With a beer in one tentacle and a book in another, Paper Darts is taking back the lit scene, one lame pen and quill metaphor at a time.

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Glottal Stops and Going Full VIDA: An Interview with Amy Pickworth

Maria Anderson

How would you characterize your process? Are you the type of person who spends a lot of time perfecting as you go, or do you switch up what you're doing as you type? 

I don't really have a process. I wish I had a process! It would be nice if I were someone with a process, someone with great discipline who never failed to work from 8 every morning until 10 every night.

Sometimes I wake up with an almost fully formed something rolling around in my head and I run to the computer to get it down. (That's a good day.) Sometimes I overhear a phrase or make an association between two things and scribble it down for later. In coat pockets or the bottom of my purse I often find Post-it notes or CVS receipts scribbled up with my worst handwriting. Sometimes I have no idea what they say, or no memory of writing them. 

I'm not constantly cranking out work, and I feel like that's okay—that sometimes we value quantity too much. 

Probably the most useful thing I do is keep a working document that I drop ideas and images and specific lines into. It's about 80 pages long right now. Most of the time I'm adding bits—an idea for a poem, a snippet from a Post-it note I actually can decipher, two lines of I don't know what—but from time to time I'll review the whole thing and see what might link up and start sewing those words together. 

Once I write a draft, I keep it around for a while. Sometimes a few weeks, usually a few months, sometimes more. I'm not constantly cranking out work, and I feel like that's okay—that sometimes we value quantity too much. I like to put a draft aside and kind of forget about it, then come back to it and think about other forms or word choices when I can see it with fresh eyes.

Bigfoot for Women (which comes out this fall from Orange Monkey Publishing) started happening when I realized some poems I'd written worked well together. I then I started thinking about the arc of a book. I went to Staples and got a binder and pulled out the three-hole punch and started making outlines for new poems, which was something I'd never done before. Then I rented a little place in Provincetown in the middle of December and lived this very ascetic life for a week and made myself crank out all the drafts I needed. Once or twice I went to the public library there (which is very nice, and the librarians were very nice) and printed out the new work then took it back to the cottage I was renting and laid the pages out on the floor in rows. I spent hours staring at these rows of pages, picking one up, marking it up for an hour, moving it somewhere else, going to the computer and writing something new. I worked all day and didn't talk to anyone and when it got dark at 4:00 p.m. I made dinner and went to bed and read then got up early and did it again. It was very organized, hard work, but in addition to being super intense and soul-searchy it was maybe the most satisfying writing experience I've had.

I have a full-time job and a family and I find it hard to find time to write when I actually feel inspired, which is sometimes frustrating. Finding that time was much easier when I was freelancing for a living. So I'm thinking about sequestering myself again somewhere soon, but I want to get a better idea of what I want to do during that time first, so I can use it well.

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(Not) Drunk in Love: Prohibition-Era Partying at Northern Spark 

For all you Boardwalk Empire fans hankering to get your fix off-screen, Saturday is your lucky day. We are hosting a '30s-themed night of music and literature as part of the Twin Cities' annual Northern Spark festivities. In collaboration with singer-songwriter and poet, Brian Laidlaw, we will host a vaudeville-esque evening of music and dancing.

Laidlaw will be playing tracks from his fall musical release, Amoratorium. Part poetry book, part musical recording, this upcoming publication is all sorts of awesome. Laidlaw's music and poetry was influenced by the lives of Bonnie and Clyde, so in honor of this dynamic duo, we've themed our evening around an era marked by their badness.

In addition to music, our Northern Spark prohibition style debauchery will be complete with a mugshot photo booth to document the badness of all the fashion mobsters out there. And don't worry: our portion of the event starts promptly at 9:30 p.m., so all of you vintage vixens who need your beauty sleep can get to bed at a reasonable hour.

What to expect:

  • A preview of Paper Darts' latest project: a musical/poetry publication with frequent collaborator Brian Laidlaw
  • Some ostentatiously fabulous flapper get-ups and dapper saddle shoes
  • Dancing. Lots of dancing.
  • Food and drinks. Don't worry folks, even though we are celebrating the era, prohibition was repealed back in 1933.
  • Photos. From selfies to mugshots in our '30s style photobooth (they had those back then — right?), you can be sure we will document your fabulous.

What to bring:

  • Your raddest, baddest period pieces: beads, cowboy hats, saddle shoes, shift dresses, heavily lined eyes, and dancing shoes. If you've got it, bring it! 

And don’t worry, if you are lacking in the vintage clothing department we have you covered. The photobooth will feature props that will transport you back in time. Alternatively, we'll just throw a sepia filter over you and you'll look the part.

RSVP on Facebook


Flamingo-bears, Cara Cara Oranges, and Lap Cats: Interview with Susanne Lamb

Maria Anderson 

Susanne Lamb is a recent grad from the Rhode Island School of Design. She lives in Brooklyn and is working on several children's books. Sandwiches are her favorite.

What's your favorite thing to draw right now?

I've been fairly goat-focused recently. I tend to be really interested in the facts surrounding whatever it is I am drawing, though ultimately, that's not necessarily visible in the work I produce. It feels important to me to know why I am drawing goats in a tree, to be able to say, "This is real, goats eat the fruit of the Argan tree." Not that I'm producing these very-accurate images—it's more a matter of being true to the spirit of a subject. The research also often leads me to new topics to get excited about.

What's your sketchbook philosophy? Can you talk a little bit about your notebooks?

It's an all-inclusive philosophy. The sketchbooks end up being more of a diary and series of to-do lists filled with drawings that are tangentially related. I find that doodling in between writing items on a packing list, for example, helps me think of more things to add to the list, and adding things helps me think of things that I want to draw. I also just love having context for my dumb little throw-away sketches, to remember that I drew this flamingo-bear when I was worried that I was not getting enough potassium.

What do you think about discipline? How do you make yourself approach projects that perhaps have gone a little stale? 

Revisiting things that are old is a huge struggle for me. I tend to lose all interest as soon as I step away from something. That's also how all these notes come in handy—if something I jotted down next to concept sketch can make me laugh, or can remind of something I initially found exciting, that's a great way to feel invested again.

What are your obsessions? 

Do we mean art-related obsessions? Not wearing socks is my prime motivation at this point. Of course, like a good cat-mom, I am very obsessed with Olive. Food-wise I just discovered Cara Cara oranges through a coworker and am now on the lookout for those. Art-wise I've been experimenting with ink, digital collage, and making little stamps.

Do you have any pictures taped up in your room that are particularly special? I still have that tiger you gave me taped to my door. The goats are there, too.

I like to have a healthy amount of stuff on my wall. Directly above my desk is a vintage tablecloth map of Europe. There's a lot going on with it, but in a very cohesive and realized way. I connected with it immediately as an object; the colors toe the line between hideous and beautiful somehow. For pictures and postcards, we've been hanging those on the front door since our fridge is not magnetic. I find those sorts of things somewhat difficult to have by my work space, as they can prompt friend-guilt and I start to feel like I need to check in with a lot of people, but I like seeing them when I'm having breakfast and heading off to work. 

This is maybe a little gross, but I have a few small things I've made framed and nearby. It's never the most finished pieces. Having the sketches up is more inspiring to me.

How has having a cat changed your creative process? Having another little being in the house? A new family member?

As much as I love having a cat, she definitely hasn't helped the creative process! All of a sudden she became a total lap cat and I am not good at removing her. In my home life, with David and Olive, I am the most comfortable I've ever been, which is great, but can be a bit of a problem. I find external motivation more important than ever to help prioritize and stay motivated. I like a little bit of pressure.

What have you been reading lately? Writing? 

I just finished reading Tunneling to the Center of the Earth and really liked that. I was really into Number One Party Anthem by the Arctic Monkeys, which sounds like an LMFAO chart-topper but is actually a slow, sad, pretty little song. Currently seeking my summer jam.


Beer + Art + Bikes = Fun

Dakota Sexton

The "poster party for bike people" called
ARTCRANK has a simple premise: make it easy to cram craft beers, bikes, and upwards of 40 affordable, yet carefully handmade posters (designed exclusively by local artists) into one pleasant evening. You can check it all out this weekend in Minneapolis. But what's more, it doesn't particularly matter how much you ride, or if you ride at all.

The show's founder Charles Youel told bike advocacy group bikewalkmove in 2012 that ARTCRANK is an attempt to "change how people look at and think about bicycles," notably, without any of the bullshit that can accompany stepping into a bike shop as a novice cyclist. (Comment on this with #NotAllBikeShops and the first five slaps are free, y'all.) The show aims to function as a low-pressure way to appreciate art, build up the cycling community, and get more butts on bikes.

That mission has really taken off. Last year, despite temperatures in the 40s and bouts of heavy rain, a crowd of over 6,000 showed up for ARTCRANK in Minneapolis. In addition to its annual show in the Twin Cities, ARTCRANK has launched shows in 14 other cities as well, including London, Paris, and Austin. The organization additionally supports the cycling community by putting profits from each party toward a different cause—in Minneapolis this year, proceeds from beverage sales will go to World Bicycle Relief.


But we don't want to tell everyone about this weekend's ARTCRANK just because it uses art to increase accessibility and spark change. Actually (selfishly), this year's Minneapolis show features work by Paper Darts contributors like Anne Ulku and repeat partner-in-crime Allegra Lockstadt, who collaborated with Christopher Alday to make a poster.

Lockstadt and Alday are avid cyclists. "Our bikes are our beautiful steeds," says Lockstadt, adding, "For us, we like that we can customize our bikes to fit our aesthetics and frankly, ourselves."

                 BEN NYLEN

ARTCRANK provides artists with some select guidelines for the design and production. The rest, like what specific paper to use and what print shop to get posters produced by, is up to the individual artist. For their poster, Lockstadt and Alday chose to print at Leg Up Studio, a community studio started in 2011 in Northeast Minneapolis to provide artists with an affordable place to learn (and practice) print arts. 


For the design, the duo decided to create something that would celebrate biking and incorporate the artists' joint interest in knock-out type. From a distance, the type dominates the poster. Up close, it's easy to spot that it also depicts a dense scene of bike life through all four seasons. This kind of participation is pretty key to Lockstadt, who likes viewers "to engage and have fun with" an illustration.

Go check out all 40 posters created exclusively for the show this weekend, on May 31, from 4:00 to 10:00 p.m. at Shelter Studios, 721 Harding St NE. More info is available here.

Oh, and did I mention that buying a couple of beer tickets at this show gets you an extremely dope pint glass? I didn't? Sorry guys. Go to this weekend's ARTCRANK for the beer, the bike-themed posters, and the extremely dope pint glasses. Nice Ride Minnesota will also provide enough bike racks for upwards of hundreds of bicycles, plus complimentary valet bike parking.

P.S.: The fine folks at ARTCRANK always need a ton of volunteers to help run each event. Get more info by contacting Patrick Murphy.


A Little Smut Never Hurt Nobody

Laura Briskman

Maybe it's my current workplace (academic publishing), but my lunchtime circle loves to hate on Fifty Shades of Grey.

"The writing is terrible."

"No self-respecting woman treats herself like that."

"People read it on the subway."

"The movie's coming out, though. I'm going to see it, I think. My friends want to, not me."


Now, I certainly follow the arguments against Fifty Shades' literary cred. And perhaps the protagonist, a strong young woman on the first page, loses herself to whips and entrepreneurial dominance because it's spicier bedtime reading. Maybe we're all just a little jealous because many of us are aspiring writers and we're watching EL James take up our B&N shelf space.

But I do feel that it's important not to ignore the importance of this series from a publishing standpoint. According to Business Insider, 70 million copies of the Fifty Shades series have sold in the U.S. (That—and it breaks my heart a bit—is more than Harry Potter.) It has been translated into over fifty languages. Lots of people have read Fifty Shades of Grey. And even more people are talking about it. Because Fifty Shades is the head cheerleader: you may think you're better than her five-inch heels and four-inch skirt, but you'd damn well better treat her with respect.

I think that we probably get a book or series like this every couple of years. It keeps the presses pressing and the publishers employed. Back in high school, before the days of Fifty Shades, I picked up a copy of Valley of the Dolls at my local library. The librarian tapped the crackling dust jacket and said quietly, "Oh. I remember this one." The 1966 Susann title suddenly seemed incredibly dirty. (All I knew about it at the time was that it was allegedly based on Judy Garland's struggles with narcotics.)

My grandmother always liked to know what I was reading. I mentioned Valley of the Dolls to her during my next visit—old people would appreciate old books, right?—and she wrinkled her nose. "That's trash, Laura."

Maybe it was trash in 1966. But it has become one of my favorites. It's slightly sexual (probably very sexual for its era), and I find none of the characters aspirational. But one reason that I love Valley so much is its portrayal of '60s Hollywood—admittedly to someone who knows very little about the '60s or Hollywood. And it was a bestseller of its time. It feels significant. "Everyone" was reading Valley of the Dolls when it came out, and even those that hadn't cracked the cover were criticizing Susann for her inability to write.

Where does this leave us, then? In a vicious cycle, doomed for generations to read (or not read, or to pretend not to read but actually read) mediocre books that will define the publishing industry and pee their territory on top 10 lists and bestseller shelves? Perhaps. But that only further convinces me that it's dangerous to be such snots about the whole thing.

This isn't to say that I have learned something from this parallel. Believe you me: if I have a grandchild, the day that he or she brings over a copy of EL James' first book and says, "Look what I found at this garage sale. It's from 2011. Who even has print books anymore? And what's S&M?" I will probably go through that familiar hate spiral because I never sold millions of books and say, "That's garbage! Getting your work published used to mean something. Give that to me. I'm burning it."

Laura Briskman is a graduate of Kenyon College. She now works in academic publishing in New York.


Interview with Rita Bullwinkel: Ice Worlds, Undead Voices, and Allusions to the Complete Other

Maria Anderson

Rita Bullwinkel originates from the San Francisco Bay Area and currently resides in Brooklyn. She has also planted her feet in Providence, Rhode Island and Delhi, India, where she worked at the Indian National Gallery of Modern Art. She is the recipient of several grants from Brown University and a fellowship from Vanderbilt. Her writing has appeared or is forthcoming in NOONHeavy Feather Review, The Brooklyn Rail, Two Serious Ladies, and Gigantic Worlds: An Anthology of Science Flash Fiction

How would you, in a sentence or two, describe your writing? 

A perilous attempt to swim the English Channel. An elective surgery in which the doctor may have accidentally left the scalpel inside the patient. 

What sorts of voices are most compelling to you?

Those of ghosts or other kinds of undead.

What do you look for in the stories you read? How would you say your reading breaks down, if you had a pie chart, in terms of poetry, short stories, longer prose, and nonfiction?

I am an obsessive reader of many different formats in which words appear. I usually find new words to read through words I have previously read. Below is an approximate graph of my word consumption. 

What is something people often misunderstand about your writing?

I am not sure if I believe writing can be misunderstood. I think when one writes something they make an object, and that when that object is published, separated from the existence of its maker, it is given away into the abyss of collective consciousness where the minds of the world can do what they like with it.

I like to learn about the little things writers are obsessed with. For instance, when I try to think about my obsessions, I usually think of various passwords for things I’ve used over the years. Dung beetles, people who don’t sleep or sleep very little, rattlesnakes, and hunting are mine. What are yours?

I am fascinated by illness, how your body can rebel against you. It is quite baffling, to me, that something like your blood can kill you, revolting from within. The relationship one has to their body is bizarre, and that bizarreness is perhaps most clearly exposed during times of sickness.  I think this is why I am interested in illness. It becomes a clarifying agent.

I have also, recently, become increasingly interested in ice worlds. Anna Kavan’s Ice, Tarjei Vesaas’ Ice Palace, Ursula Le Guin’s The Left Hand of Darkness, Kobo Abe’s Inter Ice Age 4, Vladamir Sorokin’s Ice Trilogy. In all of these books, ice functions not only as setting, but as a divine being that has to be reasoned with, some type of silent deity that is both threatening and full of comfort. I have found that, as a reader, when I am in an ice world I am more easily sedated into the narrative. I am not sure why that is. I am trying to find out.

You’re an assistant fiction editor at the Brooklyn Rail and an Associate Editor at NOON. Which literary magazines do you read?

There are so many fantastic lit mags out there. People truly are fighting the good fight. I read The Black Warrior Review, The American Reader, and Two Serious Ladies perhaps most religiously. Uzoamaka Maduka has shaped The American Reader into something spectacular, with Ben Marcus and Ben Lerner both in her arsenal of editors. Amelia Gray’s “On The Moment of Conception,” published in the December 2012 issue, is one of the best stories I have read in eons. The Ramon Isao and Joe Wenderoth pieces were also fantastic.

Which visual artists have you been into recently? Does art tie into your writing at all?

Many of my stories are birthed out of images, although these images are usually my own, things that come to me late at night or very early in the morning. I find great pleasure in the visual and that is, perhaps, why images have such power over me. I have recently fallen in love with Clyfford Still’s work. His violent, invasive paintings are captivating. I wish I could live with one of his marvelous canvases.

Clyfford Still

I have also been taken by the work of Linnéa Gad, a Swedish artist who lives and works here in New York. I saw one of her exhibitions last October and was shaken by her careful consideration of the visual. The exhibition mainly featured highly detailed paintings of interiors, with some parts of the image occasionally rubbed out, creating a type of vacancy. The cold, simple, exacting of these environments was stunning. I love the way in which her paintings hold back and allow viewers to insert elements of their own imagination. Each of her paintings is a window into some whole, other complete world. I think this skill of creating the allusion of a complete, original other, is the most valuable thing any artist, writer or painter, can posses.

Linnéa Gad

What are you reading/listening to/watching right now? 

I have been enchanted by Ethiopian jazz, as of late. I have also been enamored by Darkside, the Dave Harrington-Nicolas Jaar duo. I saw them live in Istanbul last May and then again at Terminal 5 here in New York in January. Both were two of the best live shows I have ever seen. Their Istanbul show was on the roof of one of the tallest buildings in Taksim, the backdrop to the stage an open-air view of both continents and the Hagia Sofia. It was insane, all these Turks waiting for the beat to drop and the light turning.  

As for words, I have a series of sizable stacks of books that encircle my bed. I have to step over them in order to enter and exit my sleeping premises. The stack closest to where I lay my head when I sleep contains an Addis Abba travel guide, Rikki Ducornet’s Netsuke, the Guru Granth Sahib, and Joanna Ruocco’s The Mothering Coven.

And movies. I don’t think I have yet fully recovered from the splendor of Tran Anh Hung’s Norwegian Wood.

If your writing were an animal, what kind of animal would it be and why?

A three legged dog. Deformed, but surprisingly mobile.


Get Ready for Jewelry Show and Tell at Wordsmith

Wordsmith finds common ground between jewelry and writing. The exhibition is set up and the zine is printed, but you're not out of chances to participate.

At tomorrow's opening reception at Magers and Quinn, we want you to bring your weirdest, most beautiful, most historied, most something piece of jewelry and tell us its story.

Now don't start wringing your hands over the fact that you purchase 100% of your jewelry as an afterthought in the checkout line of a fast fashion retailer. You chose that piece for a reason. Plus, no one said its story has to be nonfiction. This is an opportunity to give your trusty $5 studs the backstory they deserve.

Need some inspiration? Our staff decided to take the challenge.


How my Connemara marble earrings are like 50 Shades of Grey:

There are, supposedly, 40 shades of green in Connemara marble. That one's obvious. 

The Connemara marble earrings I bought in Ireland at the Cliffs of Mohr gift shop are the best impulse buy I've ever made. 50SoG is pretty much all about impulses.

Jamie Dornan, who plays Christian Grey in the movie, is from Northern Ireland. The region of Connemara, where the marble is found, is in Western Ireland.

Did the characters of 50SoG ever do it on a marble slab? Probably.

Okay, so my earrings are nothing like erotica. But I'm obsessed with them, just like a lot of people are obsessed with the book.


The first jewelry items I bought for myself that cost over ten dollars were these Brach Earrings from Nervous System's Algae line. According to their website, this line "…explores a range of botanical patterns created by systematically abstracting the cycles of growth and bifurcation seen in plants."

I don't know about that, but they remind me of the antlers of a very tiny stag, or of the veins running through a very tiny person's lungs. (That last one probably has something to do with the "Nervous System" name behind the jewelry.) Plus, the fact that I paid more for them than I've ever paid on jewelry means I feel like a super-classy lady whenever I wear them.


­­­When I was 15 I found this owl necklace at Forever 21 and thought it made me unique, just like everyone else who shops at Forever 21.

I named it Oxford, as in Oxford the owl, because alliteration is cool and all owls should have pretentious names. Sometimes Oxford is mistaken for a dragon or a beaky Ron Swanson, but Oxford is most assuredly an owl.

A few months later, in my German class, we had to write and illustrate a children's book about animals to demonstrate that we could pretend to speak German. Naturally, I wrote mine about Oxford.

The plot went like this: All of the other animals hated Oxford because he was green. Then he met Penny, a purple owl. He fell in love with her, but then she left him. Oxford cried. The end.

Eventually, a second-grade class came to visit us, and we had to read our stories to the kids. I probably got away with the dark nature of mine because there aren't any second-graders in my hometown who can speak German. Even my teacher couldn't speak it.

At the end of the class, the kids went home with the books we made. Mine probably became shredded paper at the bottom of a hamster cage.


But hey, at least my necklace never became home furnishings for a rodent.


I don't remember much about my great grandma Ev, but I know she was a sentimental proto-hoarder. One of the umpteen times the Red River flooded—the real bad one, I think, in 1997—my family drove to East Grand Forks to help her clean out her soggy, box-filled basement. While the adults worked, I gathered spoils. I came away with a few scarves and plastic bangles that Grandma Ev had sported in the '60s.

In the years since, Grandma Ev's accessories have disappeared one piece at a time, lost between bedrooms or houses or cities. At least twice I've watched the bangles break, once when some ham-fisted guy tried one on. I dismissed it with an "it's ok, it's just a shitty plastic bracelet," but by then I only had a few left, so in reality, I was gutted. Now I'm down to one, which I never wear but keep anyway because, like Grandma Ev, I'm a sentimental proto-hoarder.

It's not that it's pretty or interesting, but it's endured while all my other cheap jewelry has lost my favor. Next time I steal an old woman's stuff, I'll go for quality.


There's a ritual I go through in the morning to get ready. Piece by piece, it feels like I'm suiting up for battle. And while I don't have a sophisticated three-piece suit and tie, my fuchsia lipstick and bronze pendants give me all the armor I need to feel my power, confidence, and beauty—getting me ready for anything.


All That's Left is a Band of Gold

For someone who has a complicated relationship with marriage, I am surprisingly attached to one particular inherited symbol of holy matrimony: my dad's wedding band. To be accurate, the gold band actually belonged to my mother's father. He was a man who, like many men before him, somehow ended up not raising his children. My mom inherited the relic. I guess that's the least a child of divorce can look forward to. That and less fighting.

I became its owner during a nostalgic afternoon when my mom kindly let me sift through her dusty jewelry boxes. I sometimes imagine its engraved inscription "M.L.B. TO W.D.H. 6-9-62" pressing against the skin of my middle finger, leaving an imprint of my grandparents' initials, an inherited attachment to dysfunctional relationships. I never really knew my grandpa, but his memory gives my mom a place of refuge, so I guess he must have been a good guy. I generally don't trust good guys, though.  

Ironically enough my mom and my dad, the second users of the ring, are still married. You might be wondering how I now posses it, if their matrimony is still intact. Good question. My dad, who built worlds with his hands, never really saw a use for the band. I like to imagine that he never wore it, but probably he did, for the first few days or weeks. It was more likely that the first time he slipped it off, he realized how superfluous it was. I know it sounds bad that my dad doesn't wear his ring. Trust me, he's a good guy. I guess I already told you not to trust them though.

Earlier this spring my brother announced his engagement to his girlfriend. The ring of our grandfather now has a new calling. I am wearing it as I type now, the worn gold gives off a soft glow in the sun. I plan on going with my brother to get the ring resized. I insisted actually that he keep the inscription on the inside and pay extra to maintain those initials. While I don't have an attachment to marriage (just distaste for it) I somehow love what this particular wedding band represents.

This ring is more than a marker of heteronormative relationships. For me this ring maps the interstices between myself and the men in my family. My grandfather who I never met. My father who spends his time off chipping away paint from the side of our house and fixing things I didn't even know existed. My brother who is moving back to Minnesota this summer.

Maybe it's fitting that a gold band represents my ties to these men. They say gold lasts forever. Or maybe that's diamonds. I don't really have a taste for either.