One of Baltimore’s coolest literature magazines is Artichoke Haircut, a small-format production that fits nicely in your hand and reads nicely in your mind. They just came out with their fifth issue. And you probably already know this, but they also run a wildly popular reading series called “You’re Allowed,” which just moved from the (now defunct) Dionysus bar in Mount Vernon over to a swank new space at the Yellow Sign Theatre in Station North. They celebrated the new issue there last week, with lots of great readings by people like Laura van den Berg, Mark Cugini and Tracy Dimond. I asked one of the founding editors, Adam Shutz, some questions about the things they do, which includes throwing what looks to be a SWEET PARTY coming up this Saturday at Metro Gallery (here’s the Facebook event page).
What Weekly: Artichoke Haircut is a magazine that has stories and poems. Why? What do you do it for?
ADAM SHUTZ: So the reason we only have fiction and poetry, and have neglected non-fiction (I’m assuming that’s what you’re asking, or anyway, I’ll follow a politician’s advice and answer the question I wanted to be asked, not the one I was), is because that’s what I and the three other editors studied and read for fun and felt at least somewhat capable of making judgements on. With non-fiction, the rejection process become a little weird, especially creative non-fiction, memoir, etc. It’s hard, as an editor, to untangle the author’s life from the piece. So it kind of feels like you’re judging their life and choices and personality, which is not a position I want to find myself in. By labeling a piece as uninteresting I feel, sometimes, like I’m calling their life uninteresting, which may or may not be the case (though, it probably is the case; I was being generous). This probably reflects more my own anxiety about judging “people,” than it does anything intrinsic to the genre and its worth.
We do put little non-fiction-type pieces up on our blog. But they tend to be more criticism and interviews and stuff that’s timely, which doesn’t work for the print version of a bi-yearly magazine with a messed up printing schedule.
As far as why we do it at all … I’m sure psychological disorders and the onset of alcoholism have something to do with it. How they combine to make us produce a magazine is one of God’s little riddles, I suppose.
How’d you decide to make it this neat size?
The size was influenced by the Pocket Poets series published by City Lights. I always liked those books. They seemed more welcoming and personal than other books on my shelf. We liked the idea of people walking around with our magazine in their back pocket.
Is there anything you tried to do differently in this issue than in past issues?
Not really. We try to go into each new issue with as few pre-conceived notions as is humanly possible. This’ll probably sound like bullshit, but we try and let the submissions dictate where the magazine goes, and what the tone is, and how it unfolds, that kind of stuff. We just pick the best work and try to make it a mixed bag.
How do you think AH fits in with Baltimore’s very varied literature scene?
I’ve always thought of Baltimore in general (and probably to a lesser extent, Baltimore’s lit scene) as a bit schizophrenic. Maybe that’s too harsh. As a city with a multiple-personality disorder. I think we represent that in the magazine (see the “mixed bag” reference above). We defiantly don’t have a style in the same way that … I don’t know … The New Yorker does. Where you can open the magazine and pretty much know what you’re about to get. That’s defiantly not us. Nor is it what we want to be. I think we’ve picked that up from Baltimore and the writers of the city (of which we have published quite a few).
Sometimes I feel like movies and TV shows are so good that we don’t need to read literature anymore. Do you ever feel that way?
Yeah, I think a lot of writers and editors feel a little short in the pants when they compare themselves to televisual media. But we still got some things going for us. For one, TV and movie producers keep throwing so many fetid piles of shit at us that maybe it forces people to find better ways to entertain their time. That could be having more sex or knitting more scarves, but it could also be reading more books. Now, it looks like I’m comparing literature with that girl at the bottom of your list of prom dates who you know will say yes but will also call you four times a night and scream your name from across the hall every time she sees you between classes, but maybe that’s okay. Even though she might be a little clingy and takes up way too much of your time, maybe you get to know her and end up liking her. Maybe she is a really good lay and makes delicious corn bread and can teach you fluent Spanish, and you say to yourself, “Sure. That’s enough.”
Also, literature, unlike movies and TV is one of the few narrative mediums that some loner with no money and no connections can dedicate themselves to and make really amazing things with. I think it reflects the true, classical, mythos of America in that way.
You also run a popular local literature performance series called “You’re Allowed.” If someone put a gun to your head and made you choose between that series and the journal, what would you do?
Oh, the reading. I’d pick the reading series without hesitation.
What is this thing, this Literature Carnival that’s coming up on Saturday?
An accident, like most the things we’ve done. We wanted to get together as many of the local literature organization as we could, ones we thought were doing interesting work, and have a collaborative reading. We just set the framework and asked [the other organizations to] suggested readers. We’ll have blackjack, dealt by Michael Kimball, palm reading by Timmy Reed, face painting by Carabella Sands, and some carnival games. Matthew Savoca, Kimball, Sarah Jean Alexander and Batworth are the reading, and Tracy Dimond & Amanda McCormick are doing a collaborative thing. They were suggested by Publishing Genius Press, 5ive:Ten reading series, Shattered Wig, and Ink Press, respectively. I’m really excited to hear them all. And we’ll also have this kind of nutty-awsome band called Drunk Monk. It will be great, bat-shit crazy fun. Everybody should come.
The Literature Carnival is this Saturday, April 20, at Metro Gallery (1700 N Charles St). It starts at 8:30pm and costs $5.
