Editor Interview: APROSEXIA LIT

Divergent poetry & minds

The Common, ANMLY, Rust & Moth, Salt Hill, Blood + Honey, and Brawl

That's a terrible question to ask any serious reader or writer, but Dorothy Parker made literature irreverent as well as heartbreaking for me—an important place to start. I constantly wonder why she's been ground under the bus and left as a footnote. A read Tanith Lee when I can't decide on what I feel like reading, and Angela Carter when I feel like being overwhelmed—they're my two gothic bookends. Djuna Barnes, because I want to live inside of Nightwood. Rick Barot to fall in love. Susanna Clark if I want to envy another person's worlds. Diane Seuss, when I want to be hit by a mac truck. Bianca Stone, Craig Teicher, Mark Wunderlich, and Chen Chen because I'm constantly trying to learn how to do it better. Lev Grossman because I'd like to pull it off, at least one time. There's Jericho Brown, A.E. Stallings, Mary Ruefle, CAConrad. Anne Carson remains my North Star.

I started APROSEXIA LIT because I didn't see other publications putting forward similar material. A few others that I know o have come forward since I started, with a focus on work by cognitively diverse writers. I think we've landed solidly on the "weirder" side of the unconventional. I strive to showcase work that's dissimilar from what I see elsewhere—and that includes what's published in APROSEXIA itself. I like seeing work interested in showing its own bones, so to speak. Not afraid to be itself, or strive to be all things to all people. People who write from divergent and cognitively challenged experience aren't given may opportunities to speak from their own subjectivity without accepting a tacit need to “mask” for a general audience. The need to find an viable audience to sustain your work as a writer is real—but there are too few opportunities for divergent minds to write and be seen by others who may not share the exact same perspective as themselves—but share a kinship in being intrinsically ”othered” by their senses, way of thinking, and natural constraints to lived experience. I like reading work that lets me inhabit the places of others who exist differently than myself—so that's what I've been trying to allow for with APROSEXIA.

Read through at least one previous issue to get a feel for the publication. It's admittedly eclectic—but because we try and publish more than just a single piece by each contributor, there's a chance to see what we see as a strong set of poems by the same poet. But if you're confident, curious, or both, and want to see if what you've got fits with what we're looking for in the next issue, send it in. The worst that can happen is we pass on the submission—you're always welcome to give us another try in six months.

One that follows the instructions. I know that editors say this, and mean it—but where it comes to formatting documents, labeling files, and all the rest of it, with APROSEXIA the practical concerns are a barrier. I manage the submissions myself, and where it comes to keeping things organized, the challenges for me are very real. Trying to be overly accommodating in the past has put me seriously behind. I've learned a lot about my own limitations, over the past year or so—the submission guidelines as they stand are not there for show.

Honestly, besides people sending work that is in no way poetry, or poetry-adjacent, there hasn't been much that could be called technically "wrong," because I explicitly said that I could be flexible in a pinch. So the jury is out at the moment. Check back in about six months and I might be able to provide a common sin or two.

Finding what leaps out at me doesn't have a lot to do with who's sent what in for me to read. I'm bad at connecting names with content at the best of times—so there's an element of blind reading that's built into the vetting process. However, I'm always interested in reading what submitters have to share in cover letters. Doubly so if I'm coming returning after making a decision to include them in an upcoming issue.

That is highly variable. Sometimes work falls outside of what APROSEXIA LIT inherently is, so that's an simple way of seeing that the work won't fit. Otherwise its an inexact alchemy; but I never want to reject a piece out of hand. If I suspect there's something in a poem that I'm not quite getting on the first few readings, I'll put it aside and come back to it—surprises are not uncommon.

Going forward, the goal is to streamline the submission process and improve turnaround times. At this point I'm dedicating my professional time to running APROSEXIA, instead of trying to fit it in around other commitments. In practical terms, how that plays out has yet to be seen. But, as I said above, I don't intend to pass on any work without giving it genuine consideration.

My sleep schedule isn't naturally consistent—but I tend to be productive in the morning. I always have writing of my own to get done—whether that be for APROSEXIA or creative work of my own. I don't mix those days together with evaluating submissions, because the headspace is too different. On days I dig into submissions, I generally open up the laptop first thing after I get up.

Collaborative editing is outside the scope of what I can offer APROSEXIA LIT. There are a few "next step" goals down the road; one of those will be producing fully designed digital/print issues. There may be more room to work for editorial collaboration then; but we will have to see.

Yes. The chaos of our first year got in the way, but going forward nominating work that's appeared in APROSEXIA is an important part of what we want the publication to represent.

That's an excellent question. Right now, blood, sweat, and tears; but I now have a mandated job to seek out some dosh to pay the help, keep the lights on, feed the cat, and hopefully pay our contributors in the near future. Wish us luck, and we'll be accepting donations.

Instagram and Bluesky, for the time being.