#localquarterly

  In a flash, Local waxes and wanes. It’s waxing time, another grind-out weekend with a few newbies and old-heads. While I often just allow our wandering souls to well, wander, we often get to commune over coffee or in front of our screens. I’d like to admit that these chats are always interesting intellectually, but more often, they spill into comedic commemorations of the day or year, maybe too tongue-in-cheek for our humble blog.

Sometimes, we also watch Kinfolk videos or consider spinoffs for the fast-rising “Vogue for hipsters.” Chinfolk, Sinfolk, Winfolk, Finfolk (don’t ask), Blingfolk, Ginfolk, Cringefolk, Burr-lin-folk (again don’t ask). It usually takes on an air of an all-out lampoon with suggestions of videos we should undertake to make fun of such an artsy-fartsy periodical, but sometimes we scratch greater questions like, “Why are indie mags so smug?”

First, off, the vague "independent magazine" label is basically anything that is non-traditional, and we are all complicit in our uppity ways, even here at Local. Most indies won't compromise their core being, because small presses are gifted with a beautiful, niche concept that, if lucky, people will latch onto in sustained numbers (e.g. Kinfolk). Most of the time, we fail. I’m not so interested in telling those tales, as I am the thematic movement of the independent magazine trend, in general: brand-focused, design-centered, and esoteric (purposefully or unintentionally wrought in that manner).

Because of the legitimate design beauty found in new independents, there is this one-sided conversation that seems to indicate this uptick in high-end and well-designed magazines is inherently good and/or impressive given the economy for publications and the larger macro move away into digital. And it is. My experience though in both reading and reviewing these publications, to both improve my own mag and stay current, is that I’m only mildly impressed by the anti-gloss movement as I call it. Nice photos, check. Cool theme, check. Writing, fair-to-middling. What is it that’s missing though?

Perhaps, it’s the prevailing idea that to replace one trend for another, gloss for thick recycled newsprint (non-gloss)—good on the recycled part—is a step up. That's piddling in minutiae though. It’s something more abstract. Like soul or missing an authentic connection to place and people (that's a bit smug even). Now, that might seem like an abstract concept but it isn’t. What I see in magazines like the aforementioned is this ogling “over the creative process,” a semi-exultation of design and expression, and a conflation of calling something "a balanced simple lifestyle" for that of the means to live in a way where you can afford to call yourself a foodie enthusiast. 

My experience in the past two years of making Local is that most people don’t know what the hell you're talking about. It’s great that there’s a push happening in periodicals to talk about sustainable lifestyles, making clothes and objects closer to home, making magazines less flimsy and more substantial, and focusing on celebrity that’s not celebrity in the traditional sense, but there’s this other side of America that’s struggling for attention and resources. 

Bringing beauty to an ugly world is good, but there’s an ugly world out there that needs beauty. This is what Local tries to navigate, sometimes well, sometimes not-so-well. Most of the former examples just don’t, partially because it’s their mission and partially because they’re con-tent with their self-obfuscation. It’s warming, protective, and comforting to know that others will agree with you wholeheartedly and buy into this "lifestyle." Yet, as independents, I believe we have a larger obligation to society. We write for the tired reader or viewer, even if we’re tired.

Stay warm,

Daniel Webster Jr.

P.S. Here are some magazines that I'd love to emulate one day. They blend design and stories in a sophisticated and down-to-earth manner. 

New School

Boat Magazine: Probably the periodical closest in likeness to our own, minus the most recent launch of Collective Quarterly, which, no comment. Boat's editor, Erin Spens wrote this very cool letter recently that encapsulates a lot of similar thoughts to my own at this time.

This Land is a semi-monthly large-format newspaper that brings long form, literary journalism to the community level. It’s like when Warren Buffett and his love for newspapers meets Woody Guthrie lyrics. Don’t know if that made sense. 

Narratively is this grind-it-out digital news presence that tells great human interest stories out of NYC. Noah Rosenberg’s team is super-committed and produce rich, weird, and heartbreaking tales every week. Their “about” is below.

Narratively slows down the news cycle. We avoid the breaking news and the next big headline, instead focusing exclusively on untold, human-interest stories—the rich, intricate narratives that get at the heart of what a place and its people are all about. 

Old School

Orion Magazine: The classy and classic Orion is one of my personal favorites. Check out their mission here. 

The Sun was started by Sy Syfransky 40 years ago and they commemorated this anniversary with a great interview with the man behind the legendary publication.

Swiped this right from their website:

The Sun is an independent, ad-free monthly magazine that for nearly forty years has used words and photographs to invoke the splendor and heartache of being human. The Sun celebrates life, but not in a way that ignores its complexity. The personal essays, short stories, interviews, poetry, and photographs that appear in its pages explore the challenges we face and the moments when we rise to meet those challenges.

Some may believe that being an editor-in-chief of an indie publication is rather cool. You sit around with your editorial team making pour-over coffees, searching for your print rivals, realizing their mistakes, and guffawing over those mainstream drags, who are totally misguided about the future of print. The occasional cigarette break turns into a cracking of one or two microbrews at lunchtime, that then inspires an idea that couldn’t be lifted by a Boeing engine.

Oh, in a perfect world, I guess.

There’s other duties to attend to besides a story budget, locating the best of the best writers, and reviewing, editing, and sizing down our next issue’s content. For the past month or so, my newsie cap has come on, traveling city-by-city (four to be exact) in order to sell Issue 2 to various stores around the east coast. “Get your Local here,” which happens to be my aging Toyota Corolla, chock-full of cardboard boxes, 26 lbs. per, filled to the brim with cultural curiosities about Roanoke, Va. But it’s become a sort of dog-walking obligation, perhaps even a rite of passage, and I just wanted to give minor insights, emphasis on the minor, to our readers and dare I say, my rivals alike, who may want to empathize or laugh at this 1,500 mile tour de force I logged the past three weekends.

  Independent publishers or editors-in-chiefs who are reading this are either immediately pissed that I would go through such vagaries (get a distributor bro) or nod in knowing. While I am looking into a distributor, first, there are the bangs or busts of cold calls, unanswered emails, and consignment deals. What I’ve found, however, is that business owners are much more receptive, in some cases, to seeing the magazine with its owner, like an artist with his/her portfolio. There’s some general pre-planning, which is all very boring and involves mapping and not getting side swiped while looking down at an iPhone map (I’m looking at you Philadelphia). Beyond that, it’s personal preference and the age-old pitch.

  Walking in to the selected store—one I’ve only laid my eyes on via Yelp or grainy website photos—is the biggest thrill, scoping out voyeuristically if our magazine indeed belongs in this place. I usually shuffle around for about ten minutes, looking for the following sure fire signs of a successful mag shop.

They carry national titles like Sun Magazine and Orion or foreign titles like Boat and Huck. Each combine strong narrative with timeless design, and that is something Local is always working toward.

Curated shops also do the trick, those with neither a glut of magazines strewn about or too little of a stock that promotes only a certain niche brand of magazines (e.g. lifestyle).

Business owners or employees who gives two shits about you. I honestly, at this stage, want to be stocked in places with workers who care about the print product. You can tell immediately if an employee is disengaged, perplexed by what you are asking of them, or too pretentious to be dealing with what they determine is a low-brow salesman, which might be my fault. See next paragraph.

I’m wearing my standard, everyman attire: black shirt, Levi jeans, black tennis shoes while carrying a nylon Banana Republic messenger bag. This, I hope, hits the sweet spot of dress codes in this business: not too bookish, not too disheveled, and casual. I root around for a magazine or a trinket, take it to the counter, and while being checked out, I start my pitch, which goes something like this:

“Hey, so I run this magazine called Local Quarterly (drop the magazine on said counter ever so gently), which looks at micro-cultures in America through the lens of one small city per issue (that’s my highbrow take). Think you may be able to stock it here?”

From there, it’s a variety of reactions, ranging from complete puzzlement due to my pitch or a simple, “Sure, why not? Fill out a consignment form.”

The more upscale, boutique stores usually reply with, “A buyer will need to look at this first. I’m sure you understand.”  God, how bile-inducing. You see, in the most diplomatic way possible, I just want to tell them I drove 290 miles one way without A/C to save on gas, specifically for the purpose of being in their store. And I just purchased something from you, my inner and innocent manipulation thwarted by the ole pass off to the buyer. Oh, well.

Others, however, are receptive, grateful, excited by a living human being dropping off a magazine who indeed worked on this product, moonlighting with a dedicated team, etc. This is the empathetic small business owner knowing the trials of a peer. These people I thank too much. My desperation seeping out, I cut off my third or fourth “thanks” and leave, my products all grown up and ready for new eyes, fresher eyes.

Neurotically, I turn around, almost instantly, then trudge on, ready for the next inspecting or indifferent individual.

All the while I’m thinking about the invoice I need to prepare, trying to locate Shop X on my outdated iPhone map, sweating the good sweat, the self-imposed perspiration of an independent publisher. Glorious? No. Satisfying? Sometimes. Necessary? Absolutely.

  A few shops I really, really liked:

Politics & Prose: Two stories of fantastic books with a small café located in the basement floor. Readings daily. A small but well selected groupings of local, national, and international titles. Seth, the buyer, was real easy to work with and took our magazines on the spot, although I believe their distributor is SpeedImpex.

Avril 50: Magazines, lots of them, coffee and cigarettes. Writer’s paradise. The bare necessities. Magazine cave. It’s in University City, right in the hubbub of Drexel and UPenn near the well-regarded White Dog Café. John, the owner, was great to deal with, not on the phone, but in person. Treat yourself to this place. If he doesn’t have the magazine you’re looking for, I’d be surprised, but he’ll find it if you ask.