Outside, another snowfall has smothered this place again. The houses have stopped breathing through their chimneys. Nothing moves. The quiet has a life of its own. Gives you time to think. I think to myself here goes nothing. I think that’s probably a good place to start. At least, that’s where At Bay Press started, in a small high-rise apartment in the clouds with only pigeons as companions. The birds huddled together in the balcony corner, conspiring but not talking. They knew to keep their mouths shut.
It’s always such hard work in the beginning, isn’t it? They should tell you it only gets worse when you hit your stride, which I think we are close to hitting. Either that or we’re on our way out. You can never quite tell.
Publishers, most of them, are dealt 50/1. Even gamblers think those odds are bad. It’s not that hard to lie to yourself to keep things going, but I prefer truth. We do it for love, politics, the art and all that nonsense… I think. I know I’ve also done it once or twice for the hell of it. I do like to see good stuff get done. Our little worlds need more than a little good stuff.
Our press can never get comfortable. Best to move and keep moving. So, we did. We quit the traffic and elevators (same thing?) for mosquitoes and Jeanne’s cake and we still call this place home today.
I have a wish and a dream that I hope to come true for our press and others. Wish: End to the current practice of bookseller returns (Manage your stock and inventory to suit your customer base. Order small, sell through. Please?). Dream: In a moment of weakness, Amazon gives up on books, opening their cages and setting them free.
There you have it. A lot of nothing but maybe a bit of something. The press presses on. We know what we’re after, but sometimes we don’t know it until we see it, hold it and read it. And it’s magical. Authors continue to write, submit, wait, and write some more. And we’re ever grateful.
I’m sure this has been very informative. Thanks for being you. Forgive me for being me. If you’re ever in Winnipeg, follow the sundogs to the edge of the earth where the lights are on all night and we’ll spill a little/lot of bourbon together.
In the meantime,
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