The chaos. And the glory, sure, but: the chaos.

I'm teaching the Publication Studies class for the first time in three years.

A brief historical overview:

Here is a post from when I first taught it--the very first time the course had been taught ever.

Here is a post (from the second year I taught the course, the very second time the course had ever been taught) when I thought things would be easier because I had already taught the course previously. Which: ha.

Before that, there was a massive delusion of grandeur borne of the 'how hard could that be?' credo of my kind.

Anyway: flash forward to now. In the intervening years, Dr. Write taught the course beautifully, and then The Charlotte taught the course twice. I feel that, collectively, we know a lot more. For instance, the course has, I think, been quite improved by several innovations the intervening instructors introduced, and by greater expertise in InDesign, which I am praying will pass on to me via, like, osmosis. PRAYING, I tell you.

Anyway: today, we undertook a grand design and printing project. In not very long at all, the very first reader in SLCC's very first reading series will be visiting.

Click to enlarge. I tell you,
these events are going to be HUGE.

In my by now signature style, I have grandly planned to do a beautiful broadside, using a photopolymer plate of an InDesign design, to be inked and printed on our honey of an etching press, of one of Tarfia's poems. None of which we have precisely 'done' before, if by done we mean 'ever tried it, even once.' Yep, that's exactly what we mean.

But dammit, what's a Publication Studies class for, if not to try things that we haven't done before but which various credible sounding pages on the internets promise are doable? Nothing, I say. Playing it safe is for suckers.

Today, we began designing this broadside. (Of course I thought we would have an almost finished design by the end of class. Which: ha.) It was one of those times when the time flew--flew!--by. Total absorption. It's the best feeling ever.

Soon we'll meet with the student author of the winning chapbook, and we'll start laying out and designing a book. It's the sixth chapbook in six years. We actually have a fairly tidy track record at this point. Before that, though, even now begins the process of eking out extra hours to finish the work that cannot be contained in mere class time, complicated by the fact that the work needs to be done with and by students. Because learning, you know.

It's a mess, it's magnificent, it's art. We are having, and are going to have, a blast.

Proofs.

Tonight, I have been reading the proofs of my forthcoming book.

(NOTE: There is just no way to say the above that doesn't sound at least a little bit braggy, but there you have it. It's the truth. I am. I am reading the proofs of my forthcoming book.)

Like writing the bio that will appear in said book, proofreading the book is a surreal experience. What, exactly, are you supposed to say in a bio? If you compare your potential biography to, say, the bios appearing in other people's second books, you are liable to run into facts such as these: other people have had more notable honors than you have had. Other people have published more. Other people blah blah blah why are you (am I) looking at other people's books anyway?

Nevertheless: the petite status of one's own resume, as the raw material for said bio, stands, regardless of what else one is reading.

This is where it's easy to allow distractions to intervene. I won't enumerate, except to say that I have not yet written the bio, but I have reread a certain young adult series in which good triumphs over evil in the wizarding world. And so forth.

Similarly, the proofs: a person can range far, far afield into hitherto unknown realms of anxiousness whilst looking at proofs. Such as: how it would be easy to make mistakes and miss things. How the font of the title may or may not be your favorite, and in a related matter, how to phrase this issue to the editor. And general questions about the worthiness of the poems and of one's own worthiness, vis a vis the wizarding, I mean poetic, world. And so forth.

Well, tonight, after watching Golden State assert itself rather emphatically in the fourth quarter, I began again with the proofreading. I found a missing poem and a missing couplet and a few other more minor matters. I set aside the anxious mental spinning, and I got it done. I'll double check my proofreading tomorrow and send the notes back to my editor. Also, I will commit to my bio, thin resume be damned. And just like that, the forthcoming book's coming forth will have gotten just a little bit more real.

Accounting.

Today, I put the grommets into twenty three folios.

Wait, let me start again.

My poetry class is producing a publication. I had a vision of it long before we at the Publication Center ever got a press. A Takach etching press, to be exact. My vision was this:

• a collection of broadsides (each student produces one broadside in a class-size edition)
• sometimes these broadsides were tiny (broadside being used loosely in this instance)
• sometimes these broadsides were largish. Close to tabloid size.
• the broadsides would be printed (sometimes in my vision, they were letter pressed) and would have an image on them.
• the broadsides would be gathered and held--bound, in a word--in a portfolio, which would be
• a beautiful piece of heavy weight paper, printed with the title, and tied with some sort of lacing that would 
• lace through both sides of the portfolio.

In all versions of my vision, this publication was exquisite.

I talked it over with my Publication Center people. We all agreed this was doable. We came up with dimensions for the broadsides (slightly smaller than letter size paper) and the portfolio (a tabloid piece of dove-gray medium weight cardstock). 

"How will the lacing go through the paper?" Charlotte asked.

"I don't know. Just, like, holes?" I approximated.

"You're gonna need grommets," said Charlotte, with certitude and firmness. We talked about grommets and how that would all work, and it was decided.

"What are you going to lace it with?" Charlotte and Kat asked, on different occasions. 

I thought maybe gray suede lacing, and/or maybe gray satin ribbon.

Kat said, "Maybe the narrowest"--she held her index finger and thumb infinitessimally close--"gray grosgrain ribbon." 

This all sounded good to me.

So excited to finish this project with my poetry students tomorrow! It will contain a class set of broadsides for each writer.

A photo posted by Lisa Bickmore (@megastore) on May 4, 2015 at 7:03pm PDT

Cut to now. I have visited three different stores in search of the elusive narrowest gray grosgrain (or satin, either would do) ribbon, and gray suede lacing. Here's what I have instead:

• satin and grosgrain ribbon, gray, but not the narrowest--medium narrow
• black suede lacing
• lovely soft gray wool yarn
• the very narrowest black grosgrain ribbon
• sheer gray ribbon, also not the narrowest.

Also, today I put in four grommets per publication by hand. The people, I brought a hammer and a nail to work. A hammer. (and a nail.) Putting in grommets is sort of meditative, if by meditative you mean using a hammer and also wondering if you're even doing the damn thing right at all. Or what.

But it is going to be beautiful, I swear. That part of the vision is coming true. Also the part where we have doughnuts from Fresh Donut & Deli. Doughnuts are always the refreshment of choice in my visions.

Visit to the Book Arts Program/Red Butte Press.

we are folding an accordion book

random piece of letter press, laying around

having printed

like lightning, Kati removes her paper from
the press

word image text object

big hand press

type

The Columbian

Book Arts

expertise

accordion folding

The chapbook, etc. commences.

Last week in Publication Studies, the students began planning for the publication of the second annual chapbook competition winner's manuscript. I have to say, it was kind of exciting to begin that conversation. This time, though, there was a difference, because it had been done before. That is, I had done it before.

So many hard parts will, I think, be easier. We have a basic template in InDesign. We won't be printing each and every copy (!) on the hardest working duplex printer in show biz--we'll outsource that business to Print Services. And I have a stronger sense of what it will take to move through the process--from layout and design to production, from press releases to publicizing to documenting, to the debut.

It was nice to be able to show this year's students last year's documentary. If it was just a little bit daunting, it was also inspiring. So tomorrow, we'll be looking at historical and contemporary literary chapbooks. We'll be bringing in some public information professionals to talk to the publicizing/marketing/documentary team. And we'll be interviewing the author, getting her feedback on cover concepts. It is on. Stay tuned.

Tomorrow we will be talking about and making broadsides in Publication Studies.

from the National Library of Scotland (1821)

from the National Library of Scotland (1719)

from the Poetry Foundation For the Fridge Archive 

from the Library of Congress Printed Ephemera Collection

from On the Walls and In the Streets: American PoetryBroadsides from the 1960s, James D. Sullivan