Words, Pictures, Partnership: A Married Duo's Literary Magazine

It’s not everyday one encounters a journal run by a husband-wife team. How, why, and when did you decide to do this together? And is it something you could’ve envisioned doing together when you first met?

Carissa Halston: We met in 2004 and began apt (and its mothership, Aforementioned Productions) in 2005. The former was a product of our combined interests, mainly being Randolph’s comment, “I’ve always wanted to run a magazine,” and my response, “Cool. I’m in.” The only magazines I really knew about were literary journals, so I suggested that and, thankfully, Randolph was excited about the enterprise.

Randolph Pfaff: I had always wanted to edit a journal and I had a strong interest in the visual and design aspects as well. I think the form that a publication takes and the way it presents its content are very important and those things are frequently considered perfunctory in the realm of lit mags. I’m also interested in the intersection of words and pictures (visual rhetoric, visual poetics, etc.) and the possibility for creating new forms seems more or less limitless. 

CH: As for whether or not we could’ve envisioned this sort of undertaking when we first met—possibly not right away. We had to meet twice before we officially “took,” as it were. But immediately thereafter, definitely. He’s one of my favorite people to work with because he gets a lot of things without my having to say much. And we both bring similar, yet varied skills to the table, so if one of us can’t do something, it’s likely the other can (or we could potentially do it in tandem).

RP: It did take us a while to really get to know our specific skill sets, though. We spent a long time trying to “help” each other when, in the end, things would have happened much more quickly if we’d just assigned work to each other based on our strengths. You learn a lot as you go along. Ideally, you also realize how lucky you are to be able to work well with the person who means the most to you.

What are apt’s aesthetic preferences, in terms of how you evaluate your submissions? Does it vary genre to genre, or are there qualities you want to see in all submissions that represent what apt is after?

RP: It’s really difficult to pinpoint what we’re looking for in generalized terms. I can speak a bit more to our poetry submissions and say that we’re looking for work with strong and inventive syntax and poems that experiment with form when it suits content. Surprises are also good. My favorite authors and poets are those who show me something about the world I wouldn’t have discerned on my own.

CH: We have a nebulous aesthetic, but it definitely involves the following: 1) a fearless approach to language that 2) properly serves the story being told. The word innovation gets thrown around a lot, but one doesn’t necessarily have to break ground in order to create emotional resonance; rather, it’s more a question of which words to put where. And perhaps that’s exactly what innovation is. It’s a know-it-when-we-see-it sort of game to play, but it’s one that’s served us well.

The apt event at Lorem Ipsum Books on Feb. 18 was exceptionally entertaining. All the pieces worked so well when they were read aloud, and that’s not always the case at readings. It got me wondering: How much of a consideration is this element—let’s call it the performance/read aloud factor—in your decision to accept/reject a submission? Do you ever read submissions aloud to each other or other readers as a litmus test?

RP: First of all, thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed the release party. We had a great time bringing together contributors from several issues and having a reading at one of our favorite bookstores. As for the potential for performance, I don’t think that we consciously consider that element of a work when reading submissions, but you can definitely feel when something has that aspect to it. It’s often easier with poetry. When editing my own work, I often read a piece aloud to help me get a sense of the rhythm of a poem and what is or is not working. Weak or inappropriate lines become apparent very quickly.

CH: We sometimes read submissions aloud to each other, but that’s often a consequence of a piece one of us loves so much, we don’t have the patience to wait until the other is ready to read it alone. Like Randolph, I often read my own work aloud because that helps with the flow of it. Consistent voice is incredibly important to me in my own writing and reading it aloud helps to maintain that consistency. Speaking as a writer who does have such a vested interest in a recognizable voice, I find that the performative element in writing can go one of two ways—it can either be so spot-on that you feel the writer talking to you or it’s so over the top that it’s repellant. And that’s such a fine line. But when it works, performative writing can be so seductive. It’s the sort of writing that wants to go home with you at the end of the night. It’s the sort of writing you’re willing to make breakfast for the next morning. And, as for the readings, I love them. It’s such a great way to remind writers that they’re part of a community and that an artistic community means creative support, which is sometimes the equivalent of fresh air.

You accept poetry, prose, plays, narrative visual art...and there’s also a category called “apt comparisons.” Where did the idea to do these come from?

CH: I’m almost certain that the “apt comparisons” feature was an idea I had, half-kidding, while we were just sitting around. We play word games a lot (ones that we make up, mostly), so we’re usually talking about words that we like or dislike or usage we find odd or confusing, and I jokingly said, “We should start a feature on the site called “apt comparisons.” The feature is basically an invitation to any writer who wants to write contrast/compare essays. We ask that they choose two things and compare them in 2000 words or fewer. Our visual arts editor, J.F. Lynch, wrote a great essay called “The Elegance of Gesture” in which he compares Art and art. I’m really hoping that we get some really absurd ones soon. I want to see an essay that compares Charlie Chaplin to Charlie Rose or ColecoVision to the iPhone.

If you could receive more submissions in any of the genres you accept, which would it be?

RP: Well, apt comparisons, of course. We’ve also been fortunate to have published a number of uniquely structured essays (two of which were in issue two), so I would love to see more engaging and non-traditional non-fiction.

CH: Yes to more visually engaging pieces. Like Clayton Michaels’s poem “[4] MONSTER.” And double yes to more sequential art. I want literary comics and I want them now.

Of everything you’ve published, what piece comes closest to exemplifying the type of work you’re looking for?

RP: Dolan Morgan’s “Investment Banking in Reverse” appeared in our first print issue and it’s an incredibly well written story. The full version isn’t online, but an excerpt can be found here. 

CH: I second that motion. Dolan is such an inventive writer and IBIR is sharp and funny and moving and just filled to capacity with thought. We loved it so much, our associate editor, Robin E. Mørk, drew spot illustrations to accompany it in the issue. Another knock-out story is Meghan Lamb’s “My Long and Tearless Night.”  I remember reading it and thinking, “Wait, what just happened?” and immediately rereading it. There are so many dark, vague images she uses and they all work to shape this troubling, threatening narrative that you (or at least I) want to be threatened and troubled by.

Are there examples of work you have not published—but you’ve read elsewhere—that exemplifies the sort of pieces you’re looking for, and would love to include in the future?

CH: Susan McCarty, hands down. She writes these insightful, clinical, touching cross-genre pieces that I can’t describe other than to say they’re the best example of hybrid works I’ve ever read. Read “Anamnesis” in Tarpaulin Sky . Read “Field Reports” in The Collagist. I actually wrote to her on her birthday (the magic of Facebook) to tell her in an absurdly polite fashion how much I liked her work. And she got back to me and was downright lovely about the whole thing. I wish she lived closer so I could invite her to read at Literary Firsts.

RP: Mark Leidner. His book Beauty Was the Case that They Gave Me is filled with the kind of poetry that touches the familiar but remains out of reach. Read his poems in La Petite Zine and notnostrums.

How does each of you balance the work required in running a journal with the time required to pursue your own writing and submitting and marketing?

RP: I’ve somehow found myself in a professional position where I can work from home some days, so I have the luxury of being able to write or work on a project when I feel the need to do so. It’s a somewhat delicate balancing act, but it allows for a great deal of freedom and I don’t take that for granted.

CH: Having long engagements with projects absolutely helps. I think of myself as a long-form writer, both in time and scope. My next book is a novella which started as a short story and just grew until it was book-length and, right now, I’m working on a new novel. Effectively managing your time as a writer comes down to being really committed to your work and learning to wholeheartedly embrace revision.

Revision is arduous, but—if I can coin an obvious adjective—it can also be “ardorous.” Polishing a story until it really shines, until every point is where you want it, is a consequence of careful revision and a labor of undeniable ardor. The part that’s doubly tricky is working on individual stories over the course of months or years while also editing the journal and plugging new work that’s coming out (which is actually older work). It’s difficult, but when I’m not doing it, I feel thrown out of whack. I’m not sure this is a proper answer to your question. I suppose a concise answer is: It’s hard. It requires effort.

How has running a journal improved or influenced your own practices of drafting and submitting work?

CH: It’s made me more selective, certainly. It’s made me aware of my peers. When we get great submissions, I feel the need to up my own game or to at least reconsider what I’m sending out and when.

RP: It helps me to stay aware of trends in contemporary writing, even if I’m not following them. It also serves as a reminder to put new work aside and edit over time. It’s very easy to be excited about something and to send it out before it’s ready. I see that when reading submissions and it reminds me to be honest and exacting when editing my own work.

Recently on the apt site I spied this note: “Submissions are temporarily closed. Since our reading period opened on March 3, we’ve received a larger-than-usual number of submissions. In order to keep our four-week response time, we’re closing submissions for a week to catch up. See you on April 2!” To what do you attribute the spike in submissions? 

RP: We had been closed to print submissions for a few months and, because we don’t accept unsolicited poetry for online publication, we were completely closed to poetry submissions.

Specifically, how many submissions did you receive between March 3 and the end of this reading period? And how much larger than usual was this number?

RP: From March 3rd until the 21st, we received about 200 submissions. This would put us on pace for well over 3,000 submissions for the year, which is about double our normal volume.

Why is keeping up the four-week response time important to you, personally?

RP: It’s a matter of respect for people’s time. We don’t have the burden of sifting through envelopes and stacks of paper and then sending things to various editors and then mailing responses back to writers. The administrative time is more or less nullified by online submissions, so we should be able to read and get back to people quickly because reading is the only real task and we’re able to focus on it. Thirty days seems like a very reasonable timeframe for a response and we’d rather close submissions for a week or two here and there than make people wait months for a response, especially if that response is, “No thanks.”

CH: Also, it’s important to us that each submission is read by at least two editors. Robin and J.F. are always there to help us with reading, but this really got out of hand, so we wanted to make sure we were keeping our expectations realistic for everyone involved.

Does this mean that you’re now looking for interns or others who can play the role of readers/initial submission screeners?

RP: Not at this time. We have four editors reading submissions and we’re doing pretty well. If the time comes when we have a sustained, significant increase in submissions, we’ll probably turn to writers we know and respect and hope that they would be willing to spend some time reading for us.

Is there anything you’d like to add about apt, that we haven’t yet mentioned?

CH: We recently started offering subscriptions. Three years of apt for $25.

RP: Even though it’s eleven months away, we’re planning big things for AWP next year since it will be here in Boston.  Also—and here’s the obligatory social media push—you can find us on Facebook and Twitter.

Ilan Mochari's novel, Zinsky the Obscure, is due out in 2012 from Fomite Press. His short stories have appeared or are forthcoming in Keyhole, Stymie, Ruthie's Club, and Oysters & Chocolate. In 2009, he received a Literature Artist Fellowship grant from the Somerville Arts Council. He is a former staff writer forInc, and he has written for Fortune Small Business,CFO and KFFL.com. He is Chief Writer for The Build Network and a contributor to the MIT Sloan Management Review. He has a B.A. in English from YaleUniversity.

See more interviews.