When a Convention Creates Community
As we pulled our suitcases through the Minneapolis airport on our way to the Association of Writers and Writing Programs (AWP) annual conference, I noticed a scrolling sign that announced, RAIN TAXI WELCOMES AWP ATTENDEES. Oh, I thought, so this is what it’s like. Not even out of the airport yet, and poetry, literature, and the love of reading were part of the fabric of the day.
Writers blanketed Minneapolis, as did the snow, which the weather report had neglected to mention. Snow fell for two days in mid-April, to the surprise of Californians and the resignation of Bostonians. But there were plenty of bars, cafes, and restaurants to take refuge in. And every one of them seemed to be hosting a reading organized by an esteemed press or journal. I kept catching the tail ends of readings and hearing only snippets; when there are so many events going on at the same time, you can end up sitting on a bench outside a bar, paralyzed by the array of possibilities and by the geography of an unfamiliar city.
As an editor I was thrilled to meet even a tiny percentage of the thirteen thousand book lovers who descended upon Minneapolis for AWP’s annual convention. Writers, one hopes, are the most voracious and adventurous of readers, and at Two Lines, those readers are the core of our audience. Sumita Chakraborty, the Assistant Poetry Editor of one of our favorite journals, AGNI, swung by to say hello, picked up Naja Marie Aidt’s Baboon, read one line, and was so caught by it she had to buy the book immediately. Making that personal connection, sharing our books with someone who will fall headfirst into them, is exactly why we come to AWP.
We forged bonds with writers, teachers, and program administrators interested in raising translation’s profile in the writing community. Two students of the University of Arkansas MFA in Creative Writing with an Emphasis on Translation nearly burst out of their skin with excitement to discover Two Lines Press for the first time. Just like the Rain Taxi sign at the airport, the great enthusiasm our fellow AWP-ers showed for beautiful books and translated literature’s future in the US turned a convention into a community.
Meeting with your peers from all over the country is a precious opportunity. The internet gives us the illusion of closeness—I can tweet at writers and editors all over the world and they can respond in seconds—but having the chance to talk with translators and other editors face-to-face creates a human connection in the world of an art mediated by paper or screen. With the small press world spread far and wide, those happenstance connections sometimes seem reserved for AWP.
On my way out on Saturday evening I came across Danielle Dutton, the publisher of the St. Louis-based Dorothy Project. In the darkening hall, we discussed the practicalities of shipping and storing books, the biggest headache for all of us invested in the future of print. I’ve had her press’s owl magnet on my fridge for a few years and am an admirer of what is essentially a one woman show—she publishes stylish, adventurous fiction, only two books a year, and Danielle’s precise eye means that each book is something unexpected and wonderful. The collection of stories In The Time Of The Blue Ball by Manuela Draeger, translated from the French by Brian Evenson and Valerie Evenson, is a Dorothy book. As the publisher of Marie NDiaye, we at Two Lines share an affinity with the Dorothy Project for off-kilter stories by French writers. And despite the feverish hoarseness I felt after days of high-energy interactions, that quiet moment of connection highlighted the openness and communality of the world of literary publishing as it’s practiced by small presses. A shared sense of purpose to serve writers and readers by helping them find each other was the defining element of AWP for me.
Check out a photo of the airport kiosk
AWP Translation Bookfair Bingo
Two Lines Press audio: Baboon author Naja Marie Aidt and translator Denise Newman
