumb by devastation. A forceful book—stripped down, cool and painful—about the absolute peril of desire.

—BEN MARCUS, author of The Flame Alphabet and Notable American Women

Keep your eye on this Colin Winnette. He’s a gifted stylist, and quite often a funny one.

—ADAM LEVIN, author of Hot Pink and The Instructions

For Animal Collection

What I loved about this story was its swift blunt movement—how one paragraph would move to the next without much transition and great bits of info would get revealed along the way. The quickness allowed for an emotional punch that I found very effective and powerful.

—AIMEE BENDER, author of The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake and The Girl in the Flammable Skirt

Part Wes-Anderson-on-Beckett dioramas, part echo-boomer on Kafka dramaturgy, each piece works to shatter ontological constructs of what is human and what is animal. The tiny sparks that fly off each, strangers and charms, make up Winnette’s trouble-wall called the human condition.

—JONI WALLACE, author of Blinking the Ephemeral Valentine

Atticus Books is a multimedia press that specializes in literary fiction.  Atticus is run by founder and publisher Dan Cafaro and assistant editor Libby O’Neill.  Visit us on the web at http://www.AtticusBooksOnline.com.

Press Contact: Abby Hess
abbyh [at] atticusbooks [dot] net
570.419.1190