about r.kv.r.y.
an interview with the editor-in-chief from
lisa gates' design your writing life blog
an interview with the editor-in-chief from
lisa gates' design your writing life blog
Victoria, what are the many hats you wear, and how did you find your way into
the role of Literary Editor for r.kv.r.y?
I've been an attorney since 1980. Like so many attorneys, I was a literature major with
an inclination to earn a decent income. Hence, law school—the default profession for
liberal arts majors. The year I turned 40, in '92, I began to do some major re-thinking
about the direction my life had been going. I felt empty and sad, and frankly, my
marriages hadn't gone so well.
So I decided to start writing fiction again. I enrolled in extension classes at UCLA,
joined a writers group and began to feel good about my life. Then there was that little
social drinking habit I had, which I cut in '94, making 2004 an anniversary of sorts.
All of life's tumblers clicked into place in '04. I started r.kv.r.y. first as a way of staking
out my dream without knowing what that dream might turn out to be. I was casting
about for something new. I took a mediation course through a local law school and
said "this is it." I went back to school to earn my LL.M in dispute resolution and now I'm
mediating full time.
Can you describe the focus of the Journal...what you look for?
The focus of the r.kv.r.y. is pretty much what it says it is: recovery. I didn't want to
focus only on alcoholism and drug addiction because my own "recovery" is way broader
than that. So the subject matter focus is pretty wide open—people's recovery from
limitations or oppression of any kind. Political, ecological (we did an issue on natural
disasters), familial, physical. It's a journal of hope and reconciliation with a focus on
overcoming obstacles.
We're looking for high quality writing. I don't know how to say what that is very quickly.
I know it when I read it. Whole libraries have been written on the subject. The journal
has links to other literary journals that we'd like to set our standards by and the
submission guidelines urge people to read those journals that we link to. I'm always
surprised when people who are, for instance, submitting poetry, say they don't read it.
Literature and poetry are a conversation and you have to be part of that conversation,
I think, to have any hope of becoming a good writer. So I tell people to read like their
lives depend upon it, which I must say I believe to be the actual truth of the matter.
Who are some of the more well-known writers you've published? And do you
publish work from writers who are not yet well-established or are not yet
published?
We publish a fair number of new writers. To begin with I turned to my friends who are
writers. Richard Wirick, who published 100 Siberian Postcards this year in the U.K. and
the U.S. He's not well-known because he did what I did—went to law school and
practices law. But unlike me -- mildly talented amateur -- Rick is the real thing. Rita
Williams, our literary fiction editor and a member of my writers group, has also been
published in r.kv.r.y. Her memoir, If the Creek Don't Rise, was released by a solid
publishing house last year. It was reviewed a couple of times by Oprah and received
good reviews elsewhere, including the NY Times, LA Times and LA Times Book Reviews.
Sometimes, when I'm desperate for quality, I'll just go ahead and send a poet an email
asking for something. I did that with Dan Masterson who has published a couple of
poems now in r.kv.r.y. Rick urges his friends to publish with me, so I have poetry from
the brilliant Lissa Warren and Anthony Robinson, editor of the literary journal
Transformation. Kathleen Wakefield is a grammy-winning songwriter who is another
member of my writers group. She hasn't been discovered as a novelist yet but should
be. Christine Allen is also on the brink of discovery in New York City where she hopes to
bring to Broadway the one-woman show that she successfully staged here in Los
Angeles. We've published the first working chapter of her memoir. Dorit Cypis is a local
artist with an international audience whose work we've published. But, you know, we
don't have Thomas Pynchon or Don DeLillo. We're a small press journal but we believe
we're very high quality and think someday we'll be a genuine force in the literary world.
How do you market or carve out your niche in the literary journal landscape?
You just start networking. I was innocent. I downloaded Yahoo's free internet-design
program, taught myself to use it and am continuing to use it to this day. I think the
website costs me about $20/month and the ad in Poets & Writers costs $60 every
other month. I just do it.
That's what I've learned since '04 about everything in life. You just start the thing. You
take a single step in the direction of a dream and another the next day, and the one
after that. Things begin to grow. People start to hear about you or tell their friends or
post something on a blog like you're doing. You become a kind of attractor. I'm not
new age so you'll have to understand that what I'm about to say is truly metaphoric
and not a concrete belief.
I think the power of intention coupled with action creates a kind of force that becomes
bigger than you are, and everything you've ever done aligns with that intention and
becomes part of the engine of the dream.
How do the literary "powers that be" (established journals) look upon the
proliferation of online literary journals? I guess what I'm asking is whether
there is resistance/judgment from either established writers, and/or your
peers in the field?
I don't listen to "powers that be" in any of my endeavors. I don't really care what
anyone thinks about the journal other than the people who submit to it and read it. I
don't, frankly, know who my "peers" might be. I don't need to be "recognized" by
anyone. The work is its own joy.
What rules do you like to break?
All of them . . .
What writing rules do you like to see broken?
Despite the fact that I'm an attorney, I'm a born scofflaw. I don't really care about any
writing rules. I want to be lifted up off my feet and shaken. That doesn't much happen
when people are following rules.
What are some typical mistakes writers make that you see at r.kv.r.y.?
Oh, the poetry. The poetry. My ex-husband, Joel Deutsch, is a brilliant poet and he is
my poetry editor. It's too much for me. We get too much and it's mostly too terrible to
bear. People think poetry is easier to write than prose because they think all they have
to do is break prose up into lines. Prose is actually easier to write because I think we're
all genetically hard-wired to tell stories. Even when they're bad they're bearable.
If I had to give advice to poets, I would quote Shakespeare: "A poet gives to airy
nothings a local habitation and a name." Readers need to be brought into what John
Gardner (The Art of Fiction) calls a continuous lucid sensory dream. Poetry cannot be
filled with abstractions. It's a hologram of the lived world.
Do you work with writers whose submissions are less than perfect if you see
potential? What's the editorial process like?
Joel is the most patient and generous editor in the world. If he thinks there's potential
in a poem he goes back and forth with people, tweaking the thing and telling them
what's good. I don't have the time. I pretty much take what's good enough to publish
and reject the rest (kindly I hope). My editing of the fiction and literary nonfiction is
therefore pretty minimal.
What experience do you hope writers will have working with you?
Obviously, I hope they'll feel that their work is well-respected; that editorial suggestions
are just that—suggestions for their consideration and not mandates from on high. I
hope they'll like the photography or other art that we publish with their work. If they
don't we hope they'll feel free to say, "I don't like it, please use something else." I hope
they'll be proud to have appeared in r.kv.r.y. with other writers of like quality and that
someday something we've published will appear in Best American Short Stories or be
short listed for a prestigious literary prize.
Where do you see r.kv.r.y. in the future? Where are you going?
Well, I think r.kv.r.y is leading me more than I'm leading it. After all, it was the first flag
I planted in my own little Everest of hopeful achievement. I've always wanted to go to
paper and writers like to have, to touch, their published work. But then I get notes
from our writers who say they feel they have a closer relationship with their readers
from being published in r.kv.r.y. online because, for some reason, people feel easier
about dropping them a line and saying how much their work meant to the reader.
What is it to be completely fulfilled in this work and in life?
Wow. These questions are deep. The poet Donald Hall interviewed a sculptor for the
New Yorker once. The sculptor was in his 80s and Hall asked him what the secret to a
successful and happy life was and he replied, "Choose to do something with your life
about which you're passionate but which you cannot ever accomplish." That's what I've
done. And for me, that's what being completely fulfilled feels like. To be on the edge,
like a blade of grass pushing itself up through the dirt for the first time. The grass has
already laid down its roots, which must be a hell of a lot of work. The moment you live
for is the moment you first break through the dirt. Then, you know, my "mow and
blow" guy comes and cuts it down. You have this really small moment and then you
have to move on to the next one. It's what the Tibetan Bhuddists call the
"indestructability of impermanence."
It's all about the moment of coming into being. So there's no durability to failure and
no experience of failure because I say, "Okay, that didn’t work; let's see what I can
make up tomorrow.
the role of Literary Editor for r.kv.r.y?
I've been an attorney since 1980. Like so many attorneys, I was a literature major with
an inclination to earn a decent income. Hence, law school—the default profession for
liberal arts majors. The year I turned 40, in '92, I began to do some major re-thinking
about the direction my life had been going. I felt empty and sad, and frankly, my
marriages hadn't gone so well.
So I decided to start writing fiction again. I enrolled in extension classes at UCLA,
joined a writers group and began to feel good about my life. Then there was that little
social drinking habit I had, which I cut in '94, making 2004 an anniversary of sorts.
All of life's tumblers clicked into place in '04. I started r.kv.r.y. first as a way of staking
out my dream without knowing what that dream might turn out to be. I was casting
about for something new. I took a mediation course through a local law school and
said "this is it." I went back to school to earn my LL.M in dispute resolution and now I'm
mediating full time.
Can you describe the focus of the Journal...what you look for?
The focus of the r.kv.r.y. is pretty much what it says it is: recovery. I didn't want to
focus only on alcoholism and drug addiction because my own "recovery" is way broader
than that. So the subject matter focus is pretty wide open—people's recovery from
limitations or oppression of any kind. Political, ecological (we did an issue on natural
disasters), familial, physical. It's a journal of hope and reconciliation with a focus on
overcoming obstacles.
We're looking for high quality writing. I don't know how to say what that is very quickly.
I know it when I read it. Whole libraries have been written on the subject. The journal
has links to other literary journals that we'd like to set our standards by and the
submission guidelines urge people to read those journals that we link to. I'm always
surprised when people who are, for instance, submitting poetry, say they don't read it.
Literature and poetry are a conversation and you have to be part of that conversation,
I think, to have any hope of becoming a good writer. So I tell people to read like their
lives depend upon it, which I must say I believe to be the actual truth of the matter.
Who are some of the more well-known writers you've published? And do you
publish work from writers who are not yet well-established or are not yet
published?
We publish a fair number of new writers. To begin with I turned to my friends who are
writers. Richard Wirick, who published 100 Siberian Postcards this year in the U.K. and
the U.S. He's not well-known because he did what I did—went to law school and
practices law. But unlike me -- mildly talented amateur -- Rick is the real thing. Rita
Williams, our literary fiction editor and a member of my writers group, has also been
published in r.kv.r.y. Her memoir, If the Creek Don't Rise, was released by a solid
publishing house last year. It was reviewed a couple of times by Oprah and received
good reviews elsewhere, including the NY Times, LA Times and LA Times Book Reviews.
Sometimes, when I'm desperate for quality, I'll just go ahead and send a poet an email
asking for something. I did that with Dan Masterson who has published a couple of
poems now in r.kv.r.y. Rick urges his friends to publish with me, so I have poetry from
the brilliant Lissa Warren and Anthony Robinson, editor of the literary journal
Transformation. Kathleen Wakefield is a grammy-winning songwriter who is another
member of my writers group. She hasn't been discovered as a novelist yet but should
be. Christine Allen is also on the brink of discovery in New York City where she hopes to
bring to Broadway the one-woman show that she successfully staged here in Los
Angeles. We've published the first working chapter of her memoir. Dorit Cypis is a local
artist with an international audience whose work we've published. But, you know, we
don't have Thomas Pynchon or Don DeLillo. We're a small press journal but we believe
we're very high quality and think someday we'll be a genuine force in the literary world.
How do you market or carve out your niche in the literary journal landscape?
You just start networking. I was innocent. I downloaded Yahoo's free internet-design
program, taught myself to use it and am continuing to use it to this day. I think the
website costs me about $20/month and the ad in Poets & Writers costs $60 every
other month. I just do it.
That's what I've learned since '04 about everything in life. You just start the thing. You
take a single step in the direction of a dream and another the next day, and the one
after that. Things begin to grow. People start to hear about you or tell their friends or
post something on a blog like you're doing. You become a kind of attractor. I'm not
new age so you'll have to understand that what I'm about to say is truly metaphoric
and not a concrete belief.
I think the power of intention coupled with action creates a kind of force that becomes
bigger than you are, and everything you've ever done aligns with that intention and
becomes part of the engine of the dream.
How do the literary "powers that be" (established journals) look upon the
proliferation of online literary journals? I guess what I'm asking is whether
there is resistance/judgment from either established writers, and/or your
peers in the field?
I don't listen to "powers that be" in any of my endeavors. I don't really care what
anyone thinks about the journal other than the people who submit to it and read it. I
don't, frankly, know who my "peers" might be. I don't need to be "recognized" by
anyone. The work is its own joy.
What rules do you like to break?
All of them . . .
What writing rules do you like to see broken?
Despite the fact that I'm an attorney, I'm a born scofflaw. I don't really care about any
writing rules. I want to be lifted up off my feet and shaken. That doesn't much happen
when people are following rules.
What are some typical mistakes writers make that you see at r.kv.r.y.?
Oh, the poetry. The poetry. My ex-husband, Joel Deutsch, is a brilliant poet and he is
my poetry editor. It's too much for me. We get too much and it's mostly too terrible to
bear. People think poetry is easier to write than prose because they think all they have
to do is break prose up into lines. Prose is actually easier to write because I think we're
all genetically hard-wired to tell stories. Even when they're bad they're bearable.
If I had to give advice to poets, I would quote Shakespeare: "A poet gives to airy
nothings a local habitation and a name." Readers need to be brought into what John
Gardner (The Art of Fiction) calls a continuous lucid sensory dream. Poetry cannot be
filled with abstractions. It's a hologram of the lived world.
Do you work with writers whose submissions are less than perfect if you see
potential? What's the editorial process like?
Joel is the most patient and generous editor in the world. If he thinks there's potential
in a poem he goes back and forth with people, tweaking the thing and telling them
what's good. I don't have the time. I pretty much take what's good enough to publish
and reject the rest (kindly I hope). My editing of the fiction and literary nonfiction is
therefore pretty minimal.
What experience do you hope writers will have working with you?
Obviously, I hope they'll feel that their work is well-respected; that editorial suggestions
are just that—suggestions for their consideration and not mandates from on high. I
hope they'll like the photography or other art that we publish with their work. If they
don't we hope they'll feel free to say, "I don't like it, please use something else." I hope
they'll be proud to have appeared in r.kv.r.y. with other writers of like quality and that
someday something we've published will appear in Best American Short Stories or be
short listed for a prestigious literary prize.
Where do you see r.kv.r.y. in the future? Where are you going?
Well, I think r.kv.r.y is leading me more than I'm leading it. After all, it was the first flag
I planted in my own little Everest of hopeful achievement. I've always wanted to go to
paper and writers like to have, to touch, their published work. But then I get notes
from our writers who say they feel they have a closer relationship with their readers
from being published in r.kv.r.y. online because, for some reason, people feel easier
about dropping them a line and saying how much their work meant to the reader.
What is it to be completely fulfilled in this work and in life?
Wow. These questions are deep. The poet Donald Hall interviewed a sculptor for the
New Yorker once. The sculptor was in his 80s and Hall asked him what the secret to a
successful and happy life was and he replied, "Choose to do something with your life
about which you're passionate but which you cannot ever accomplish." That's what I've
done. And for me, that's what being completely fulfilled feels like. To be on the edge,
like a blade of grass pushing itself up through the dirt for the first time. The grass has
already laid down its roots, which must be a hell of a lot of work. The moment you live
for is the moment you first break through the dirt. Then, you know, my "mow and
blow" guy comes and cuts it down. You have this really small moment and then you
have to move on to the next one. It's what the Tibetan Bhuddists call the
"indestructability of impermanence."
It's all about the moment of coming into being. So there's no durability to failure and
no experience of failure because I say, "Okay, that didn’t work; let's see what I can
make up tomorrow.
Literature and poetry are a
conversation and you have to be
part of that conversation, I think, to
have any hope of becoming a good
writer. So I tell people to read like
their lives depend upon it, which I
must say I believe to be the actual
truth of the matter.
conversation and you have to be
part of that conversation, I think, to
have any hope of becoming a good
writer. So I tell people to read like
their lives depend upon it, which I
must say I believe to be the actual
truth of the matter.
If I had to give advice to poets, I
would quote Shakespeare: "A poet
gives to airy nothings a local
habitation and a name." Readers
need to be brought into what John
Gardner (The Art of Fiction) calls a
continuous lucid sensory dream.
Poetry cannot be filled with
abstractions. It's a hologram of the
lived world.
would quote Shakespeare: "A poet
gives to airy nothings a local
habitation and a name." Readers
need to be brought into what John
Gardner (The Art of Fiction) calls a
continuous lucid sensory dream.
Poetry cannot be filled with
abstractions. It's a hologram of the
lived world.
[What it feels like to be] completely
fulfilled [?] To be on the edge, like a
blade of grass pushing itself up
through the dirt for the first time.
The grass has already laid down its
roots, which must be a hell of a lot
of work. The moment you live for is
the moment you first break through
the dirt. Then, you know, my "mow
and blow" guy comes and cuts it
down. You have this really small
moment and then you have to
move on to the next one. It's what
the Tibetan Bhuddists call the
indestructability of
impermanence. It's all about the
moment of coming into being. So
there's no durability to failure and
no experience of failure because I
say, "Okay, that didn’t work; let's
see what I can make up tomorrow."
fulfilled [?] To be on the edge, like a
blade of grass pushing itself up
through the dirt for the first time.
The grass has already laid down its
roots, which must be a hell of a lot
of work. The moment you live for is
the moment you first break through
the dirt. Then, you know, my "mow
and blow" guy comes and cuts it
down. You have this really small
moment and then you have to
move on to the next one. It's what
the Tibetan Bhuddists call the
indestructability of
impermanence. It's all about the
moment of coming into being. So
there's no durability to failure and
no experience of failure because I
say, "Okay, that didn’t work; let's
see what I can make up tomorrow."