Hi everyone! This February, Arkana editors had the privilege to visit and participate in the AWP conference held in Kansas City. At our booth, visitors had the opportunity to write down short one-liners which our editors have now strung together to make one cohesive poem created by the friends we made at AWP this year. We hope you all enjoy this piece, and we look forward to seeing you all again at next year’s AWP!
The first thing my mother did after the divorce was to go to Knotts Berry farm.
I never found any solace in dusty old Saints
—until I found a ledger sick of your external bullshit
Aline. Aline. A tree of Emerald Starry aligned with lined on metal strings
The scars on every inch of sun-scorned flesh became a galaxy. Limitless Breathtaking, Unknowable.
Tut mir Leid. Why? Because you needed to be loved not burned
I glut myself on the feast of their words,
From honey fed lips. My bared teeth are as red as my curls
Names don’t change others. They can change you for better or worse, that’s for you to decide
And afterward everything echoes, stream to the street in movement
I’d like to exist here, between your thumb and forefinger
like a corner of a page of your favorite book
I river the tongues of my ancestors so they may flow into my body
Missing my cats, my roommate and my girlfriend
Desperate to eat a steak
Ode to my grandmother’s stitched table cloths, her spice dense air, her full plates and full smiles
I remember reading about how ancient trees existed before fungi knew
how to break them down.
Not that the fungi didn’t exist but that did not know how.
That somehow they had not yet reached their potential
as the true ferryman of the natural world.
Thank you again to everyone who provided lines to make this poem possible. Our editorial team had a lot of fun experimenting and trying our best to fit as many of your contributions into this piece as possible. While not every line made the final cut, we are beyond blessed to be part of such a creative and fun-loving community, and we thank all of our contributors for their participation in this fun little thought exercise. Hope to see you all at AWP next year!
This spring, Arkana editors had the opportunity to interview Madari Pendas, illustrator and author of “Blurry Kindness,” which appeared in Arkana’s Fifteenth Issue. Read below to learn more about this fantastic artist, and stay tuned for more contributor spotlight posts coming soon!
ARK: I love the duality in this poem between the beauty of the world around you and the lack of beauty you saw in yourself. How did other people look to you? What was it like seeing your mother clearly for the first time?
MP: This is such a great question. Seeing clearly for the first time is such a salient moment for a lot of people with eyesight issues. We usually remember those first initial, gripping instances when everything comes into focus, especially those minute details in nature (like the traces of pollen on a petal) or on people (that they have more freckles than you realized or the jagged, and incomplete patterns of someone’s facial hair). My mom has face tattoos (it still surprises me every time I remember that). Her eyebrows and lips are lined, and above her lip is a Marilyn Monroe inspired mole. When I received my first pair of glasses, I was able to see those lines more clearly, how distinct, and sharp they were, the tapering, the blue hue the color had taken over time, due to sun exposure. A rush of feelings overtook me: wonder, confusion, hope, and awe. My mom’s face was clearly a working-class face–and I struggled to understand the implications of that, and the inherent shame tied to poverty. For decades, I struggled with these perceptions, but education and acceptance have shown me that my mom’s face represents strength–the eyebrows and lips are painful areas to tattoo. Those moments of seeing my mom’s face engendered so many questions, and I am glad they did because it feels like a mystery, you’re working out within yourself. I would ask myself questions like Is it bad to have visible tattoos? On the other hand, are we supposed to consider everyone’s opinion before doing something? And it has been enjoyable to tackle these questions and see my mother’s face from different perspectives.
ARK: How long did it take you to adjust to being able to see? Aside from seeing yourself, classrooms and nature, what was the most difficult thing to be able to see?
MP: For longer than I’d like to admit, I thought glasses made me appear ugly so I’d constantly take them off, hang them from my shirt collar or on my head or squeeze them into my pants pocket. So there was always this constant vacillating between seeing and not seeing. Wanting to be seen in one way and needing to see in a utilitarian sense to pass my classes and get through my day. There is so much pressure to be beautiful, which carries so many biases and imposed standards, so I think the hardest thing to see was that many of my classmates and peers did meet these ideals. I equate seeing with knowledge, and knowing how perfect my peers’ faces were, how symmetrical, how clear, how smooth etc. put me in a position where I felt I needed to compete with other girls, later women. Our society overvalues beauty and teaches that it is the most valuable currency, which makes aging more challenging (when really, it’s a blessing). It creates a surface level connection with yourself. I wish I could have looked at my face earlier and said So what if I have large pores, I am a great reader. Beauty or the search for physical perfection tends to diminish or background other qualities. I’m going off on a tangent here, but it was difficult to see I did not meet the operational definition of beauty, and harder to deal with the vanity of it all and the pull to be seen in the right kind of way.
ARK: Did not having glasses keep you from doing art when you were younger or even though you couldn’t see very well, were you still able to create?
MP: It did! I did not realize how bad my eyesight was until I got my glasses, and I remember part of the exam to enter my middle school’s magnet art program required drawing something placed before you. However, my poor vision did make me love books even more because I could bring them right up to my face. I didn’t have to ask a teacher or a classmate what was written; books felt intimate and accessible in a way that art (at the time) didn’t. And this invited writing. I’ve kept a diary since fourth grade (I still have all of them) and the closeness I felt with books taught me to write in a personal and private way–I’ve gone back and seen entries that still surprise me, and they do so because I’m shocked a kid had a safe space to write some of the things I wrote, which included crushes on other girls, a detailed recounting of staying up all night to watch Adult Swim and how that truly was “freedom.”
ARK: At the beginning of the story you mentioned that twelve years was long enough to go without having clear vision. How did you realize how badly you needled glasses? What was the moment when glasses made sense?
MP: I started having issues in class. I wasn’t passing exams or able to follow the teachers as they explained things at the board. When I tried to ask my desk neighbors what was going on, I’d get shushed or then they’d fall behind. If I tried to go up to the board, I’d rush to write everything down so as not to block or inconvenience others but thus the copying took up more mental bandwidth. It made me think I was dumb or a “bad kid.” And I did feel like in elementary and middle school there was a sorting of children. Some are gifted, and will get the attention, some are bright and get chosen to read aloud, and then there are the “others.” I further felt that sentiment when I had to take remedial math in middle school; and these classes were held in trailers at the far end of the school property. So what message does that send to kids? And how can that feeling snowball? I knew a lot of brilliant “bad kids” who didn’t get the care they needed in school and saw how that affected their self-esteem, and later life choices. So after the second remedial math class, which was around seventh grade, I got evaluated. I think the moment came when I was crying over a practice FCAT (a Florida standardized test). My mom saw this so she saved until we could go and see an ophthalmologist. I do still wonder what would have happened if I had gotten glasses earlier, or if I would have fallen further behind in academics had received them later in life.
ARK: In the story you call yourself ugly, what was the most beautiful thing you became able to see clearly?
MP: Honestly, it’s been challenging to find things I like about myself and to admit that and focus on them as ways of building up my self-esteem. I don’t want all my self-worth to come from external things, like my weight or how small my pores look or the whiteness of my teeth because all those things can change, and they will over time. I’m not at the end of my journey to self-acceptance and self-appreciation; but I’ve been able to see more and more things I like about myself. The way my mom’s tattoos conveyed strength, I see my own face (scars, freckling, discolorations, piercings) as evidence of my power as well. I have a scar beneath my eyebrow from where a door hit me in high school and it reminds me, I can endure. The freckles on my cheek remind me of the long path I walked to get to one of my first jobs, and that reminds me that I’m industrious. When I see myself smile, I’m reminded that the awful things and people I’ve endured haven’t stripped me of my hope for a better future. I see a survivor.
ARK: What are your artistic inspirations in the realm of Illustrated Narrative?
MP: I am obsessed with Marjane Satrapi’s Persepolis. It was a book that I finished in one sitting, and it combined everything I loved about storytelling– winding asides that explore childhood dreams and beliefs; an intimate style; a playful tone that challenges what we’ve been commanded to think by authority figures. Sometimes we’re in her head and that can take up the width and height of a whole page, and in other moments we can shrink, falling to a place that feels absolute and alone. This book was instructional as well. It taught me that comics can be used to explore wounds without losing sentiment. Before this book, I thought artwork had to be hyper-realistic in order to be considered literary or valuable. And that book is all those things in a style that is accessible and sincere. I also adore Jul Maroh’s Le bleu est une Couleur Chaude because it was the first time, I’d seen queer characters’ lives tracked and explored on the page in a sensual and genuine way. They made love, but it wasn’t vulgar. They fought, but it wasn’t an indictment against queer relationships. The art style was jubilant, detailed, and orienting–I learned a lot about how to draw cities and the balance between background work and foreground. Comics, in particular, feel like a thorough line in my life. They keep me connected to my childhood, and that allows me to feel wonder.
Madari Pendas is a Cuban-American writer and cartoonist. She received her MFA from Florida International University, where she was a Lawrence Sanders Fellow. Her work has appeared in Craft, Smokelong Quarterly, The Masters Review, Oyster River Pages, PANK , and more. She is the author of Crossing the Hyphen (2021).
Hello everyone, we’re back after a long break with another Contributor Spotlight post. Read on to hear more from Issue 14 contributor and writer, Sekhar Bannerjee. Keep an eye out for more posts like this in the future!
1. Was this poem inspired by personal experience or the experience of someone you know?
The poem has its primary origin in the disturbing visuals of bombed residential complexes, schools, fields and churches in Ukraine. The intensity of emotions that you feel triggers a domino effect on your memories of personal loss.
2. The contrast between the quiet of prayer and the sound of a bomb is stark. So is the contrast between blue geraniums and weeds. What is the significance of contrast as a device in this poem?
That’s a very good question. I always try to juxtapose the opposites in my poetry because I sincerely believe that life is a study in contrasts. Its vastness, cyclicity and complexity defy common tenets of logic and reason. Maybe, we have survived the meanness of evolution partially due to the irrationality that nature and human civilization have bestowed on us.
3. Does the pomegranate hold any additional significance?
Pomegranate is a unique fruit. Each seed of a pomegranate is like a drop of fire, or, for that matter, a drop of blood. Ancient Greeks believed that pomegranate originated from the blood of Adonis. In most religions, the pomegranate is considered to be sacred. A broken pomegranate is a symbol of the entirety of Jesus’ suffering and resurrection. In Jewish ancient customs, it occupies a special and hallowed place. Pomegranate is also considered a forbidden fruit. It is a recurring motif of fertility and prosperity as well. To me, a pomegranate is a symbol of renewal that we always seek.
4. Does December hold a certain importance to the narrative or is it used to evoke winter?
Yes, December has a special relevance in the poem. Besides being the epicentre of winter, December is, in climatic essence, gothic and unfeeling. December is also an omnivore because it tries to devour every iota of warmth – both tangible and intangible, at your disposal.
5. When you speak of entering your sleep, do you mean death? I know pomegranates are associated with Persephone and her marriage to Hades. Are you suggesting some sort of elopement with death?
Sleep is a temporary cessation of everything. A blank space, a solace, a brief end. To me, sleep is a limited death, an afterlife and to be able to wake up again is a homecoming. Every morning is a new birth. It is more so when you face an inconducive environment. The myth of Persephone and Hades also proposes to explain the interplay between life and death and the cycle of seasons.
6. I found the playground to be a metaphor for a graveyard, or an afterlife of some sort, where the “seeds” or souls of the dead go to lay at rest. Was this your intention?
I agree. A well-defined yet unkempt playfield resembles a secluded place for something beyond usual understanding. It is kind of a bracketed emptiness which encloses all our griefs, memories and anticipations. In our unconscious mind, every dead relative or a friend is as real as a living person only residing in a different realm, a different space, a different country where they immigrated. Like someone living far away.
7. This poem seemed to centre around death, or loss. What was your inspiration behind writing this poem?
The primary trigger behind writing this poem was obviously the disturbing visuals of Russian bombing of civilian areas in Ukraine. But a poem is more than a reaction to an occurrence, an event, a design or a mishap. I have lost a number of close relatives, mostly elderly, in the last couple of years. The visuals might have unstitched the loss, and the profundity of such feelings just overwhelm you.
When asked about what we had to look forward to in the future from him, Sekhar had this to say: ” I am currently working on the manuscript of my next poetry book ‘Probably Geranium’ which is scheduled to be released in December this year. I am also trying to write a series of poems centred around the rotation of seasons, production of tea and fledging emotions in a tea estate in the sub-Himalayan Bengal, not far from my family home.” Below, find the cover to “Probably Geranium,” as well as a link to purchase the book here.
I am a first-year student in an MFA Creative Writing program. I was unaware of and still learning about all the people and processes in the publishing industry. What I do have is a bachelor’s degree in Anthropology. I have studied systemic inequalities and their effects on people of various racial, ethnic, and social groups. Through that I have learned the significance of all cultures and people, and I believe human connection and observation is essential to recording our history and keeping human expression alive.
I think the publishing industry has an issue. Publishers with the largest outreach and impact lack diversity, though this is changing. VIDA: Women in Literary Arts is one of many organizations and publishers creating a space for representation. They produce the VIDA Report, an online interactive report where they quantify diversity in at least ten publishing companies. They are not the only ones; these numbers can be found with simple searches. VIDA, like many, publish writings of marginalized voices, and they state that they are a “research-driven organization…to increase critical attention to contemporary women’s writing as well as further transparency around gender equality issues in contemporary literary culture.” Women, people of color, and LGBTQ+ communities are making their way through the literary world but are VIDA’s efforts as effective as they could be?
The truth of the matter is for the writing industry to make some vast and strong changes, people are going to have to become uncomfortable. People are going to have to continue to stand up and make that space for others but also start creating new connections. However, all the programs, journals and publishing companies being created to find new writers will go to waste if the education about them is not present. For example, Red Lining was a practice under Jim Crow laws where banks outlined areas of lower resource availability. In these areas, home loans were not given, healthcare was not as accessible and financial institutions turned their backs. Redlining was focused on Black and Latino neighborhoods, meaning it was a systemic demonstration of racism that affected every person within the area. It was banned in 1968 but still affects school districts and resource availability. People who are from redlined areas have greater health complications and fewer educational opportunities. The schools within these areas typically have a larger number of students of color and are still underfunded. The writers who live in these areas exist but are more than likely unaware someone is looking for them, that their voice is significant, and that the publishing industry is looking to hear them. They do not know what opportunities exist (and sometimes opportunities aren’t made for them).Schools are not the only places where people are not aware of how significant their voices truly are. The LGBTQ+ community is still not fully represented either and for the same reasons.
V. F. Cordova, a philosopher and writer of Native American Philosophy came to my mind when I was learning about diversity shortcomings among publishing writers. In chapter 7 of their book, How it is (2007), they talk about each person in existence having a matrix. This matrix is representative of everything that you are, everything that you believe, your dialect, your language, your heart, your truth, your definition of right and wrong. It has been commonly thought that once your matrix is built, you have made the connections you are able to make, and your matrix will only align with those similar to you. V.F. Cordova thinks that is not true. We do have a matrix of thoughts and beliefs, but we can use them to tap into other people’s matrices and use our differences and similarities as a point of connection. Cordova writes “There are no absolutes. The complexity is infinite because part of that complexity is change, motion. Whatever is, is in motion, and change is inevitable in the world.” There is no one “Truth” or belief system but an ever changing, fluid motion of thought that I believe should be recorded. Thanks to organizations such as VIDA, White women are being seen and heard; they have taken over the publishing industry, but that is not diversity just yet.
Women have fought for their representation, and they now know what it takes to be heard and be seen by this industry. We need writers from every background, every culture, every race. As writers, we record history and for so long people have been written out, we know this. The paradigm shift is occurring, but it is time to get our feet wet and really promote listening and providing space. We need to show our matrices and show that connection is human and natural. I firmly believe that every person has something important to say. If they want to shout it from the rooftops, how come we aren’t showing them the roof? Educating people on what is there and available is vital, and listening to people already shouting on other roofs is vital. We need to be connected, our matrices need to cross and build a bond so the gap can be bridged. Having a place at the table is not enough, the same conversation of wanting diverse writers to be published has been occurring for decades but no one is sitting in the seat. It is the job of literary journals, publishing companies, magazines, etc., to stand up, go out, and make space for the voices they are wanting to hear. Here at Arkana, we are constantly trying to do just that. We are, as a team, constantly working to be the most diverse we can be.
Shelby Nipper is a writer, artist and current student in the MFA program at the University of Central Arkansas. She obtained her BS in Anthropology in 2018 through UCA, where she also published two articles in the Journal of Undergraduate Research in Anthropology (JURA). Her passion for art and human expression pushed her towards a career in writing. She is a native to Conway, Arkansas and currently resides there.
It’s in our very nature, not only as emerging writers, but as human beings (animals, really).
What energizes me more than the chase of victory, though, is feeling like I am a part of something; a community. Camaraderie is something that writers need almost as much as winning a contest; we arguably need it more. Imposter syndrome sinks its talons deep and convinces us we are alone in our quest to be published and prove our worth. My imposter syndrome has improved since I have connected with peers within my MFA program and beyond. I saw that I was not even close to being alone. But we all wanted to feel that rush of being published, validated, seen.
The ideal scenario, then, is to blend competition and community building through a wholesome contest model that primarily serves to benefit a specific community of writers holistically. Market the contest as a way to network and connect with the writing of your peers. Allow for mentorship opportunities where they make sense and use the contest as an avenue for building a community that writers desperately need to fulfill the campaign for validation and artistic acuity.
Pitch Wars gave this idea a solid foundation by launching careers and fostering a community dedicated to peer support as well as the art of writing (through mentorship opportunities, etc.). Despite the program’s demise, I think Arkana can learn a lot from its strengths and its weaknesses.
Arkana dedicates itself to uplifting the voices of the marginalized and overlooked, which I think we definitely achieve to some extent with each issue. However, I would like to see Arkana embrace its Arkansan roots a little more than it currently does. Arkansas happens to be what many Americans consider a ‘flyover state.’ Artists and writers from Arkansas are often overlooked, much like our lush landscape. A contest that exists for writers within a 500 mile radius of Conway, AR would not only uplift those overlooked voices, but it could connect them.
For me, a huge draw of the Arkansas Writers MFA program at the University of Central Arkansas is the principle of connectivity between myself and my contemporaries. I want to seek out and work toward understanding the voices of artists around me. I want to build off of one another and rise above the lack of visibility that plagues our region. Hosting a contest event with avenues for collaboration, discourse, and mentorship would extend that connectivity to our community.
Connecting with other local hubs of artistry and exploring the art of collaboration will be critical in maintaining visibility and achieving the community-building goals of this concept. Submission fees would need to be kept low to preserve the accessible nature of such an experience. This idea is only that and will certainly require some workshopping before actionable steps can be taken. Until then, I and the rest of Arkana‘s editorial team will work to bring this concept to life.
An Arkana sponsored contest for local writers would be a great addition to the literary landscape in the mid-south. Maybe Arkana can aid in starting a broader movement to elevate an overlooked population of writers and this idea can evolve through the actions of many. Community, validation, and visibility lie within our grasp.
With an experience such as this, more writers can win without necessarily winning.
Dylan Richardson is a writer, higher ed administrator, and current MFA student at the University of Central Arkansas (UCA). He obtained his BA in Creative Writing from UCA and his MS in Counseling and College Student Development from Kansas State University, where he lived and worked for two years. He started out as a student journalist and morphed his way into the world of the abstract. His passion for music inspired a love for writing poetry and nonfiction. A native of Little Rock, he now resides in Conway, Arkansas with his wife and dog.
Hello everyone! We’re so excited to bring you an article written by one of Arkana’s editors (and social media mastermind) Teighlor Chaney! Teighlor joined our staff this year and has already contributed greatly to the journal. Pretty much every piece of social media of ours you’ve seen this fall has had Teighlor involved in some way, shape, or form, so we’re excited to bring you her thoughts on the ever evolving field of social media. Take it away, Teighlor!
As a millennial, I was born and raised on the precipice of what technology is today. I still remember when my grandmother’s rotary phone stopped working, to her great disappointment. I also remember when you had to pay for each word in a text message, so you wrote everything in shorthand. Lol, brb, omg – those abbreviations all came from having those limitations. Now you’ll hear people say, “no one talks on the phone anymore.” While not entirely true, Alexander Graham Bell would be heartbroken to know that most of us prefer writing letters today. When the world began communicating – yet again – primarily through the written word, social media was born. Communication has changed so much since our parents were kids – since I was a kid! Now, whether you want to talk to grandma or market your new book, you’ll find yourself on social media.
For any institution, literary journals not excluded, social media can be challenging. To be effective, social media is a time-consuming process that requires a dedicated staff of employees or volunteers. I have observed that the most successful journals have a defined social media presence. What defines a successful social media page? More than anything, it is consistency. Therein lies the biggest hurdle we all face in promoting ourselves online.
Many literary journals like Arkana are university-run. They rely on a staff of graduate students and volunteers to produce issues each term. These roles change hands every semester, every five months or so. Because of this, maintaining our Facebook and Instagram pages can fall by the wayside. Ultimately, editorial work comes first, as does getting our writers published. So that may beg the question, “why bother with social media at all?”
Social media can garner new readers and attract new submitters to your literary journal when used effectively. I have worked in graphic design, marketing, and social media for nearly ten years. Though social media changes every day, our platforms for social interaction have maintained the same goal – communication! There is a lot of noise in our new world, and filtering it out to drive home your message requires a few things.
Choose the right platform for your journal.
As of 2023, thirty-five social media platforms worldwide have at least 100 million users. Among the literary community, the following tend to be the most popular, however:
X (formerly Twitter) has been a popular journal platform due to its concise engagement. In 2022, Carolyn Topperman stated, “This (X) is where agents and editors like to hang out, so there’s a good chance that you’ll hear about the latest trends or what they are specifically looking for. I have also found that quite a few magazine editors post their wishlists on there, and some will even answer your questions. If you are trying to get a reporter’s attention, this is a great platform for that. This comes in handy if you are trying to be featured in an article.”
Facebook provides many features, including cross-posting. It is by far the most versatile of the platforms. It has the most prominent active uses (2.96 billion) and allows imagery, video, and written content.
Instagram is primarily for visual content, but this hasn’t kept most literary journals from having a dedicated page. This platform will require that you create images to post, as you cannot create a post that does not include an image, even when cross-posting from Facebook.
The most critical factor in your choice should be picking the ones you’ll use! If Facebook frustrates you, don’t use it. If posting is a chore, you’re less likely to do it. Think about what will engage your audience most. The next category will likely determine your choice of content.
Know your demographic
The audience you want reading your journal can factor into your platform choice but comes in clutch the most once you’ve established your accounts. Knowing who you want to market your journal to is arguably the most crucial aspect of promoting yourself online. Who are your readers, or who would you like your readers to be?
For example, if you’re a journal that primarily focuses on nature writing, such as Terrain.org, but you want to focus on female-identifying writers and readers ages 16-30, an excellent social space to promote your journal would be Instagram, as 72% of American social media users aged 12 to 34 utilize this platform, and 48.3% are female. 62% of teens in the U.S. use Instagram, so if you want young readers to engage with this could be a starting point. Today’s young audience prefers video content over all other forms. A journal looking to attract younger readers could utilize Instagram reels to create short videos promoting their issues. Look at what “sounds” are trending (sounds are audio clips such as popular songs that overlay the videos) and use those to accompany your content. You will often see the word “trending” in social media articles, as keeping up with trends is the best way to keep your content relevant. As you’ll read below, these trends will change over time, so remember to do continued research. A common word of advice for writers is to read more. The same goes for social media. You must consume more social media to become more skilled with your content.
You can appeal to a limited demographic. To illustrate the difference, Arkana markets itself towards “the marginalized, the overlooked, and those whose voices have been silenced.” This describes a broad demographic that includes people of color, LGBTQ, those from poorer regions and backgrounds, and generally anyone from a disadvantaged position. On the other hand, Survivor Lit only publishes work by survivors of sexual assault. Having a limited demographic makes defining your target audience much simpler, but will obviously limit your story topics.
Post consistently and frequently
When you look at Emerson College’s Ploughshares Facebook page or The Paris Review’s Instagram page, you will see almost daily posts, whether they are quotes from famous authors such as Margaret Atwood or calls to action urging readers to subscribe. Each post is tailored to deliver a message and encourage people to read. However, there is no defined equation for success. As stated before, stay up on trends. As of 2023, these are the recommended post rates and dates for various sites:
Facebook
Between 8 a.m. and noon on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
2-5 times per week
Hootsuite suggests 1-2 times daily, which is often not manageable.
Instagram
Mondays from 10 a.m. to noon. Tuesdays from 9 a.m. to 1 p.m., Wednesdays from 10 a.m. to 1 p.m., Fridays from 9 to 11 a.m.
3-5 times per week.
X (Twitter)
Tuesdays from 9 a.m. to 2 p.m. Wednesdays from 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. Thursdays from 9 a.m. to 2 p.m. Fridays 9 a.m. to noon.
Between 2 and 3 times per day
Remember, again, these statistics change frequently. Fortunately, each platform allows you to examine your algorithms to determine the best audience engagement for your journal. You can use these as a starting point and re-examine your success rates at a later time.
Attractive content
One of the most underrated aspects of marketing is the graphic design that goes into it. Every post you submit should include imagery or video, whether a carefully cultivated graphic or a professional-quality photograph of one of your writers. The higher the quality of your visuals, the more credibility you’ll garner.
Branding is a big part of marketing. If you have colors that you specifically use for your website, these are part of your “brand.” Why is branding important? It gives your literary journal identity. It creates a recognizable and consistent visual identity. It helps to build the relationship between your journal and your audience. Choose a logo, a font (having no more than two is ideal), a color scheme, and an overall theme or style that showcases the “feeling” you’re trying to convey. Arkana keeps things simple with black and white, a typewriter style font, but adds a touch of nature by incorporating tree imagery. Other journals may choose colors such as green (freshness, natural), red (energetic, powerful), or yellow (joy, happiness). But I won’t get into color theory and psychology in this article. However, thinking about what you want your readers to feel when reading your stories helps develop your brand.
Know that whatever platform you choose, how much demographic research you do, how often you post, or how beautiful your content is there are no guarantees for engagement. Sometimes, it takes several casts to catch a fish; the same goes for social media. If you remain consistent, however, your audience will let you know what is successful and what isn’t. By creating some metrics, you can then determine what needs to change. Like the platforms, it is up to your journal to adapt and grow along the ever-changing landscape of online communication because, at the end of the day, your goal should be just that – communication!
Teighlor Chaney is a writer, artist, animal lover, and current MFA student at the University of Central Arkansas. She is an Oxford American Fellow, the 2023 Porter Fund Literary Scholarship recipient, and has worked as a contractor for Arkansas PBS. She has a bachelor’s in Sequential Illustration from the Rocky Mountain College of Art & Design and a BA in Creative Writing from the University of Arkansas at Monticello. Combining art and the written word has always been her passion. This love of storytelling led to nearly a decade of working in graphic design and marketing. Now, she has decided to pursue her life goal of becoming a writer. An Arkansas native, Teighlor currently resides in Little Rock with her husband, four (and a half) cats, and three dogs, as well as a multitude of other animals on her small homestead.
“Spontaneous poetry: – like spontaneous combustion” – Unknown Leaf
Seeds of poetic lines were planted at this year’s AWP conference in Seattle, Washington, for Arkana’s Poet Tree. Thanks to the help of illustrated narrative editor Sydney Austin and nonfiction editor Melanie A. Wilson, the seeds have grown into one beautiful poem.
From the creative minds of Sara Pierce, Sarah Kruse, Kris Bigalk, Santiago, Al, Jasveen Kaur S., Linda Cooper, A. True, Natasha Herring, and many other writers who are unknown leaves in the wind, we give you the Poet Tree poem for 2023.
Leaves Never Drop When I Expect Them To
I walk amongst the midnight trees, and then wherever I turned there was the moon and you. An earthworm made of gold eats nothing but cold grass, these soft laws in little light, bluebirds in flight like small fears flying south as if there were no sun. In the absence of light the roots entangle in knots of consistency.
I am that dead tree made of dead trees. I slipped the soul through blackened teeth, tongues, touch and taste the serendipity of song. Just the tip the tree top said to the thirsty roots crawling for the worms finding bits of the ocean under a turned leaf.
I carry rivers like anglerfish interred to stars careening towards evergreens among night skies. The forest is ripe with what was, my moon–
soft lover holds me in motion
like a strand of trees in the city. A test faithful to who you are Wilderness.
There’s More!!
Do you recognize a line or someone’s name?
Please share this blog post with them so they can see how their line helped create our Poet Tree poem!
If you don’t see your line in the poem, keep reading. We have some honorable mentions that we loved!
Honorable Mentions:
“All stories start from somewhere, but this one starts with a squish” – Andrea Rivard
“Trust the leap but not the lilypad” – Elinor Servmgar
“The Boy turned green, so he planted a seed.” – Lucas
“She is all limbs-thin and taught. A tree falls in the forest and she unfurls like a loosed bowstring.” – Unknown
“Up up under the ground” – Allyson Weber
“like incest with a squid” – Unknown
“After the Ferris wheel and the fireworks, I take a breath.” – Nancy Knowles
“Keep eyes on aisles of distant minds.” – Stormy Matthews
“Artists envision and the world follows” – P. Chung
“Their tired eyes drifting over empty branches and dried willow sprigs” – Alex
“spidley fingers heavy with moss & life” – KC Crawford
“and the last bell rang out” – Unknown
Thank you to the other writers who anonymously added a leaf to our Poet Tree!
These include M. Gholamz, Joshua Jumsen, Lyndsie Clark, Savannah Worthington, Alex Carrigan, J. Jacob, Scott Morris, Nancy Boutilier, Jordan Griffin, Benjamin C. Roy, Cory Garrett, Saige Johnson, Susan Ito, Annike, Micah Arnold, Luca R. Hatigan, Paul Williams, Chavonn Shen, Tracy Root Pitts, Stephanie Ciecierski, and J. Olson.
Congratulations to our Arkana t-shirt drawing winner, Sara Pierce!
We want to thank everyone who helped us create this Poet Tree.
We hope to see you all next year at AWP in Kansas City, Missouri, to create Poet Tree 2024!
Want to discover more poetry, prose, and art? Read the latest issue of Arkanahere.
The publishing industry has seen, in just a few short years, a drastic shift in many areas, from where employees work to how consumers are marketed to. Of course, these changes did not come to exist vainly or in a vacuum. Rather, the onset of the coronavirus pandemic in early 2020 forced many companies across the planet and across almost every sector to adapt to the needs and demands of a pandemic and (hopefully) post-pandemic world.
One industry affected strongly by the pandemic was, of course, publishing. Rising material costs forced larger publishing houses to reconsider what kinds of books they wished to prioritize and how many of those books they could reasonably expect to publish profitably. The unfortunate truth of the pandemic was that, as with most crises, larger houses and firms had a much easier time weathering the storm, but not even they came out unscathed.
Some smaller publishers, including literary magazines and journals, struggled to deal with these costs. To adapt, some were reducing their annual publishing, switching to a primarily digital publication format, or shutting down entirely under strain. As more publications moved exclusively online, income sources became more flexible, with some presses moving toward subscription or membership business models.
On a more individual level, employees frequently had to attend staff meetings and other important events over digital platforms like Zoom. Literary conferences and other large-scale gatherings had to either adapt quickly to the new norm of Zoom, postpone, or cancel completely. Publishing’s slow tumble into decentralization became a free fall. With more conferences, book tours, and everyday communications occurring over Zoom, the publishing industry post-vaccine is making its way out of New York City, which is a good thing; the average editor’s pay is $10,000 less than the cost of living. Editors feel burnt out, and overall, the mental health of the public is on a decline. The publishing industry is no exception; the consequences of long-term social isolation brought on by the pandemic aren’t fully known yet, but it is likely to have a prolonged negative impact on those most affected by structural discrimination, such as children, people with disabilities or chronic illnesses, ethnic and racial minorities, and rural populations.
On the consumer’s end, reduced access to physically printed materials due to supply chain disasters, materials shortage, and limited access to retail stores—thanks to limited staffing and (necessary) social distancing—led to frustrations that have ultimately been answered by an even greater emphasis on home delivery and no contact checkout services, a fact that has left Amazon keenly better off than most companies and driven a greater expectation for home delivered products going forward.
However, the current state of the industry isn’t all doom and gloom. Some smaller publishers were able to find and fill new niches in the publishing space, especially online, as the demand for digital media soared to unprecedented heights. As the pandemic has begun to recede somewhat from the public consciousness, publishing houses that were once on the brink are now finding new footing and new life as physical storefronts and writers’ conferences open once again. The trials and tribulations of the past few years certainly seem unique, but the demand for the written word still exists, and as long as there is a demand, the publishing industry will be here to fill it.
Mako Duvall is an undergraduate at the University of Central Arkansas and a student intern for the Arkana Issue 13.
Gabrielle Thurman is a new writer, book lover, queer woman, professional editor, and native Arkansan. She majors in creative writing and plans to attend law school in the fall of 2023.
“Male writers may suffer strains on their single-minded dedication to their art for reasons of class or race or nationality, but so far no male writer is likely to be asked to sit on a panel addressing itself to the special problems of a male writer, or be expected to support another writer simply because he happens to be a man. Such things are asked of women writers all the time, and it makes them jumpy.” – Margaret Atwood
Jumpy. Classic Atwood, that word choice. So understated as to be a whisper (gender bias having, of course, made women so much more than ‘jumpy’ – affronted, insulted’, enraged come to mind), it is yet a deadly whisper, a warning, even, to WATCH OUT, for women, you see, have been put on an irregular course; after centuries of gender bias, they’re at an unpredictable, jumpy stage, and their actions might still upend the status quo.
One way to do that? Hold the publishing world accountable. If gender bias is a cloudy term, so vague of an accusation that powerful men can deny or evade it with disarming ease, then deploy careful, fact-based research – free of anecdote or bias – to discern and disseminate the exact figures and dispel the clouds. Gain the means to state that __ journal published # __ women and # __ men over the course of # __ issues. Publish the results annually. Establish patterns and prove the bias. The hope, as voiced by Erin Belieu, in this interview from 2015? That, once faced with the incontrovertible reality that men’s voices are systematically valued over those of women, editors and publishers responsible for the bias will naturally seek more equality, and “deserving women’s texts – across the globe – [which] remain unpublished or out-of-print” will find their audience.[i] Belieu references two journals whose editors have made efforts toward more equitable publication numbers, Tin House and the Paris Review. In her words, “Their editors said, ‘Yep. VIDA makes a good point. Let’s fix this.’ And they did. No drama… They decided that what VIDA is saying matters” (108).
“Speaking truth to power is not about moral superiority. In order to be effective, it has to be aimed at changing the target’s fundamental attitudes.” – Bayard Rustin
“The Satyagrahi’s {Truth-Seeker’s] object is to convert, not to coerce, the wrongdoer.” – Mahatma Gandhi
“I can’t think of a woman writer I know who doesn’t have stories about the disturbing things that were said or done to her because of her gender while pursuing her writing career… Some women will share their stories readily, and some are more reticent… VIDA’s presence has made a lot more women willing to take the risk”, Belieu claims (103). More women sharing their stories, risking the label ‘Crazy’, ‘Bitchy’, or ‘Selfish’, for the Sake of Truth EQUALS = more power to women, more women’s voices published, and less power to the Patriarchy. A very healthy equation! And one very familiar in the #MeToo age.
“Of course, it was illegal and criminal and that was very satisfying, to tell the truth, and be supported in telling the truth.” – Gloria Steinem, on the first issue of Ms. magazine.
… but (and also, ‘of course’) the health of the above equation very much depends on which women’s stories are deemed worthy of being heard. Tarana Burke (an African-American woman) founded MeToo in 2006, but it was the tweet of (Caucasian woman) Alyssa Milano in 2017 concerning (Caucasian man) Harvey Weinstein, which took the movement viral. While fully aware of the movement’s radical international impact, Ms. Burke has often expressed concern that MeToo, conceived as a platform to assist women in neighborhood communities of color, was co-opted by the white entertainment industry. “We are socialized to respond to the vulnerability of white women”, she states.[ii]
In her July 1972 New Yorker article The Women’s Movement, Joan Didion implies that minority groups, in their efforts toward justice, lose their cause when they work for ‘social ideals’ rather than issues of immediate reform – i.e, ‘class interests’ rather than a seat on the bus.[iii] She identifies feminism’s Second Wave as falling prey to just that; its inauguration, she claims, arrived with “the invention of women as a ‘class’. The women’s groups spearheading this Wave “seized as a political technique a kind of shared testimony… They purged and regrouped and purged again, worried out one another’s errors and deviations, the ‘elitism’ here, the ‘careerism’ there.” A question looms large here: whether women (and, perhaps, by extension, other underrepresented groups) do best to control/create their own means of production, or to demand a greater share of those which exist? Returning to the interview under discussion: “I don’t think we address gender bias by taking our ball and going off to make our own game,” Belieu claims, “Why should women writers want anything less than their male counterparts have?” (109).[iv]
“Why were we constantly told, you can’t do this, don’t do that, temper your ambition, lower your voice, stay in your place… Why wasn’t a female striving seen as life enriching?… If I felt that way, I wondered how the people of color around me felt.” – Billie Jean King
The VIDA Board announced in 2019 that the organization’s programs would be put on pause to “focus inwards and re-examine our foundations” due to a “climate of white feminism with racist, cis-centrist, and ableist overtones” within the organization that was allowed to persist.[v] 2019 marked the last VIDA Count.
Gender equality is a valuable social goal; in the struggle for that achievement, it must be acknowledged that all women don’t share identical advantages or the same goals. The longer one sits with Belieu’s interview and considers the motivations for the VIDA Count, the more questions arise concerning the struggle for gender equity. Do women compose a class? If not, where is the line between gender and class drawn? Should the language of oppressed racial minorities be used in women’s liberation? Where does the experience between these groups diverge, and where is their cause the same? And how do answers to these questions apply to our understanding of Arkana’s purpose or the literary journal as a form?
“Speaking truth to power makes no sense. Instead, speak truth to the powerless. Or better, with the powerless. Then they’ll act to dismantle illegitimate power.” – Noam Chomsky
[iv] In 2016, a year after giving the interview discussed here, and in direct response to the result of that year’s US Presidential election, Belieu founded “Writers Resist”, a feminist literary collective. Its last biweekly issue launched January 2021. Today, Belieu is a full professor at the University of Houston’s Creative Writing Department; of the paragraphs in her bio, only one mention is made of her participation with the VIDA Count.
Jeremy Quinn is in his first year in the MFA Creative Writing program at the Univesity of Central Arkansas. After specializing in Fiction Writing at the University of Montana (BA) and working/publishing years thereafter in the fields of travel and taste, he is now honing his genre voice at UCA with a strong emphasis on creative nonfiction.
The competitive spirit manages to find its way into every career field: writing and publishing is no different. If you simply look up “writing contest” in your chosen search engine, thousands of pages of articles outlining the best contests will pop up. What is it about these contests that draw in striving writers? What kind of effect has this had on the publishing industry? What can you do about it?
A large part of the draw contests has come from the prestige that a writer can get from winning. They have a new feather in their cap! From then on, a writer has that accolade that they can put on resumes, and cover letters, as well as a confidence boost. Who doesn’t like to hear that their writing is worth a reward?
These contests also have impacted the publishing industry by providing a venue of funds for literary magazines. In Nathaniel Tower’s article “How to Host a Writing Contest”, he details the pathways that a literary magazine can take to properly run their own contest. It’s possible for almost any publication to run these contests and even if they are too small for the contest to turn over a profit, the exposure can benefit the growth of that publication.
However, even with all of the upsides to these contests, it has struck up a new debate in the industry. With the increase in the number of contests and deep looks into accessibility, the ethics of contests have been questioned. The main argument against contests remains about the monetary aspect: the entry fees.
Standard contests run around $10-$20 (USD) for submissions. On one hand, this is necessary for the publication to support itself, and on the other hand, it decreases the possibility of people in unstable financial situations getting their work. The publishing industry itself has its struggle with diversity, and it’s made even more apparent in situations such as this, where a class disparity is clearly laid out: you have to pay-to-play, and sometimes you can’t pay.
As discouraging as this can be, the main advice that can be given is this: weigh the costs and rewards and make informed decisions from there. Holly Lyn Walrath says in her article “Are Writing Contests Worth Entering?” that writers should focus on “writing the best thing you can and submitting it to the best market for your genre.” Research your field! Research the contests that interest you. Prioritize the ones where the benefits outweigh the initial cost. Think of it as a submission fee that has a set payout.
In the book Literary Publishing in the Twenty-First Century, Kevin Larimer summarizes everything perfectly. “At the end of the day, publishing is a competition. The real question is whether you want to pay an entry fee to be in it.”
Grace Burns is a first-year MFA student at the University of Central Arkansas studying creative writing with a focus on poetry.
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