Stop for a minute.
Put down your device.
Cease the doomscrolling.
Set aside the article about national and global dysfunction.
Just stop.
Naysayers will tell you that the digital world is a venal, superficial place. I’m not here to do that: any tool we use to form relationships and engage with the world is valid and authentic.
And yet, organizing this 20th anniversary year of the Gothic Funk movement, I’ve had to grapple repeatedly with the costs of our reliance upon virtual forums. Especially since Covid landed in 2020, long-evolving trends in social organization (or perhaps social isolation) have gone into overdrive. Any time we’ve had a live event — a reading, hangout, or book launch — I’ve noticed that it takes twice the effort to draw out half the number of people.
And this isn’t a problem limited to small press publishing; everywhere I go, talking to authors, booksellers, librarians, and other industry professionals the same problem emerges: people aren’t as intimately connected as they used to be. The written word continues to thrive — close to a billion books are annually sold in the U.S. alone — but the culture that grows and sustains writers and readers — that brings them together in time and space — is on the wane and grappling with a tremendous amount of stress.
I want to emphasize that phrase, “together in time and space,” because while some doors have closed others have opened: the rise of #booktok, for example, puts lie to any notion that people aren’t reading and talking about books these days. And yet, physical, in person events, whether a street corner poetry reading, a sober writing workshop, or an anything-but-sober book launch, have a critical role in our literary ecosystem that we neglect at our peril.
The complete experience of other human beings, their voices, their presence, their hands and arms in handshakes and embrace, the sound of communal laughter not mediated by a laptop’s speakers, the sense that we are together in public and shared spaces, that we share this time and space with others is also essential.
I don’t necessarily believe that the diminishment of these things is solely responsible for our accelerating social distress, but I can’t help but feel that it’s a fundamental part of the problem. That our technology, for all its promises and rewards, often isolates us, atomizes us, and makes it harder for us to empathize with one another in deep and resilient ways. It is easier than ever to turn a stranger into an acquaintance, but friendships and communities require a lot more work.
This is particularly significant for literary communities, in Flint and elsewhere. Of those billion books sold in the U.S., the overwhelming majority are being sold by Big Six publishers and agented, top-tier authors. For self- and hybrid-published authors, small presses, the midlist, and many others, access to readers, reviews, sales, discourse, and the whole infrastructure of reading and publishing is concentrated and inaccessible except through what we fondly call “the writing community.” It is this community that provides pathways to opportunity, legitimacy, and an audience for non-celebrity writers throughout their careers: book fairs, workshops and seminars, launch events, open mics and curated readings, and so on. And while there are digital equivalents, a lot of the magic happens when we get together in time and space.
Last month I had the pleasure of attending the Buckham Gallery launch of its first new writers’ anthology: Dives, Diners & Drive-Ins. Like most literary events these days, it was sparsely attended, but there was a charge of frisson in the air. The anthology accompanied a visual installation following the same theme, and so the gallery was full of art works depicting greasy-spoons, bottles of beer, and sun-bright fried eggs, ranging from the photo-realistic to the profoundly abstract. Several of us read our pieces from the anthology, and the final reading was delivered by Jan Worth; a dissection of family relations set in a Greek-style restaurant. The reading culminated with a noisy partaking of σαγανάκι served as σαγανάκι must be served. It was a delicious and inspiring statement of the ongoing relevance and potential of in-person literary events.
It was exasperating that so few came out to enjoy it.
As Gothic Funk Press labors to help grow, serve, and sustain a dynamic literary scene here in Flint, successful in-person events are an essential ingredient.
Significantly, these events do not typically involve a lot of money or sophisticated organizational support. For organizers, they do demand time, discipline, and energy. They also call out for an audience of writers and readers.
Each month Gothic Funk Press sponsors hangouts, launches, salons, parties, and more. Other events are organized by the Gloria Coles Flint Public Library, the Flint Institute of Arts, Buckham Gallery, Comma Bookstore and Social Hub, Totem Books, and many other worthy businesses and nonprofits.
So please get involved this year: Go to an event! Sign up to read! Volunteer! This is our writing community! It will grow and thrive if we nurture it!