Not our only option

Sometimes a sentence or a phrase jumps out of context and stands on its own. As I read an opinion piece in the New York Times recently, a sentence did exactly that. In a very short time it has settled into my mind as a useful signpost, pointing me to possibilities beyond the current moment. “A forgotten story,” the author wrote, “teaches history’s most beautiful lesson:

The world we know is not our only option.

In the column, historian Jon Grinspan wrote of the days in the 1830s to 1900 when young people in the U.S. voted in droves, “speechified,” and rioted in wild elections. “Reading 16-year-olds’ diaries,” he said, “you can see the way they bundled political involvement with their latest romance, their search for work, and the acne on their foreheads. Public participation soothed private anxiety. Youth politics worked because it was so messy, blending ideology with identity, the fate of the country with ‘fun and frolic’.” The forgotten story is captured in the title of his book, The Virgin Voter: How Young Americans Made Democracy Social, Politics Personal, and Voting Popular in the Nineteenth Century. “One of our political system’s weakest links used to be the strongest. Young people did vote. They could do so again.”

“The world we know is not our only option.” In more ways than youthful voting alone, the future opens up if we are convinced as we face it that new options are possible and that we have a part in creating them.


Seed pod Trotscher


Photo by Anton Trötscher, Houston, “Butterfly plant”

Jon Grinspan is a historian at the Smithsonian’s National Museum of American History. His column in New York Times, “Virgins, Booze, and Politics,” ran on April 10, 2016.


Raucous Caucuses and Imaginary Needs

Montauk & Orcas w-stars

Two conferences about creative support for artists

We had some brunch, then we had some lunch,
Then we talked some more until we tired.

We cursed and we swore, then we talked some more,
Following the shoals of salmon.

A stanza excerpted from “The Orcas Anthem”
Based on music & lyrics from “Shoals of Herring” by Ewan MacColl
New lyrics by Terry Dimmick, written on Orcas Island, 1988

In the late 1980s, several hundred people met twice at remote locations on two islands, one on the U.S. east coast and one on the west, to consider “the creative support of the creative artist.” Sponsored by the New York Foundation for the Arts (NYFA), the first conference was held in May 1986 at Montauk on the eastern tip of Long Island, New York and the second in November 1988 on Orcas Island near the Canadian border in Washington state. These two gatherings brought together artists, arts funders, and dedicated people from organizations that serve artists. For a day and a half (Montauk) or three full days (Orcas) they talked, performed, argued, ate together, played together, and tackled critical concerns within and beyond the arts. They also built life-long friendships and professional relationships and provoked questions that remain today.

I chose to be an artist. I had no choice. My parents thought I did. They said I should get a job.” – Trisha Brown, choreographer, letter to the conference 

In addition to the relationships and knowledge that remain long afterward, a physical record was also created. Participants in the Orcas conference were given custom-designed three-ring binders and received four installments of materials to fill them: commissioned papers from both conferences, background readings, conference proceedings, as well as letters and reports received from participants afterward. Complete notebooks contained almost 500 pages.

I have run a very successful small business for over 25 years. But I forgot to be paid. Well, I didn’t ‘forget’ – it would have been impossible.” Robert Ashley, composer, letter to the conference

With an interest in tracing the emergence of a national conversation about the place of artists in the system of arts support, Grantmakers in the Arts (GIA) commissioned me to write about these two conferences. My perspective was undoubtedly colored by the fact that not only did I attend both events, I was in the whirling center of the second as its coordinator. My essay was published in the winter 2015 issue of the GIA Reader, and it’s also posted on an archival website I created for materials generated by the two gatherings. (A link to the site is here.) My essay is one of the pieces in the archive. I’ve begun posting materials from the conference notebook – some are interesting historically, others remain pertinent today – but the going is slow because the documents don’t exist digitally. All of this happened before the widespread use of personal computers and the internet. The notebook’s table of contents is posted on the site, though, and gives a sense of what the book contains.

A valuable lesson for me from these two conferences is the importance of creating opportunities for us to connect with each other, to talk and argue together, and to feel equal as participants.

From one perspective, the experience proved to David Mendoza* how important artists are to a democracy. Living now in Indonesia, a nascent democracy, he sees how important gatherings like these could be. In retrospect, I recognize in them some traits essential to a democracy: a forum that allows all voices to be heard and one where differences can be expressed.

Long Island, New York
Long Island, New York
Orcas Island, Washington
Orcas Island, Washington


*David Mendoza was a founder and, at the time, the first executive director of Artist Trust.


Penny U at Town Hall

Coffeehouse token from the Beaufoy Collection at the Guildhall Museum, drawing by Gordon Ellis
Coffeehouse token from the Guildhall Museum, drawing by Gordon Ellis

Penny universities were safe havens for political discussion, exchange of ideas, and civil debate.

Since fall 2014, I’ve co-organized a series of informal conversations called Penny U. We’ve borrowed its name from 18th century London coffeehouses called “penny universities.” For the price of a penny, people got coffee, pamphlets, the latest news and gossip, and lively conversations on politics and science, literature and poetry, commerce and religion. The low cost led to a mingling of people from all walks of life. Anyone of any social class could frequent the coffeehouses, which became associated with equality and civil society. Penny universities became safe havens for political discussion, exchange of ideas, and civil debate.

Conversations bounce from point to point.

In much the same way that I imagine conversation proceeding at 17th century penny universities, at our Penny U, one statement or question can quickly trigger another, and conversations bounce from point to point. The discussions are less linear, more complex and varied, than “point-counterpoint,” oppositional debates on a public stage. Penny U proceeds more like loosely-focused, living room conversations, sometimes taking seemingly unrelated leaps. For the first year and a half, we focused on the nature of work, how it’s changing, and what it might look like in the future. As we move into the future, we’ve loosened our focus.

Our aim is to engage everyone in the room.

Our conversations have often been jumpstarted by ideas from speakers on Town Hall’s stages. Although these talks regularly inspire us, the premise of Penny U is that everyone with an interest who takes the initiative to attend has valuable knowledge and experience to share. Our aim is to engage everyone in the room. To encourage this, the set up is informal, and the main event happens around small cafe tables in groups of 4-5.

* Penny U 3-15 mark, alice + crop* Penny U 3-15 steve + cropWe begin with a topic and a bit of background, but then pose questions to prompt conversation among the small groups. Though it’s easy for the conversation to turn to big, fairly abstract ideas, we’re urged to tie big ideas to our own daily lives.

* Penny U 3-15 whole group, cropAt the end, we reconvene as a whole to share highlights from each table, and that typically leads to more questions, more conversation, and an energy that’s often hard to stop. Notes collected at each table provide a basis for a summary which is subsequently posted online.

One thing I appreciate about our Penny U conversations is the mix of people who come. Most people are meeting for the first time, and they very often end up in conversation with people from worlds quite different from their own.

* Penny U 3-15 susan, miles + crop* Penny U 3-15 buster, laura, randy cropOne evening, for example, we had employed workers, a couple of students, and several people who have retired though still working on some level. Among the kinds of work done by people in the room, there were artists and writers, an architect, geographer, engineer, barista, Lighthouse for the Blind worker, foster parent for dogs, and a retired carpenter, financial advisor, and stock broker. The status of their employment also varies – full-time, part-time, temporary, volunteer, independent contractor, and not working. Like early penny universities, we mix interests, ages, fields, incomes, and cultures for face-to-face conversation about things that matter.

Coffeehouse pennies, or ‘tokens,’ were ‘essentially democratic.’

And, about those pennies . . . here’s a quote about coffeehouse pennies from a book about London’s penny universities in the 1600s.

In the seventeenth century, the coffee-men, in common with other tradesmen, issued their own tokens or coins. They originated through the shortage of small change and were usually for a halfpenny or farthing. For the most part they were of brass, copper, or pewter, but some were of gilded leather. They bore the name and address and calling of the issuer, the nominal value of the piece, and usually some reference to his trade. They were redeemable at the face value and were acceptable at any of the shops in the immediate neighbourhood, but they rarely circulated beyond the next street. As C. G. Williamson has said: “Tokens are essentially democratic; they would never have been issued but for the indifference of the Government to a public need; in them we have a remarkable instance of a people forcing a legislature to comply with demands both reasonable and imperative. Taken as a whole series they are homely and quaint, wanting in beauty, but not without a curious domestic art of their own.”*


* Aytoun Ellis, The Penny Universities: A history of the coffee houses, first published 1956 by Martin Secker & Warburg Ltd., London, page 36.

The first Penny U at Town Hall was in October 2014, the most recent in April 2016. Penny U is co-organized by Anne Focke, at large, and Edward Wolcher, Town Hall. I posted reports from and advance notes for the first year of Penny U conversations on a different website,

Thanks to Jean Sherrard for Penny U photos.


Basic income – How would it affect us as human beings?

Report from Penny U

Didn’t Penny U talk about basic income before?

Yes, indeed, this is essentially the same topic that prompted a Penny U conversation back in December 2015. [More about Penny U here.] We suspected then that there was more to say on the topic…and we were right! So, for Penny U in March 2016, we used this as our overarching question:

What would happen if everyone received a basic income, regardless of the work they do or what their financial status is?

This second Penny U on basic income was organized in partnership with Town Hall as usual, but was held in the cabaret at the Richard Hugo House – a space that’s very conducive to discussion. The specific questions for the evening included one that triggered the discussion reported below:

Would a basic income lead to fuller lives and an increase in the common good, or would it encourage people to be lazy and to work less?

A second set of notes [here] reports on other conversations that evening that took up other questions. Some got more into the nitty gritty of how it would actually work: If basic income is a good idea, should everyone get the same amount, and where would the money come from? And others ttook a big picture view and considered the whole of society: Would a basic income just be a concession to capitalism, and why are we having this discussion now?

In drafting both sets of notes, I haven’t tried to synthesize the conversations, opting instead to try to more closely reflect its spirit, offering a record that’s more like dialogue. So, as you read, imagine lively exchanges, each one a combination of four or five discrete voices at one of four tables, all talking at once. The animated conversation went on for a good two hours and sometimes headed in unexpected directions. The notes add a modest order to it all by grouping somewhat similar ideas together.

Our hope is that Penny U gives us practice listening to each other and speaking up, whether uncertain or confident, whether drawing on study and research or on our daily lives; a place where we hear our own voices and listen closely to others, even when faced with conversational styles and ideas fundamentally different from our own.

What would happen to our sense of self worth if everyone got a basic income?

“Our jobs are linked to our feelings of self worth,” one person claimed. “Our sense of purpose in life is tightly tied to the way we make a living. We become what we do.” The speaker worried that today many, maybe most, people have no habit of defining themselves. “We let our jobs do it for us.” She went on to say that it would be a huge shift in the basic framework of our lives and our understanding of who we are – psychologically, emotionally – if we didn’t have jobs to give us a purpose. As an example, she mentioned friends on social media who “don’t love their jobs,” and she’s aghast at what they do with their time off.

“Our identities very often come from our jobs; we become what we do.”

“Perhaps having basic costs covered would take the fear out of having or losing a job.” Without that fear underlying their lives, they’d be freed up to define themselves in new, more meaningful ways.

“But, if people are released from the burden of economic fear, would society’s necessary, sometimes unpleasant, work still would get done? Would people just be lazy?” On the other hand, maybe we could “run society like a household, where everyone takes turns doing the unsavory jobs.”

“I’ve been an artist/writer all my life. It would be easy for me to fill my time, I’ve had practice. But, so many people haven’t had the chance to define themselves, and it could take a long time to adjust.” How long would it take for most of us to develop a purpose-driven life? “I’m nervous about our ability to float while we make this transition. Money has been such a driver.”

“Who says not producing something has no value!”

“A basic income shouldn’t be tied to individual results. Who says not producing something has no value!” “The program wouldn’t be a failure if some people simply sit back. That will happen.” “It isn’t necessarily bad if some people don’t get engaged. That can benefit society as well.” “We have such a Calvinist approach. Society’s understanding of work and our sense of what’s valuable are huge cultural hurdles to an idea like this.”

“We need to change our mindset about leisure. Leisure is meaningful. Education could help us. Its purpose can be directed to developing skills for a vocation or it can be directed to the liberal arts. College should be free.” “A college for all one’s life.” “Has social security created a lazy generation of seniors?”

“Young people will find their self-actualization outside their jobs.” – Andy Stern

In a 2014 discussion of similar themes, former SEIU President Andy Stern told a Town Hall audience, “My 3-5 year-old niece and nephew won’t think about work the way we do.” Referring to his own generation, he went on to say, “We often found our social environments through our work, our jobs. Young people won’t, and many have already made that shift.” They find what he called “their self-actualization” outside their jobs.

Would people still fight for supremacy, still strive to get the most or the best?

“People will always seek the advantage, everyone wants to optimize. Trying to convince others to our way is an universal aspect of human nature.”

“But, is this just an institutional overlay? It isn’t true everywhere. If this impulse is allowed free reign, we’ll lose our democracy. Fighting for supremacy is a way of moving forward in a patriarchy, characterized by an attitude of ‘you’re with us or against us’.”

“Can we shift to seeing ourselves as part of a collective whole?”

“How can we develop a spirit of cooperation, can we see ourselves as individuals who are part of a collective whole? How do we encourage a culture of generosity?” “The commons gives us a different mode. It is an ancient system that still continues in many ways and in many places around the world. The commons is not, as a famous essay, ‘The Tragedy of the Commons’ by Garret Hardin, suggests, an unregulated resource to be taken advantage of by everyone. It is a resource, used by many and managed by the community that uses it, and this community of users establishes rules, values, and protocols for its use.”

“I’m feeling optimistic. Surprising, radical transformations are more possible now.”

“Younger people are less sympathetic with radical competitiveness. They feel they’ve been given a ‘bait and switch’ deal, for example, big college debt for jobs that are disappearing. It’s why they’re in love with Bernie Sanders.” “I’m feeling optimistic.”

[This conversation continues. See additional notes, here.]


Basic income – How would it work and why are we talking about it now?

Report from Penny U, part 2

Basic income – from details to the big picture

If basic income is a good idea, where would the money come from? And what drives the need for more equitable income?

This is the second set of notes from a Penny U conversation in March 2016. An introduction to the topic overall and the first set of discussion notes is here. Those notes discussed ways a basic income might affect or be affected by who we are as human beings . . . for instance, would it affect our sense of self worth?

These notes cover groups who instead focused on specifics such as, if basic income is a good idea, where would the money come from and should everyone get the same amount? Others took up a big picture view that considered society as a whole: are proposals for a basic income just attempts to mitigate capitalism, and why are we having this discussion now?

How would a basic income work?

Can we find the funds? Should everyone get the same amount, or should there be prerequisites for getting the money??

One group was quite optimistic about funding. “We could go back to a truly graduated income tax and levy a large tax on high levels of income or capital gains. We could institute Thomas Piketty’s global wealth tax. We could use the War Tax. We could democratize the workplace by creating more co-ops.”

“The amount of a universal basic income would not be enough to live on, so we’d need a hybrid approach.”

“In Brazil a basic income for families comes with incentives or requirements for doing certain socially positive things, like ensuring that children attend school and be vaccinated.”

“A German experiment with basic income requires an assessment of kids at a certain age, which raises a potential pitfall of people getting pigeonholed into a predetermined role or job when they’re young.”

“The question of prerequisites points to a distinction between the term ‘universal basic income,’ which means unconditional income with the same amount given to all, and the term ‘minimum basic income,’ which asks for proof that you need it.”

“Does universal basic income conflict with the goal of racial and gender equity, since women and people of color historically start with fewer assets? Should they get more?”

“Perhaps we could pay wages for housework as an alternative to giving basic income.”

“A danger is that universal basic income sounds new and exciting compared with the tired old social welfare language. A libertarian view would replace all social welfare programs with a basic income. Leave the choice of what to spend money on to the individual. Appeal to ‘American individualism’, and to our ‘freedom as a consumer’.”

“What we really need is a universal basic income with social welfare underneath, not instead of – a hybrid approach.”

More and more questions

“Would drug and alcohol addiction be more likely with an unconditional basic income, or would people be freed from stress, making it less likely they’d need such substances?”

“Would a basic income allow people to remain on or reclaim rural areas?”

“How big an impact would it have on a global economy? Should it be implemented on a global or a regional scale?”

“Is basic income an authentic solution for communities in distress? What would it mean for communities of color? Would it exacerbate gentrification?” “How universal is this idea? Is it just a white-guy dream of exploring the universe in a post-capitalist world?”

It has to be a dream on top of a broader social movement.

“Basic income isn’t really a political program with a coherent organizing concept that people can come together around. It has to be a dream on top of a broader social movement.”

“It would be exciting if basic income could it be used as a basis to begin building a local economy, to develop a cooperative way to aggregate the funds. We could grow the community by spending locally, and we’d feel connected to our neighbors.” “Working cooperatively confronts the myth of individual achievement.” “This would be easiest if the payments came in lump annual sums rather than smaller monthly payments. We’d need cooperative banks.”

“It all comes down to organizing.”

How would any of this actually get implemented? “It all comes down to organizing.”

The big picture: considering capitalism and the whole society

“Questions about a basic income can’t be asked without considering the whole of society, its conditions, and what really counts. It depends on effects we can’t predict.” “It’s designed for a Keynesian economy that doesn’t exist.”

Is a universal basic income radical enough?

“Discussing a universal basic income raises the question of what capitalism means. And, would universal basic income just be a mitigation?” “Like many other proposals, providing a basic income is a concession to capitalism. A market place would need to exist on top of it, along with continuing differences in wealth.”

“This country’s obsession with individualism is based on a flawed understanding of the history of our economic reality. Resource exploitation and slavery established the basis of our economy and gave us a wildly unrealistic sense of the power of individual efforts.”

We don’t have successful examples. Right now, a basic income would be a pure experimentt, like the Soviet Union’s experiment of taking a feudal Russia directly to communism.

“Perhaps trying to implement a basic income in a society with such a well-established social economy as the U.S. is a bad place to start. Some other kind of base might have to be established first. We just don’t have successful examples.”

“We’ve ceded public responsibility to the private sector, basically selling off the public. And this has been going on since the ‘80s. Would a basic income, paid for by eliminating social welfare/safety net programs, open up the possibility to finish the job quickly? to just drown the baby ­– that is, government, maybe even democracy?”

Why are we having this discussion now? What drives the need for equitable income?

Two common responses provided a kind of backdrop: 1) the rise of automation that is destroying people’s jobs and 2) the increasing income gap. These two background causes seemed to be accepted by everyone, but conversations went from there.

The only reason we’re even discussing this now is to prevent social upheaval.

“It comes from necessity. We need a new version of the Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s New Deal. Understanding the history of the New Deal could help it happen now.” So, how did that come about? “Eleanor Roosevelt and Frances Perkins just kept pushing him forward, and eventually he got on board.”

In his message to Congress on the State of the Union in January 1944, Roosevelt introduced what has come to be known as his “Second Bill of Rights,” or “Economic Bill of Rights.” In introducing his eight rights, he said: “We have come to a clear realization of the fact that true individual freedom cannot exist without economic security and independence.”

People who are hungry and out of a job are the stuff of which dictatorships are made. – Franklin Delano Roosevelt

Penny U participants went on to talk about conditions today: “Both the private sector and government are worried that if jobs are eliminated, there would be overwhelming discontent.” “It’s possible that the private sector will get the incentive to establish and fund a basic income so people will have an income and be able to buy private sector products.”

“There’s momentum for this now. The left is interested and beginning to organize. The tech world is optimistic and getting into the act. Who knows? New markets might be formed. There are many unknowns.” “We need to start creating jobs in a whole different format.”

“The best and quickest way to solve all this would be by electing Trump. The youth are very anti-establishment. ‘Bern it up, or burn it down.’ Take the system and ameliorate it, or burn it down.”

We can’t just ask for this. We have to repair our democratic power first.

“There’s so much to do! Can social pressure encourage people to get involved? Lots of people have a sense of duty. Can we build on that?”


Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s “Second Bill of Rights”

The Roosevelt I Knew, by Frances Perkins


9099 Logo-red_D, nick squared

A jumble and a hideout – home

For nearly two decades now I’ve been imagining, usually in conjunction with other people, where I want to live, in what relationship to others and to a larger world, and in what kind of space. Even as part of a couple, the atomized way so many of us live, scattered in small units, wasn’t satisfying. A few years ago, I decided that one way to understand what I long for was to look back at my first experience of home.

A jumble and a hideout – home

My mom and dad must have known they’d have a large family when they bought the two-story white house at the top of a dirt road in the hills above Pacific Beach near San Diego. They’d been married about a year and moved in with two children, a ten-year-old son from Dad’s first marriage and me, just six weeks old. Four more sons arrived over the next five years.

An unfocused 2016 image of where I spent my earliest years
An unfocused 2016 image of where I spent my earliest years

When I visited as an adult, not only was it on a paved road surrounded by subdivisions, but the house seemed to have shrunk in size. For my first thirteen years, though, it was a large, expansive place. In addition to the main house, a little cottage was tucked at one end of the drive, in the shade behind a huge pepper tree and under a tall fat palm. For a while it was occupied by Richard, a mute man with a hunchback, who, though certainly gentle, was for me at five or six just a little scary in his mysteriousness. My mom’s mother, a little scary in her own way, moved into the cottage after Richard, when Mom’s health no longer allowed her to manage all the work required by such a houseful of children.

The house with its surrounding yard was always full of people. Five cousins, an uncle, and two aunts lived nearby. When my aunt Petie died, three of the cousins moved in with us for a time. What with brothers, cousins, grown-ups, and neighborhood kids, the house was a gathering place, especially when Gran’s cookies came out of the oven.

The property Mom and Dad purchased included eight acres, most of it a sagebrush-filled valley behind the house. Dirt roads were the norm in the neighborhood. In addition to a few homes, there were flower farms, cactus ranches where hybrid varieties were bred, and, in the valley behind, a chicken ranch, dairy farm, and our fairly wild section, full of caster bean plants, eucalyptus, and some sort of wild greens that Gran often boiled for supper. Both our immediate yard and the valley were perfect for exploring, building forts and secret living rooms, and creating fantasy worlds.

My older brother took cars apart in the driveway turn-around. It seemed the younger boys regularly got into little fights that I, a little older and, of course, “wiser,” felt compelled to try to break up fearing they’d really hurt themselves. My mom’s sister Helen may have died there; a photo of her standing in the front doorway is the source of the only memory I have of a visit she made when I was quite young. Death wasn’t talked about much.

For all the activity of the place and all the people living there, as the only girl I always had a room of my own, tiny but my own. At the end of the upstairs hall that led to my room, there was even a small bathroom, far enough away that almost no one else used it much. The little pink corner room, just big enough for my bed and a built-in closet and set of drawers, had two windows that let me look out toward the ocean. I may not actually have been able to see the ocean but the long perspective allowed me to dream and imagine I could see it and much more.

Living in that jumble of a place, with people of many ages coming and going, combined with having in easy reach a quiet place to get away and be alone probably set a pattern I look for still. Perhaps, like the modeling clay we used in elementary school, the kind that never really hardens but gets a little stiffer over time, we all get molded and shaped in our early lives and, even though we’re constantly reshaped by new experiences, some memory of earlier forms remains in the clay.


The image here, appropriately fuzzy like memory, comes from online maps and only dimly reflects a few physical attributes of my actual first home. The human, social, and emotional aspects of the home have to be added to this photo through imagination.

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Jumping & Hustling

Rebecca Brown on teaching and paying the bills

Rebecca Brown at Hugo House Jan2016 cropOften someone else’s words describe something so well that the words become a reliable reference point. In pursuing my curiosity about the nature of work, the following passage has done this for me. It appears in “An Interview with Rebecca Brown,” by Alex Davis-Lawrence, which is published in Moss, Volume One.1 After speaking about why and how much she loves it, Rebecca says this about teaching…

And of course it’s paid a lot of my bills. At different times in my writing, I’ve made nice money, but I have not supported myself entirely with writing. So, I don’t teach out of the good of my heart as much as the need of my pocketbook. [laughs] As far as the range of different places where I’ve taught – libraries, prisons, universities, colleges, workshops, Hugo House, living rooms, summer camps – when I first got out of graduate school, I looked for a full-time tenure-track teaching job and I got turned down a million times. But over the long haul, I’m glad I didn’t find one job and then just stick to it forever. I’ve had to kind of keep jumping, hustling, and you get to know different people if you’re out there. I think I have a broad sense of what’s out there, because I haven’t been full time secure in one location or job.

Now I see young friends who are getting full-time tenure jobs pretty early and I’m, like, “watch out.” Like, don’t become someone who gets so secure in a job you kind of stop writing. I think sometimes if you lose the hunger, you kind of, I don’t know…lose the edge or urgency you need to make your work.


1  Moss is an online journal dedicated to bringing Northwest literature to new audiences and exposing the emerging voices of the region to discerning readers, critics, and publishers. It was founded in 2014 and publishes three times annually. Moss, Volume One, put the first three online issues into print, September 2015.