What I Wish I’d Known is a regular series where we ask some of our favourite industry folk to reflect on their careers and share some of the unexpected and useful things they’ve learned along the way. In this instalment, literary magazine founders share their experiences of starting a magazine from scratch.
Image: Canva.
Lyn Dickens, The Saltbush Review (2021–)
When we started The Saltbush Review, I found it helpful to have a clear sense of the journal’s values and purpose. Each lit mag has its own identity, and while this is something that evolves over time, starting out with a mission statement helped clarify the sort of writing we wanted to champion.
Building and connecting to a writing community has also been invaluable, as has the generosity of other editors from more established publications. Don’t be afraid to seek advice. Finally, be prepared for growth! Once a journal has started, it’s surprising how quickly it can grow. Have a multi-issue plan and allow yourselves to develop sustainably.
Kevin Brophy, Going Down Swinging (1979–)
I discovered a few literary magazines in the 1970s that were xeroxed off or cheaply printed and featured the work of new, young, keen, spirited writers who might or might not ever write something great, but who were giving it a go. Then the magazines would disappear. So I thought, why not give it a go myself. And my only writing friend, Myron Lyksenko, said yes, let’s do it.
I wish I had known more about editing, about taking care of young writers’ feelings, about printing technology at the time, and something useful about how to sell a literary magazine. What I did know was that there were a lot of exciting young poets and writers around Melbourne and across Australia struggling to get their work published. We wanted to publish them. I guess I also wish I’d known beforehand how much of my life Going Down Swinging would consume. I might have made sure I had a larger team of helpers around us as the fourteen years passed, and fourteen issues were produced. I was exhausted by the end of it, and suffering from burnout and repetition injuries to my arms and hands from typing up each issue. But mostly I am glad I knew nothing about producing a magazine, because I might not have plunged in if I knew how much work I’d be facing. And plunging in turned out to be one of the biggest and best experiences of my life.
Scout Lee, Bramble (2022–)
We started Bramble as a direct response to how inaccessible the arts can unfortunately be. It was important for us to make a specific publishing space to highlight the creative talents of the disability and neurodivergent demographic, and to also encourage people and their work. If I had to choose just one positive about Bramble, it would definitely be the sense of community.
The challenges with working on Bramble really come down to figuring out how to manage our own disabilities at the same time as working on a project that we love and care about so much. It’s about ensuring we self-care, and we encourage everyone involved to do so, too.
Leah Jing McIntosh, Liminal (2016–)
When you’re running a journal or magazine or any kind of art project, it’s really important to find your people. A silly group chat makes this work a lot easier. I wish I’d understood from the beginning that industry should not be mistaken for community. It’s an easy mistake to make, I think. This doesn’t mean you can’t make community within the literary sector; it just takes time and work and showing up. In the preface to Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o’s Decolonising the Mind, he writes—‘over the years I have come to realise more and more that work, any work, even literary creative work, is not the result of an individual genius but the result of a collective effort.’ I think a literary magazine is truly a beautiful form of collective effort.
Zoya Patel, Feminartsy (2014–2019)
I started Feminartsy back when people still did things like consume content in written form without expecting it to be distilled into a carefully edited 90-second TikTok. At the time, I wanted to create a space for memoir writing in particular, with a focus on sharing experiences and stories that connected with ideas of feminism and gender equality.
I think the biggest thing I learned over the five years was that the impact of literary journals is greater in some ways on the writers than the audiences. Our audience was fairly small—a few thousand a week—but we published over 100 writers, and many of those were first-time or emerging writers. So many of them have gone on to become published authors, to continue to produce beautiful work for other publications, and Feminartsy was just one stepping stone that gave them confidence and the experience of working with an editor that would help them achieve those next steps. I’m really proud of that!
Dirk Strasser, Stephen Higgins and Michael Pryor; Aurealis (1990–)
We wish we had known:
- how many people submit to a magazine without reading it
- how many people feel $20 is too much to pay for an annual subscription
- how difficult it is to get wide distribution
- how newsagency and bookstore returns work
- how it’s the postage costs that kill your print issue
- how much we were underestimating the bias against genre fiction
- how much we were underestimating the passion of fandom
- how much joy we were bringing to Australian genre readers and writers
- how all-consuming it can be
- how much fun it can be
Emily Riches, Aniko Press (2020–)
I started Aniko Press as both a print literary magazine and a website to publish book reviews and interviews. It’s certainly a lot of work: before and after the 9 to 5, every day and on weekends. It’s a lot of emails and admin. It’s reading, sorting and selecting from over 1000 submissions per issue. It’s costly: around $5000 an issue to produce. It’s, of course, a labour of love.
What I wish I’d known (and what I’ve learnt along the way) is that it’s also so much more than a magazine. It’s being embedded in a literary community and the publishing industry. It’s meeting new people and being offered new opportunities. It’s seeing writers I’ve published go on to win fellowships, residencies, awards, publishing contracts. It’s creating a beautiful object. It’s inspiring people to write. And it’s a process of constant learning.
Hoa Pham, Peril (2006–)
The aim of Peril was to flood the literary landscape with Asian Australian content like a tsunami. Hence the name, a play on the ‘Yellow Peril’ and using the symbol of the Hokusai tsunami wave in our logo. I’m pleased that Benjamin Law’s first published piece was in Peril. We also published Alice Pung’s original introduction to Growing up Asian in Australia when it was deemed too heavy to read because of its content about racism and the Lambing Flat massacre. Back then there was no Liminal, no established Asian Australian writers like Alice Pung, or Benjamin and Michelle Law. The literary landscape has changed over the last 17 years.
What I wished I had known at start-up time was that social media would play a major part in delivering the magazine, making the launch of issues more accessible to all. Now Peril is up to Issue 42 in the capable hands of Eleanor Jackson. There still is a place for emerging writers with Peril to present alternative points of view.
Hella Ibrahim, Djed Press (2017–)
I started a lit mag for a whole host of reasons—to advocate for a better industry, to give people like me a chance, to build community and connections—but ultimately, it boils down to a simple I did because I could. At the time it didn’t strike me as a big thing to do; all I needed was me, my laptop, and a few posts across social media. If I could give myself advice, it would be to remind myself that science has already proved multi-tasking isn’t possible so stop overloading myself with an impossible to-do list.
Sometimes I wish I’d known what a massive undertaking it would end up being and how much of my time, energy and money it would need. But then I wonder if I would’ve done it at all if I’d known. My little lit mag grew in ways I didn’t anticipate: a highlight was running mentorships and getting to watch emerging artists grow into their work; being a conduit to people achieving or gaining something they wanted still brings me an unexpectedly significant amount of joy. The experience also brought me into spaces and conversations I hadn’t come across before, and what I’ve learnt, particularly from First Nations people, people with disability and other people living across the intersections, has been invaluable in shaping my work and how I navigate the world.
Julia Flaster, Debris Magazine (2021–)
- People are obsessed with branding, it grounds them. Talk to a designer and invest in a snappy logo design. On that note, pick a typeface and a format you like and stick with it.
- Before you do anything, prepare a style guide. Deciding whether to use single vs. double quote marks a day before you go to print is not a good time.
- Offset and digital printing are different. And so are Envirocare and ecoStar paper. 200 gsm is thick for a magazine cover. Etc. Learn the basics of print design so you can communicate with your graphic designer and printer.
- The editor-author relationship is fundamental to a good issue.
