“She read books as one would breathe air, to fill up and live.” Annie Dillard
I am, indeed, the “publisher, poet, evangelist” as advertised on my business card. But I have been a professor too, and a restaurateur, a long-term care-giver, an arts administrator, (briefly) a professional singer, and more. I am also, and always will be, a road-tripper, a tree-hugger, a gardener, a table-setter, a wife, a mom and, for the last 6 years, a grandma.
But the most encompassing identity I have (and have always had) is my identity as a reader: whether I’m reading faces or gestures, situations or circumstances, poetry or essays, fiction or plays, children’s books or recipes—reading is one of the most me places I can possibly be.
So, it would be weird for me to include a blog on this website and fail to write about reading, about books. I cannot imagine being a good publisher or editor, much less a good writer, without also being an avid and regular reader. Yet people try to do it; I know they do. I can’t tell you how many budding (and not-so-budding) poets and writers, when asked what they read, are a little dumbstruck. And, sadly, their work usually shows it.
I hear reading books is on the upswing. I hope so. Now more than ever we need a literate, articulate, empathetic citizenry. So read on people, please! Read widely and often.
It’s a big part of the mission of Danielle Dufy Literary to support independent booksellers, so I hope you will buy your books and audio books from Independent Bookstores, their online stores, or from indiebound.org. We need thriving local economies to get us through these times. They can nurture us, sustain us and empower us while the larger world, with its principalities and powers, its calamities and climates, spins ever more out of control.
These are the first three books I’ve read in 2019. Each delightful and edifying in its own way. I’ve said a few more words about each one over here, on the Year in Reading page I’ve just added to the website. Comments and conversation about books are most welcome there.
I wish you the Happiest New Year ever, filled to overflowing with good reading!
I’ve been invited to give a writing workshop (a day of workshops) at an art center even further up north in my state. I want to do it. I want to support my friend who directs the arts center, who has been brilliantly in charge of the revitalization of the center’s historic building as well as instrumental in her downtown’s renewed vitality. I want to support her extended community, to reach out to out-state writers, to maybe make a difference in how they write and why.
But I am struggling to put a writing workshop together. And I guess it’s because my heart is elsewhere. I started this publishing company, Danielle Dufy Literary, to celebrate literary short forms (poetry, short(!) fiction, flash essays, short drama, etc.), to welcome a wider readership to the same, and to support independent booksellers for whom these shorter forms can be a hard sell. Of course, the writer is the obvious and essential component to any publishing venture; but because my publications will draw almost exclusively upon previously published work, I don’t have much to offer, at least at this point, to writers work-shopping new work. (Well, I do. But likely what I’d offer would not be what writers expect to get from a workshop. There are professional, perhaps better credentialed writers who can provide that.)
I am grateful for the invitation, however, because it has helped me better understand just where my heart is. And it strikes me that I would be very willing to speak, present, think-tank, round-table, workshop, respectfully debate, or otherwise hobnob about that! A working title for such a gig might be:
The State of Poetry and other literary short forms and what you, yes you(!), can do about it… or, Reader, Please Come Back.
Here are some bullet points:
Benjamin Percy, fiction writer and essayist, has noted the choke-hold academia (specifically the MFA-track) has at present on what counts as creative writing. I would add that academia’s choke hold doubles down for poetry and other short forms. The problem is not the MFA per se (long live higher ed!); nor is Percy (nor am I) out to demonize any particular holders of MFAs. But when a discourse, even an artistic discourse (like poetry) takes for its primary residence academia, you can expect it to spiral into an ever-narrowing, increasingly specialized, increasingly exclusive, primarily peer-oriented communication.
The problem? an alienated and disconnected, eventually unsupportive, perhaps even hostile reading public. As someone who believes poetry (and beautiful, powerful language of every sort) is everyone’s birthright, this is simply unacceptable.
So how do we fix this? Certainly not by being against MFA programs. Artists and writers deserve to be trained to their highest capacity—to specialize like other professionals. And universities (for those who can afford them) tend to be a good place for that. But poetry (or what gets to qualify as poetry) must not be authorized only there. Poetic discourse belongs more properly to what we call the commons; so the question becomes how do we bring it home? and how do we bring readers home to it? (Remember that I am always talking about written work that is intended to be read. Spoken-word poets, writers and their audiences—especially urban ones–are already finding their way home.)
Our present over-emphasis on new work (on work that’s not been previously published). The call to submit only new work goes out daily, hourlyfrom presses large and small, from most literary magazines (print and online), and from publishers of every form and genre. This not-previously-published emphasis has itself become an industry which I fear (or maybe hope) is not sustainable.
To my mind, the publishing industry’s over-emphasis on new work contributes mightily to undermining the relevance of the literary in people’s lives. Hence, it is shooting itself in the foot regarding the reading public on whom it depends for life and livelihood. How so? Because some of the best work in the world only gets to see the light of day once(!). Imagine if that were true in the art world, or in the music world, or even in the culinary art world?! How would an Annie Leibovitz photograph, Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah, or even the gorgeous Salad Niçoise ever become beloved with just one showing, one venue, one use?
There are a few living celebrity poets whose work we are allowed to cherish, it’s true: because we’ve seen a particular work more than once (although please be suspicious of the “we” in that sentence). For instance, I happen to keep in my own pocket Wendell Berry’s The Peace of Wild Things and Naomi Shihab Nye’s Kindness. But it saddens me to think of all the beautiful written words that will never ever have the chance to endear themselves to someone because their first (and only) publication languished in some obscure print venue or was online today and gone tomorrow. In the case of poetry, printing only previously unpublished work robs the public of its poets and poets of their public.
Note: I am not the first to make some of these points about the consequences of privileging new work. Thankfully, good arguments are cropping up with some regularity. See especially, Kathy Derengowski’s guest post on Trish Hopkinson’s poetry blog.)
Amazon’s near monopoly on decisions about what kinds of literature make it to a wider “market.” Hint: almost exclusively fiction, memoir, or block-buster tell-all, although occasionally a particular poet or essayist will “sell well”. But Amazon is a can of worms—one I’m willing to open later. This post is already too long.
The role independent booksellers can/should play–are already playing—in bringing readers home: in their embrace and encouragement of readers of every stripe, through the good work they do in their own communities, through the in-person connections indie booksellers forge between writers and the reading public, and via the main street economies they shore up. I believe independent booksellers have an especially important role to play in getting more short-form literature into more readers hands; and that doing so might carve a newish niche for them—one that Amazon has pretty much abandoned (see point 3 above).
Egad! What a windbag I am! I have too much to say. It will likely take the duration of my retirement (which I guess is to say the rest of my life) to say it. But I will do so with all my energy, with all my resources (financial and otherwise), and with all my heart. If your group or organization would like to engage with me where my heart is, on any or all of these critical issues, invite me. If I can possibly come, I will.
But if it’s a writing workshop you want, well… I know some good folks.
I’m only four days into this 10-day Indie Bound road trip and I’m already filled to the brim. Good Indie booksellers are some of the busiest people on earth, and yet the ones I stopped to see—even those who didn’t yet know me—found ways to be gracious with their time and attention.
I am deeply gratified (but not at all surprised) by the kind reception I have so far received. Sellers have listened attentively as I shared my vision for Danielle Dufy Literary— for the work I will do to promote short-form literature, to grow its readership, and to support Indie Bookstores. Each one asked good questions, provided helpful information, gave judicious advice, and offered encouragement. I feel so lucky.
So let me tell you this: when I say “Indie Bound,” I never only mean I am bound for Indie Bookstores. I also always mean I am bound to them. And I want to be. Independent bricks and mortar bookstores have always felt like home to me. I was a regular customer, friend, and loyalist long before they became an endangered species; and in recent years I have kicked up (by many notches) my support, my evangelism, my activism on their behalf, even to a fevered pitch. I cannot imagine a world without these bookstores or these booksellers. Nor do I want to.
Indie sellers themselves are a such special lot. They’re genuinely friendly, engaged, upbeat, helpful, committed. They love books, of course– and talking about books, recommending books, helping you find books. But they also love people, ones they know and ones they don’t know, buyers and browsers, regulars and tourists. And they love their communities. They want them to get better and stronger and more self-sufficient; they want their local economies to blossom and thrive. And Indie Booksellers do their part–more than their part–to make it so. What’s not to love? What more could they do to earn our strong support?
I wish I were a reliable photographer. It would give me such pleasure to show you the many faces of independent bookselling I’ve come to know on this trip, not even to mention how much I’d love to show you all their one-of-a-kind, off-the-chart stores. Instead, I’ll let these two warm, welcoming, smiling faces –two I know well–typify the many others who could just as easily have represented Indie Bookstores here.
The stakes are high. The time is now. Join me and get your Indie on!
And how privileged am I to do this work from a place with views like this one!
Happy Fall! And Welcome to Danielle Dufy Literary. You’ll notice this website is just getting started, so please come back soon and often. These are heady times for me. And I’m happy to share them with you.
It’s thrilling to have come upon such a perfect confluence of my passions:
for readers, who shouldn’t need credentials to feel welcome at Literature’s door because beautiful, powerful language is everyone’s birthright.
for short-form literature–poetry, short (short) fiction, flash essay, short drama–because short forms, like little gifted stones, can be pocketed, studied, held, meditated-upon, treasured.
independent booksellers and their brick and mortar bookstores. I could speak all day about their importance to creative culture, to independent citizenry, and to thriving (local) economies. And I will.
That these three pieces belong together is, for me, a no-brainer. And it is the mission of Danielle Dufy Literary to foster and strengthen the solid triangle that connects (in every which way) readership, short-form literature, and indie sellers. It’s the work I’ve chosen for my retirement; and it is already– in the visioning, planning, birth-giving, dreaming, enacting– one of the great big joys of my life. Come along for the ride!