Dear writers,

 

Without further ado: A HOUSE IS NOT A HOME: a lunchtime conversation over a loaf of Quincy's freshly baked bread. (Soundtrack: first the Luther Vandross version , then the Dionne Warwick version) 

 

Quincy: I just finished the first conversation with my Trajectory crew and it was the strangest thing. Like, I’m truly weirded out by the fact that I came out of a meeting feeling genuinely supported. I’ll be honest: until three or four years ago, I always thought of “community” as something I had to “bear," not something I got to build. After all, community is other people. What did Jean-Paul Sartre say—that hell is other people? I’ve never felt a sentence ring so hard.

 

Steffani: [laughing. Because it's true that Quincy is not a “people person” in the traditional sense.]

 

Q: For real, though: It's always been most natural for me to be alone. I used to always think of communities as just a bunch of rules and other crap that you inherit. Either you fit or don’t fit (and I never fit). Actually, here's an even better way to put it: I always considered communities to be forces that I, as a free-thinking individual, had to protect myself from. I thought of myself as a human being who could only truly process ideas alone. Now, of course, I realize that the world is full of misfits, other people who also feel marginalized or oppressed or pressured to conform, and I can find strength in conversation with them. There is something so valuable and tender about allowing the chorus to affect my individual voice within it.

 

S: Did you ever play in a band? I think that's when my teenage want-to-be-an-indie-star self (yes, I played guitar) first recognized the value of being an individual with others. A chorus can also be a home. Sometimes it's a whole lot easier to find your pitch and your rhythm with a little support. And just look what you can get done together. Can at Louis Place be a band?

 

Q: “A chorus can also be a home”—yes, that's exactly what I mean. I never knew. 

 

The website for at Louis Place references James Baldwin: “Perhaps home is not a place but simply an irrevocable condition.” It's a popular quotation from Baldwin's novel Giovanni's Room that is tossed around a lot. People often focus on the first half of the sentence, the idea that home is not a physical location. But for me, that’s the least complicated part. Of course “home” is not a place : from kindergarten to 12th grade, I went to seven different schools across Georgia and Florida. I know that home is not a place.

 

Instead, I have been digging deep into is the second part, the “irrevocable condition.” I take Baldwin seriously when he says “irrevocable”—like, there's no going back, no way to recover. I know that this irrevocability can be positive, as in the permanence of a parent's love, but it can also be pernicious.

 

For me, these conditions have a lot to do both with family and with language, and maybe the entanglement of these. I love my parents, but even as a kid, I questioned some of their values and approaches. My parents are strict . The rules are the rules, and there’s no room for discussion. As a child, that was intolerable. I automatically kicked the world I rejected away from under my feet. The kicking was necessary and automatic and instinctual. But there's no getting around it: the ground where I grew up is the most solid ground I'll ever have. I’ve never truly been able to lose it, never even been able to loosen it. Maybe I've stomped up a little mud. But the atmosphere, the constraints, the shape of my upbringing—all of those conditions really are irrevocable.

 

SJ: This is a beautiful meditation. Also, "AN IRREVOCABLE CONDITION" would be a good name for our first album. 

 

Want to be in our band?

What we're reading

👉🏾 To do right now: Just listen . “ THE B-SIDE: Negro Folklore from Texas State Prisons: A Record Album Interpretation ”—channeled, transmitted, and interpreted by Eric Berryman—is streaming online at The Wooster Group only today and tomorrow , Monday, September 14.

 

👉🏾 “ After the seventh draft, I wanted to give up. No one had asked for this novel. No one was expecting it. Why was I torturing myself? But the characters wouldn’t leave me alone.” On becoming a debut novelist at 62 🙌🏾, and the ten-year journey of revising her book: an interview with Alka Joshi , author of The Henna Artist :

 

👉🏾 On resisting the urge to paraphrase, because they said what they said : anti-racist high school teacher Pirette McKamey talks about teaching the craft of writing :

 

When I look at [my students] I see true intellectuals. I know they are going to tell me something I’ve never heard in my life before, or that they will say something in a way I’ve never heard before . I know I’m the teacher, and I know that I know more than most of them—probably all of them—but we are a community, and we are really enriched by each other. Not paraphrasing them comes naturally, then. They meant what they said, and they said it perfectly. There is no need for me to take over their words and change them to mine.

 

👉🏾 Are you a verb or a noun? Here's Vito Acconci on Aram Saroyan's one-word poems:

 

Because while the rest of us tried to be verbs, like everybody told us to do, he had the nerve to stop at nouns. Because he took a deep breath and willed himself into the self-confidence of naming. Because it wasn’t “nouns,” it was “noun,” only one noun, because he boiled it all down to one. Because then he let himself go, he let himself stutter, he let the one go and let the one double and go out of focus: while the rest of us ran for our lives all over the place and over the page, his noun shimmered and breathed and trembled and moved—shh! softly, softly—from within.

 

Paul Stephens dives into Saroyan's work here .

 

👉🏾 Are you reading Brittle Paper yet ? Founded and published by Nigerian writer Ainehi Edoro, it's one of our favorite blogs for readers and writers of African literature.

Resources

A few opportunities that caught our eye this week.

 

Paper Machine Residency for Print-Based Artistic Inquiry

Deadline: October 23, 2020

 

Antenna’s Paper Machine Residency supports artists and writers in the development of creative projects and public programs that explore and expand the possibilities of print-based artistic inquiry. The program annually welcomes up to 5 local and national/international creators to realize unique proposals for print-focused projects. Over the course of a month long residency at Paper Machine, Artists-in-Residence will: 1) develop original editioned work under the broadly-defined rubric of printmaking, including publications, sculptural books, zines, multiples, and other such works; and 2) will present complementary programs that engage the public in their artistic process, which could include a participatory composition, workshop, or artist talk.  Selected Artists will be awarded a $1500 honorarium, paid travel to and from New Orleans, a month long stay in the Paper Machine onsite residency space, and assistance in development/execution of an edition with a portion given to the creator (Please note that all of these resources are shared or split for collaborative projects). The typical edition is 300 with 50 copies provided to the artist, but that may change based on how complicated or ambitious the final project ends up. All materials will be provided by Paper Machine for the production of the edition, the portion of the edition left with Paper Machine will be sold to benefit the program.

 

Full details and application: https://antenna.submittable.com/submit/162435/antenna-paper-machine-publishing-residency-2021

 

Dzanc Books Diverse Voices Prize

Deadline: October 1, 2020

 

The Dzanc Books Diverse Voices Prize seeks brilliant, daring, and imaginative book-length manuscripts of fiction or nonfiction by writers from minority, underrepresented, or marginalized communities. The winning  submission will be awarded a $3,000 advance and publication by Dzanc Books. Finalists will be assembled in house and then passed along to our guest judges: Charles Johnson ( Middle Passage, The Words and Wisdom of Charles Johnson ), Chaya Bhuvaneswar ( White Dancing Elephants ), and Robert Lopez ( Kamby Balongo Mean River , All Back Full ).

 

Novels, short story collections, memoir, essay collections, and cross-genre works are all welcome. In consideration of the fact that reading fees can be a burden on financially disadvantaged writers, who are disproportionately writers of color, this contest has no reading fee .

 

This contest is open to new, upcoming, and established writers alike.  Agented submissions are also eligible, and we ask that you include all agency  contact information with the application. All submitted works must be  previously unpublished book-length manuscripts and should include a brief  synopsis, author bio, and contact information. The full work should be formatted  as a Word .doc or .docx file or a PDF.

 

We will accept submissions from April 13th, 2020 through midnight on September 30th, 2020. (Note: we will not accept physical entries.) The winning submission and a  short list of finalists will be announced on the Dzanc web page by January 2021.   

 

Full details and application:

https://dzancbooks.submittable.com/submit/164721/dzanc-books-diverse-voices-prize  

 

Write with us

Here's what's on tap in the community this week. Use the Daily writing room ✍🏽 link in sidebar at together.atlouisplace.com .

 

Shoot the shit

Monday, September 14

5pm EST / 4pm CST / 2pm PST

 

Orbit workshop: in dialogue

Wednesday, September 15

6:30pm EST / 5:30pm CST / 3:30pm PST

 

The first monthly Orbit workshop at Louis Place will focus on what it means to be in dialogue—on strategies for building polyphony and friction through the collision of multiple voices in our work.

 

Our Orbit generative writing workshops are a quick series of exercises—we think of these as tools for staying flexy and limber and strong, whether you're searching for new resources and directions in a current project or building something new or just playing around.

 

Like all workshops at Louis Place, this follow-along session is open to all members, and will be available after the fact for those who can't make it live (audio or captioned video for those who'd like to follow along, and a text PDF for those who prefer to read will also be available). If you're part of our community, read more about what to expect here .

 

Daily writing this week and every week

Monday through Friday:

7am CST / 8am EST / 12pm GMT

 

Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday, Sunday:

11am PST / 12pm MST / 1pm CST / 2pm EST / 6pm GMT

 

💬 Water cooler —Quick links to recent conversations in the community: Read when you write—inspiring or distracting ? Also: what you're reading for pleasure , your favorite writing tunes , tips for those who struggle to write regularly , writers who make abstract paintings , community-sourced strategies for reenergizing writing that feels dull , r/latestagecapitalism , and the beginning of our opportunities library .  

 

If you're part of our community and need access, first check to make sure you actually (a) applied and (b) checked out . If you did both, send us an email.

 

If you haven't joined us yet, why not now ? You'll get to participate in our first generative writing workshop on Wednesday, plus daily writing and good company.

Questions? Thoughts? Ideas? Let us know.

 

As ever,

 

Quincy and Steffani

 

PS: If you're not a member, now's a good time to join us. Sign up here . 

Dear writers, 

 

Lately we've been thinking about systems and processes, methods and tools. It's application season—lots of people are applying to fellowships and grants, residencies, graduate programs, and more. It's back-to-school season, and some of us are figuring out how to organize our work as teachers and as students. We offer to you: "HOUSE OF HIGHLIGHTS: an afternoon walk conversation." (soundtrack note: the Labor Day party music they play in the parking lot of the northern part of our favorite park ).

 

Q: It's summer, and yesterday I was looking at House of Highlights on Instagram 🙌🏾 and wondering where the hell all the great baseball plays were (no offense to basketball, but the cusp of October always brings my mind to baseball). When I was younger, I was an excellent baseball player. Like, really really good. At 10 or 11 years old, only a few kids really understand the rules of any sport, and even fewer can actually play. I was that kid who would dive or leap to make an amazing catch or an unbelievable throw. I would hear parents around me gasp and talk—how did he do that!—but what they didn't know is that I practiced sliding and running and jumping for catches thousands of times a week, all day every day at home. By the time I got to a game, it just felt like second nature. 

 

S: [Rolls her eyes because she's heard all this before.]

 

Q: So what I've been thinking about lately is this: discipline, practice, putting in the work is what truly helps you become a better writer. 

 

S: I mean, obviously you can't write without writing. But discipline alone is not quite it, at least not for me. As an artist, I'm totally used to “putting in the work.” I can go to the studio every day. I can do what it takes to get things done. But writing is different: simply showing up is not enough. I have to figure out how to get into some other state, beyond my thinking self, to find a way to intuit my way forward and then transcribe that intuition. And that process requires something more from me than just discipline.

 

Q: Good point. But that's exactly why writing regularly is so important for me. It's like I'm kicking a ball uphill—

 

S: Wait, more sports?

 

Q: —and if I spend some time with my book every day, the worst that can happen is I won't get any further, I'll stay in more or less the same place. But if I don't show up, the ball starts rolling back down the hill and then I'll have so much more work to do just to get back to where I was. 

 

I'll switch to a different metaphor: the challenge is to keep the fire going, and imagination is the fire. When you're writing a novel, keeping it alive is crucial—once it dies, you have to think all that stuff up again. 

 

S: I get it. In one of the interviews I was reading last week, with the hilarious novelist Mary H.K. Choi, she said something I found very astute: 

 

Let go or get dragged. It’s healthy and realistic to have a consistent practice but I’ve also learned that every piece of work has its own particular rhythms that you’d do well to honor. I’ve wasted a lot of time setting agendas that the writing is largely indifferent to . 

 

I'm not trying to get dragged, which means sometimes I do have to let go. And letting go looks like reading, or researching, or playing in relation to my work.

 

Q: I don't disagree. My point is that when you're in the zone, intellection feels easy, not like work. It is the letting go. 

 

Lately I have been using generative writing and prompts to help with that—giving myself the freedom to play with language. One of the first prompts I added to the prompt library in together.atlouisplace.com ("Lips thumped, thick as thugs throughout the night") is one I turned to last week when I had one eye on my work, one eye on the waiting room during morning writing sessions. 

 

Speaking of generative writing; speaking of morning writing sessions—

 

Friends, it's been such a pleasure to read and learn more about the work of our new members 🤩. For the last week or so, we've been hustling nonstop to get together.atlouisplace.com ready for you—and we finally opened our doors today. 

 

Members, check your inboxes for your invitations. 

 

Everybody else: ready to join us? Why not now? Everyone is welcome.

What we're reading

👉🏾 Kimberly Alidio riffed on the power of language poetry in an article for the Poetry Foundation. An excerpt:

 

My new book is a sequence of poems without pronouns. It has no lyrical “I.” The poems are without conjunctions and prepositions. There is no received narrative structure, syntactical ordering, or consistent poetic line. The poems do have their own system of arranging language that came out of a procedure. This procedure arose from a need to see social and intimate relations in a more livable way. The need to do so reflects a long cycle of learning from survival and grief. But my book is not about such lessons, personal or collective, because the need to reorder normative relations of self, lover, body, and nature for me must occur inthe very medium of poetry: language.

 

Check out the whole reflection , which is illustrated with images of recent work by artist Kameelah Janan Rasheed. Then read Alidio's poem " Dearest, I’m Writing from Inside This Place to You Who Is in a Totally Different Place " and learn more about her work on her site .

 

👉🏾 The perfect novels for quarantine? Loving Amir Ahmadi Arian's essay about loiterature —stories that rely on “lack of forward movement, of stalling and dithering, of wandering with no destination.” 

 

👉🏾 The fashion blog Man Repeller has published several breezy (in a good way) short author interviews in recent weeks. Check out this hilarious conversation with Mary H.K. Choi (quoted by Steffani above). It begins: “Q: How has your writing process changed since the pandemic began?” “A: I no longer write as if being chased by a pack of wild dogs." 

 

👉🏾 We can't wait to read poet and scholar Joshua Bennett's poetry collection Owed , which was released last week. Read his lovely poem “ American Abecedarian ." Then check out this detailed interview ("What is lost in the pursuit of the good life and all that it offers, all that it costs?") and this reading and craft talk in which he addresses his relationship with his father and the Black spoken word tradition.

 

👉🏾 Did anyone see the fascinating essay by Mariana Lim for The Paris Review about character-building for artificial intelligence ? “A rich and creative origin story will give substance to what may later seem like arbitrary decisions around the AI personality," she writes,"why, for example, it prefers green over red, is obsessed with ikura , or wants to learn how to whistle."

Resources

Silent Partners

Deadline: Monthly; see website for details.

Silent Partners provides monthly $1,000 grants to Black Brooklyn-based artists and Movement workers. The grants are administered by a group of Black panelists using funds provided by anonymous white partners who are otherwise removed from the process. To date, we have issued seven grants.

Full details and application: https://www.silent-partners.net/#apply  

 

Cave Canem Foundation Toi Derricotte & Cornelius Eady Chapbook Prize

Deadline: September 15, 2020

A prize valued at approximately $2,500 is given annually for a poetry chapbook by a Black poet. The winner will receive $500, publication by Jai-Alai Books, and a weeklong residency at the Writer’s Room at the Betsy Hotel in Miami, Florida; the winner will also give a reading at the O, Miami Poetry Festival in April 2021. Mahogany L. Browne will judge. Using only the online submission system, submit a manuscript of 25 to 30 pages by September 15. There is no entry fee. Visit the website for complete guidelines.

Full details and application: http://www.cavecanempoets.org/prizes/toi-derricotte-cornelius-eady-chapbook-prize

 

A Public Space Writing Fellowships

Deadline: October 15, 2020

Three six-month fellowships of $1,000 each are given annually to emerging fiction writers and nonfiction writers who have not published a full-length book. The fellows will work with the editors to prepare a piece for publication in A Public Space and will also have the opportunity to meet with publishing professionals and participate in a public reading in New York City. For fellowships from March 2021 to September 2021, using only the online submission system, submit a short story or essay of any length with a cover letter and a brief written statement between September 15 and October 15. There is no application fee. Visit the website for complete guidelines.

Full details and application: http://www.apublicspace.org

 

Write with us

This week, we begin our extended daily writing schedule in the community at Louis Place. Members, you can see the schedule and access the daily writing Zoom room at together.atlouisplace.com . See you on the other side!

 

✔️ If you're a member and didn't receive an invitation this afternoon to create login credentials for together.atlouisplace.com, first check to make sure you actually (a) submitted an application and (b) checked out . If you did both, send us an email.

 

✔️ If you haven't registered for Trajectory and want to be part of a small group cohort this month, do it now —your deadline is 8pm EST tonight. If you have registered, thank you—we'll be in touch if we have questions, otherwise you'll receive an email Tuesday with your group.

 

Here's what's on tap for this week:

 

Orientation & shoot the shit 

Tomorrow, Monday, September 7 

6pm GMT / 2pm EST / 1pm CST / 11AM PST. 

Audio and partial video recording will be available at together.atlouisplace.com if you can't make it.

 

Daily writing this week and every week  

Monday through Friday: 

7am CST / 8am EST / 12pm GMT 

 

Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday, Sunday: 

11am PST / 12pm MST / 1pm CST / 2pm EST / 6pm GMT 

 

Always use the daily writing zoom room ✍🏽 link in sidebar at together.atlouisplace.com .

Questions? Thoughts? Ideas? Let us know.

 

As ever,

 

Quincy and Steffani

 

PS: If you're not a member, now's a good time to join us. Sign up here . 

Dear writers, 

 

Real talk: have you ever felt lonely? One week before the community at Louis Place opens up, we're meditating on the paradoxes of solitude, community, and kinship. We present to you, “I NEVER FEEL LONELY: a road trip conversation” (soundtrack note: the new Brandy album, B7 ).

 

Quincy : To be honest, I never feel lonely, as in sad. It's more that I waver between being alone and being social and enjoying both. I love compromising. I love countering. I love producing something—conversation—that, on my own, wouldn't be possible.  

 

Now I'm looking up “loneliness" in the dictionary, trying to get a handle on what it is. The Oxford English Dictionary links loneliness and solitude: “having no companionship or society; unaccompanied, solitary, lone.”

 

Steffani : And then there's Claudia Rankine, who writes, 

 

Define loneliness? 

Yes . 

 

But seriously, have I felt lonely? I wonder. I do love being alone. I love that feeling of being drunk on my work, of living and sleeping and waking and writing without ever leaving. Sometimes I feel like I can eat my work and breathe it, like I can create for myself everything that I need, like the way parents say they can eat their babies, a little cannibalistic. But I agree with you: I get tired of myself. I need freshness. I don't know if I would ever say that “I love compromising,” but I do welcome some friction.

 

Q : I think many writers are like me. We love studying people. We love watching what happens when people come together. I think that's why I love to host. I like reading the room. I can scan and hear and remember. I want everyone to feel seen and taken care of, and to do for them what they need. 

 

S : In her poem “The President's Wife,” Morgan Parker asks, “Is loneliness cultural?” I think a lot about the relationship between Blackness and solitude and anxiety and difference, what it means to feel seen, or to feel like you are getting what you need, what it means to be apart / “a part”? Have I ever been seen? Sometimes I feel as though I can barely remember what it feels like to be physically among friends. Six months into the isolation of the pandemic, I have been alarmed to find myself struggling to write about those parts of social life that I haven't experienced in a while.

 

Q : Yes—when I rejoin society after being solitary for some time, I find living in language challenging. I so easily forget what people have been experiencing in community, thinking about in community, exchanging conversation in community, when I am operating only by and for myself. My writing feels impoverished when I'm alone for too long. 

 

The first monthly Orbit workshop for at Louis Place members will be held on September 16 from 6:30-8:00pm EST, and we'll be focusing specifically on what it means to be in dialogue —on strategies for building polyphony and friction through the collision of multiple voices in our work . Our Orbit generative writing workshops are a quick series of exercises—we think of these as tools for staying flexy and limber and strong, whether you're searching for new resources and directions in a current project or building something new or just playing around. Like all at Louis Place workshops, this follow-along session is open to all members, and will be available after the fact for those who can't make it live (audio or captioned video for those who'd like to follow along, and a text PDF for those who prefer to read).

 

So if you're planning to join us, why not apply now ? We're sending a series of notes and a complete September calendar this week to help our members prepare, including details about our orientation event on September 7 at 2pm EST—you'll be added to the list when you complete your registration. 

 

(By the way, thanks to all of you who let us know about the wonkiness in our form. If you had trouble, please know that an alternate link has also been provided.)

 

Write with us: this week's Zoom links

We're writing every weekday morning this week - we'd love to see you.

 

If you haven't joined us before, here's what to expect:

• Zoom registration. We now require Zoom registration. It takes a few seconds and will help us keep this space safe for us to welcome new visitors.
• Joining us : I'll open the meeting room a few minutes before we begin—8am EST.
• Latecomers are welcome. Please be patient in the waiting room. I will let you in.
• No RSVP required : No need to email if you oversleep or get busy or can’t make it. Just join us if and when you can.
• Questions? Respond to this message.

Zoom link for this week's sessions : 

Monday, Aug 31, 2020 through Friday, September 4, 2020

8:00 AM New York / 5:00AM Los Angeles / 1PM London / 2PM Berlin

https://zoom.us/meeting/register/tJ0udu2tqjgvG9e6jC3EYJ4jHPgRIbMkqrs5

Meeting ID: 993 1454 3513
Passcode: 247943

 

What we're reading

👉🏾 Teju Cole, master of literary introspection, recommends his ten favorite novels of solitude .  In his introduction, he writes: 

 

It all began with Crusoe. But it intensified in our time: this is the age of loneliness. The canonical texts are Notes from the Underground, Hunger, L'Etranger, and The Catcher in the Rye. Other presiding spirits are those of Kafka and Beckett. But in my own reading, I'm drawn not only to extreme isolation but to apparently well-integrated individuals who, nevertheless, spend most of their time in their own thoughts. Many of these novels are narrated in the first person, but I hadn't noticed before how many of them are by anonymous narrators, unaccompanied even by their names. Julius, in Open City, is named, but what he shares with all the protagonists below is a shifting, and shifty, relationship with his author. In writing him, I invented situations, attitudes, beliefs and actions, but a great deal of his solitude came out of mine. 

 

Have you read his novel Open City ?

 

👉🏾 A. H. Jerriod Avant recently curated a special series of Poem-a-Day featuring Black writers from the southern United States. Check out the trippy poem WHO REAL by Marwa Helal (“the return of poem to be read from right to left.”). Here's an excerpt:

 

asks poem this of draft shorter a see to professor first the

device stylistic this sustain could i long how

think you do long how ،prof dunno i ،w counter i

™ pneumoic hegemonic demonic heteronormative khwhite the

؟itself sustain can

rage road and clown class the all and american im now

be never could i

 

You can hear an audio recording at the link, or listen to all of the recent Poem-a-day poems curated by Jerriod—August 14 - August 28—through your favorite podcast software here .

 

👉🏾 Amy Long's unconventional “novel in essays” about living with chronic pain, Codependence , uses the present tense to create a sense of instability. "About half the book consists of Bluets-style braided essays with numbered paragraphs, all of which are named after some recovery- or addiction-related term that I use ironically to make readers question their assumptions about drugs and pain. The braided essays have a present-tense narrative that’s punctuated by past-tense scenes or ruminations, and the present-tense story was often unfolding as I wrote the essay," she tells us in an interview about her craft. Read an interview with her here .

 

👉🏾 We're really looking forward to poet and multimedia artist Rachel Eliza Griffiths' next book Seeing the Body . She reads her poem “Chronology” and speaks about its relationship to the Italian painter Alberto Burri in this 20 minute episode of Poet's House Presents . Note: I love how the Poet's House Presents series enables you to hear the poet's voice, see the poet reading, and see the text of the poem itself scrolling alongside.

 

👉🏾 Here's a roundup of horror stories by Black writers, including novels and graphic novels by Victor LaValle, Ayize Jama-Everett, Rusty Cundieff, and Micheline Hess.

Resources

Wendy’s Subway The Carolyn Bush Award  

Deadline: September 7, 2020. 

The Carolyn Bush Award aims to support innovative, hybrid, and cross-genre work that contributes to expanding the discourses and practices of poetry. The award honors the life and work of Wendy’s Subway Co-Founder Carolyn Bush by providing in-depth support to an early-career and emerging female-identifying writer. The winner will author a publication with Wendy’s Subway, receive an honorarium of $1,000, a standard royalty contract, and 25 author copies. Crucial to the award is the editorial support provided to complete the manuscript for publication. Wendy’s Subway is committed to a publishing practice that amplifies marginalized and underrepresented writers. 

Full details and application: 

https://wendyssubway.submittable.com/submit/170180/the-carolyn-bush-award-2020

 

Red Bull Arts Microgrants

Deadline: Rolling

In response to the current socio-political climate, Red Bull Arts is expanding the Detroit Microgrant Program nationally. This initiative directly supports our community of artists through providing unrestricted aid. The adapted Microgrant program will award two $1000 grants each month to artists in the following 20 cities across the United States: Atlanta, Austin/San Antonio, Baltimore, Boston, Chicago, Cleveland, Dallas, Denver, Detroit, Houston, Hudson Valley (NY), Los Angeles, Miami, New Orleans, New York, Oakland, Philadelphia, Providence, St Louis, and the Twin Cities (Minneapolis/St.Paul). These funds are meant to support artists in continuing their work however they see fit in this difficult moment.

Full details and application: https://redbullarts.com/detroit/red-bull-arts-detroit-micro-grant-program/  

Questions? Thoughts? Ideas? Let us know.

 

As ever,

 

Quincy and Steffani

 

PS: Yes, please do feel free to share this e-mail with anyone who might want to join us. Thank you.