Here and Noun: Like Christmas Morning!

Deanne Beattie

I read somewhere this year that magazines are cutting back on illustrated covers due to cost. This is just nuts. I don’t think I need to say much more on the topic. There’s no need to make much of an argument in defense of original artwork in a magazine, whatever the cost: beautiful illustration speaks for itself.

When Sad Mag received the illustration for the cover of our first issue from Vancouver-based Kristina Fiedrich, we suddenly had a magazine. And it was so easy! Illustrators, as a group of incredible people, take the smallest amount of direction—or no direction at all!—and turn out delightful, surprising, thoughtful work that makes a page come alive.

When I came across the literary magazine Here and Noun at the recommendation of Kristin here at the Geist office, I was thrilled to learn that not only are they keen on publishing original artwork, they put hours of handwork into the creation of each and every copy, from screen printing to book binding—and all on a very slim budget.

Editor Buffy Goodman reports from Edmonton, Alberta on DIY magazines, literature for the internet generation, and illustrations like Christmas morning.

GEIST.com: I love that a time when nearly every magazine is jumping onto the online publishing bandwagon, Here and Noun has emerged as a purposefully tangible, tactile literary product. Why was it important to you to put so much thought and effort into the physical manifestation of H&N?

Buffy Goodman: It was important to us to make H&N something that people would want to pick up and hold, something that would set it apart from a lot of the other literary journals out there. I wanted people to keep it on their bookshelves, not tuck it away somewhere and forget about it.

Personally, I read things online, and then forget about them a few days later, or I have something open in another tab in my browser that distracts me, or I hear that annoying sound telling me I've got a new email, and forget about what I was reading. Picking up a book, for whatever reason, is a commitment—I allow less distractions.

The first issue (which is sold out now) was completely hand- assembled. This was partially because we had a small amount of money, and big ideas. It literally took us an hour or more to put together each and every copy. We didn't understand the scope of the project we'd taken on until we were already knee-deep in it, but we persisted. There was a lot of trial and error, figuring out how to bind the books, what materials to use, what things would cost us. We hand-numbered each copy, and there are "special editions" with a different cover.

People's positive reactions to the finished books, however, were encouraging.  For the second issue, the covers are screenprinted, and we bound them, by hand, to the book itself, which we had printed. It went a lot smoother the second time around, but was still hours of work.

G: Here and Noun is the product of the work of some younger writers and artists. What do you have to say to people who predict that the "internet generation," so-called, has no interest in long-form or literary writing? Is our immediate reading future all about stories told 140 characters at a time?

BG: The internet hasn't been around that long, especially compared to the history of the novel. I've read some hilarious "tweets" in my day, but can I remember them right now? No, I can't. I can, however, remember the plots and characters from novels that affected me growing up, even though I read them 10 years ago. There's still a place for long-form literary writing, I hope, with the "internet generation" or they're missing out.

It's strange to be grateful to writers like J.K. Rowling, and Stephenie Meyer, but of course their writing can be a gateway to kids picking up other books, giving the idea of books a chance. There are always those "wait for the movie" people, but those people existed 20 years ago, too; they're not new to the internet generation.

G: Here and Noun features some quirky and clever illustration. Something I've always loved about working with illustrators is giving them a few key words, and having them come back with a drawing that's fun, unique—and totally unexpected! How do trust and little surprises work into the look and feel of Here and Noun?

BG: We don't commission anything of anyone, and we don't give writers or illustrators a theme, but for whatever strange reason, it works out. Many of our submissions are totally random—I don't know these people, or how they found us, but suddenly there's an email with this awesome illustration. It's like Christmas morning.

Our first issue was quite serious in tone for whatever reason. Issue #2, aside from a couple of serious pieces, is funny, and I have no idea how that happened. Our art director Mike Wichuk, who does our cover illustrations, is brilliant—myself and the other editors will come up with some ridiculous idea for the cover, half-jokingly, and he'll painstakingly create these marvelous illustrations that blow our minds.

For example, the first issue, we were all, "Oooh! A circus bear with a peg leg!" and what he came up with was so awesome that people were contacting us because they wanted the illustration on a t-shirt, or framed on their wall. We printed a few posters of the bear, and they sold out within a day.

Get your copy of Here and Noun at fine retailers in Edmonton, AB, or online at their etsy store. The journal is always looking for new contributors. Writers and illustrators can submit their work for Issue #3 and beyond by emailing stories (fiction or non-fiction) and lo-res versions of illustrations (or a link to illustrations online) to info@hereandnoun.com.

Images courtesy Here and Noun.

Salute to Seniors

Deanne Beattie

There are many magazines in Canada that claim a social purpose behind their publishing efforts. Adbusters, This, and Vancouver’s new Granville magazine aim to change the world in some small way by publishing beautiful, well-written magazines. I don’t think I had yet recognized a magazine that exists in the world as a movement first, and a published product second, but was mightily impressed when I did in Lester’s Army.

Leni Goggins is the brains and brawn behind Lester’s Army, a magazine that connects youth and seniors through its pages. Launched in 2007, the magazine was created as a place for youth and seniors to publish their writing side-by-side, while creating visibility for youth and seniors’ issues concurrently. Reading the magazine is something like sitting down for tea with a wise and stylish grandparent. It covers topics from dating and fashion to aging and mortality in a sound, level headed, yet accessible way.

Leni speaks to GEIST.com about making a magazine out of a mission.

GEIST.com: Lester’s Army is more of a mission than simply a magazine. What made you passionate about connecting youth and seniors? How does a magazine fit into your advocacy?

Leni Goggins: When my grandmother died, we were 10,000 km apart. I was in Dehradun, India, near her birthplace and she was in Delta. I hadn’t felt the distance between us until that day, and I have been trying to make up for it ever since.  

I think that we lose a piece of ourselves when we are not connected to our elders. It can be as simple as not knowing your family story or as profound as never unlocking the secrets to your true nature, or never understanding the weight of your destiny.

The magazine is my way of bridging that gap between the generations. Both youth and seniors alike tell stories about their lives with the hope that the other generation will listen and understand. Simply put, the magazine acts as an intellectual meeting ground for youth and seniors.

G: Geist magazine holds writing contests and writers’ workshops that create community around the magazine. What are some of the things that you do outside of publishing the magazine that connects youth and seniors through Lester’s Army?

LG: I run a creative writing workshop at the Purple Thistle Centre so that youth and seniors participating in Lester’s Army can work on their writing together. It’s very challenging to get seniors out to these workshops, as mobility is a major issue and because seniors operate on a very different schedule then youth.

The most effective approach we have to date is inspiring youth to go out and make the connections themselves, in pursuit of a story or out of curiosity. At the first level, it’s making eye contact in the street and seeing the invisible, a group of people so often ignored by youth-culture.

The second level is approaching seniors, whether at a bus stop or at a café, and asking them to tell their story. The third level is making the effort to go places where seniors hangout. Legions are a fabulous place for intergenerational mingling (if you are old enough to drink a beer).

G: What are some of the greatest challenges you’ve found in trying to create community between two distinct generations and getting them to do something creative together?

LG: The list is long! Seniors are a very vulnerable group of people and when this project started in 2006, it was very challenging to place young people in Seniors’ Centres without criminal record checks and a whole lot of bureaucratic mumbo jumbo that we weren’t interested in pursuing.

So we go about making the connections very informally, through people we know and those that find us online or through our magazine distribution in Seniors’ Centres around Vancouver.

The magazine is collaborative, which means that individuals contribute to the whole. When we need to fill the dating section, we know that there will be two young people and two seniors that bring the section together cohesively. When it comes to layout, design and the actual running of the magazine, it is to date, created by young people.

My hope for the future is that we will one day have a physical space to occupy, where this can happen, but for now, it’s an intellectual collaboration between the generations.

Find Lester’s Army at select Seniors’ Centres and retailers in Vancouver, Toronto, New York, Los Angeles, and Seattle. It can also be found online at their website. 

Oops, Socialism

Deanne Beattie

Perhaps it will come as no surprise that Geist magazine is a proud collector of young hangers-on. The magazine has accumulated a healthy supply of interns and volunteers that, on a busy day in the office, actually outnumber paid employees.

This is due in part to the fact that Geist is a fresh and feisty magazine that easily attracts fans and wannabes, but is also due to the welcoming and supportive attitude the pioneers of the magazine have toward publishing newcomers. I know from first-hand experience that Geist is an anomaly in an otherwise cut-throat business.

Ross is another of these hangers-on: an intern at Geist and co-founder of his own online magazine, Narwhal. He was speaking to me the other day about the craft of surviving when you barely exist. He explained that he makes his online publication tangible through a variety of brilliant schemes, which got me thinking about the peculiar position of being under-the-radar as a brand-new publisher.

I wrote a feature story for the student newspaper at SFU this spring about a student organization, Global Agents for Change, which has nearly mastered the art of thriving in untraditional ways. Without an office, any paid staff, or a significantly recognizable brand, the youth-driven organization has raised hundreds of thousands of dollars in a few short years for international aid with almost zero costs associated. They’re more productive and effective than charitable organizations that have been around for decades, and produce far less organizational waste: the group is a lean, mean, fundraising machine.

Their secret? Mark Masongsong, a member of the board of directors, attributes their success to an incredible network of passionate fundraisers:

By focusing less on us as an organization, and the bureaucracies and structure, we’ve focused on what we do as individuals within the organization. When people donate to Global Agents, they’re not just donating to some charity they saw on the Internet. We can track each donation through a network of personal relationships. It comes down to the fact that we’re less about selling the brand name of the organization, and more about growing personal connections with people.

The new business mentality relies on the internet in far more ways than the obvious. New publishing initiatives like Sad Mag and Narwhal publish blogs and online stories, yes, but we’re also plugging into a new way of thinking about business relations. Borrowing from internet etiquette, here are some things I’ve learned about my generation and our own brand of business ethics:

Linking in. If you decide to publish a blog, at first you’re only one of millions in a sea of self-published blogs. The only way to create a route to your site for readers is to link into a conversation happening online. Link to a couple of similar outfits, and if they like what you’re up to, they’ll link back. Before you know it, you’re a part of something—an elaborate network of similarly minded individuals where success is determined by the collective efforts and intellectual outputs of the group. As the people publishing online grow to depend on each other, competition and proprietorship begin to mean less. In an age where publishing is a threatened breed of business, perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad thing for people who all love the same things to help each other out.

Trade and barter. It’s common for internet geeks to help each other out. Post a question on a discussion board, and wait for clever and well-informed people to help you out with their expertise—free of charge. The only catch is that you feel compelled to help others out with whatever you have to offer. I’m a decent writer and editor, but that’s about where it ends. Still, Sad Mag is running along as a semi-respectable outfit, thanks entirely to the help and advice we’ve received from others on visual art, advertising, fundraising, web development and volunteer recruitment. The mi casa, su casa trading of skills and talents is the only reason we have a hope of existing at all. Oops, socialism.

Make it accessible. The internet’s ephemeral nature drives home this point better than does the nature of print-and-paper magazines, but the resources we have at hand for sharing ideas don’t really belong to anybody. With the way that information moves these days, it doesn’t make any sense to place high barriers to contributors or readers. Sad Mag will be free in print and online, always, and we will always be looking for new contributors. That’s the only way we’re going to make any impact.

So, you can see why I think Geist is going to be around for a long time. When Ross and I, and the many other new publishers under the Geist umbrella, make something of ourselves, you can bet we’ll be linking back, giving back, and working hard to drive our network of writers and literature-lovers forward. We owe you one, Geist. Thanks.

Another gorgeous photo from Brandon Gaukel. All rights reserved.

Interns for Dinner

Deanne Beattie

When people ask us why we, a group of writers and artists under 30 in Vancouver, decided to start Sad Magazine, the best answer is closest to “Well, we have nothing better to do.”

We’re content as newbies in the industry—volunteering, waiting tables and freelancing when the opportunity arises—yet, there’s a feeling that by the time our grunt work pays off, we will have missed an important opportunity to express ourselves in a time of life that we’re likely to be most daring, creative, critical and idealistic. Sad Mag is our chance to create opportunities for ourselves and many other young, talented and inexperienced writers, illustrators and photographers in Vancouver.

David Beers at The Tyee caused a stir in Vancouver when he wrote and published an article titled “Vancouver eats its young” in 2007. He cites the increase in cost of education, cost of living and the pitiful minimum wage rates in B.C. as a risky situation for the future of the city; Vancouver risks losing its young talent and fresh ideas to other cities in Canada or the USA due to inadequate opportunities for survival—nevermind growth into leadership positions.

He writes,

What does it mean that Vancouver, itself only five or six generations old, feels so unwelcoming to its latest generation? For one, the brand doesn’t fit the reality. The young city about to host the world’s Olympians in the prime of their youth is verging on becoming a preserve of affluent, staid boomers. Nothing cool about that.

Even alternative media in Vancouver has a hard time speaking to or for people in their twenties and thirties. A number of popular publications started in Vancouver’s hippie days in the ‘60s and ‘70s have developed like the affluent Kitsilano neighbourhood in town. In an area where shared living communes were once the norm, property prices have risen to the million-dollar range, everyone has long since sold out, but the hippie-trippy rhetoric remains. Some publications call themselves young, fresh and a print alternative, but won’t pass up the opportunity to advertise $7000 couches. One must ask of such publications, “you’re an alternative to what, exactly?”

Sad Magazine is not political, but it comes from a group of people with entirely different life experiences than our successful superiors in the industry. We live in shared houses and apartments, we survive on minimum wage and tips, and we want to write and read about entirely different subjects: drag queens, vintage clothing store owners and migrant workers included.

I can’t wait to share what we’ve produced with the rest of the city come September. I hope our readers will agree with us that with experience or without, young people in our city have a valuable perspective on the life, art and culture of Vancouver.

Photograph courtesy of my compatriot, Brandon Gaukel. All rights reserved. 

one cool word: “A Dream Endeavour”

Deanne Beattie

I don’t think anyone has done an official count of the independent arts-and-culture-related magazines published in Canada, but there must be thousands. Add up the zines, the newsletters and the small-run publications produced by arts organizations and private citizens alike, and I don’t think there remains any fear of the death of print. 

Tracy Stefanucci is the proud and self-professed “mommy” of one cool word, one of the stand-out art magazines published independently in Vancouver. The magazine that started as a late-night experiment in wishful thinking has blossomed into a veritable quarterly arts event. This publication with a 300-copy circulation features a variety of literary writing, visual art, and music of young Vancouver up-and-comers in a print and audio CD combo package.  

one cool word has a small audience but, nevertheless, a dedicated one. Their launch parties and fundraiser events are well-attended art and music shows, legendary for bringing great talent to an interested audience. Canadian magazines that are looking for ways to make up losses in the contemporary publishing climate would do well to look at the efforts of magazines like one cool word, non-profit and entirely volunteer-run magazines that earn just enough money to pay the printers at their successful events. 

In a discussion with Tracy about starting ocw, here is what she had to say about publishing with a passion and directing others with grace under pressure.  

GEIST.com: What made you want to start an independent arts magazine?  

Tracy Stefanucci: When ocw began, I had just entered UBC’s creative writing program and I was really inspired by the amazing writing my peers were producing. I was also going to a lot of local shows and really loving the music scene. I had no idea that such amazing stuff was being produced in Vancouver. It was a shameless love affair, and a shame that these creations weren’t easily available to other aficionados, as they weren’t being showcased by mainstream media.  

One night, over tea at Denny’s at 3:00 a.m., I gushed to a friend—who happened to be a graphic designer—how if I won the Lotto I would start a publishing company and a record company so I could get these inspiring works out there for others like me to enjoy. He convinced me that this was possible, in the format of a magazine & CD combo, and even volunteered to be my partner in crime.  

Writing and publishing, and anything creative, had always been passions of mine. So the idea of our own project, focusing on my greatest loves, writing, music, art and Vancouver, was a dream endeavour. 

G: What were some of the greatest personal challenges you faced in starting your own magazine? 

TS: I would say there were two main personal challenges I faced when launching ocw, and that these challenges are ongoing.  

The first was learning how to act with utmost efficiency, clarity and creativity in the face of extreme pressure or crisis. For example, when a deadline is approaching and not much has been accomplished, when a fundraiser is about to start and the beer was never delivered, etc.  

And the second was to learn how to shake it off when I do mess up, big time—such as really large, glaring typos in the magazine, or miscommunications with volunteers, contributors or retailers. In three years, I feel like I’ve seen it all. And sometimes, all you can do is apologize, try to clean up the mess and move along, vowing to not make the same mistakes again! 

G: What does it take to make a fundraiser successful?  

TS: Persistence, creativity, flexibility and faith. When it comes to booking fundraisers, persistence is necessary, as it may take many phone calls, MySpace messages and emails to finally get ahold of and confirm venues, performers, guest sponsors and staff to run an event. There’s a fine line between harassment and persistence, and one can’t be afraid to walk this line.

Creativity is necessary to find ways to actually make money, above costs, at a fundraiser, and to do this it is best to find additional ways to supplement the money made as a door charge (such as mini bake sales, button making, affordable art sales, etc.). It is also essential when crises hit.

Flexibility is necessary to accommodate both the difficulty that can come with booking venues, bands, guests sponsors and staff, as well as to deal with crises.

And lastly, faith. The thing about a fundraiser is you never really know the result until the event happens. You can try to pre-sell tickets to avoid this, but in our experience even nearly sold-out events were impossible to pre-sell tickets for. Therefore, our game plan has been to book a solid line-up at a sassy venue; add as many creative twists as possible; promote, promote, promote; and then cross our fingers. So far it’s working.

You can find one cool word at plenty of Vancouver book, magazine and music retailers, or online at their Etsy shop.

The Print Dilemma

Deanne Beattie

It’s true of a lot of things that a final product betrays its eventual owner. It’s impossible to know what kind of time, resources, or sheer hard labour are invested into any number of goods you consume on a daily basis—the coffee you drank at breakfast, the newspaper you picked up on the way to work, or if you’re lunching at a different end of town than me, the artistry that went into producing the couture suit you’re wearing that tows a five-figure price tag.

My friend Megan pointed me to a video this week from New York magazine that follows the construction of an unfathomably expensive Chanel dress, from cutting the pattern to hand-beading the outfit. If you’ve ever wondered how any garment could cost about as much as it would to feed and house an intern for three years, it’s worth watching.

As newbies to the independent publishing business, the details of constructing a magazine have come to fascinate us. We’ve selected our cover font with the kind of delicacy Kitsilano mothers use to pick out clothing for their newborns (if there’s an organic Baby Gap of fonts, this would be it). We’ve debated and negotiated during the editing process with the kind of seriousness and attention to detail typically reserved for the work of bomb squads. And we’ve selected a paper stock and finish with the help of our supplier that balances our budget with our aesthetic preferences against our unbearable, generation Y-patent environmental guilt.

It’s encouraging to see that more magazines are demonstrating an appreciation for sustainable practices, like the stellar greener Geist. But it’s expensive! The more post-consumer content you have in your chosen paper, the greater the cost of the paper. Sad Magazine won’t be printed on recycled paper for now, but it will be printed on Forest Stewardship Council (FSC) certified paper. The forest where the pulp for our paper comes from has a responsible re-growth plan in place.

Shocked to learn that not all forests have a re-growth plan in place? So was I. It seems like the very least we could do to minimize the impact of our publishing exploits. Here are a few more important questions we learned to ask of our printer:

What inks do you print with? What solutions do you use in the printing process?

It has become an industry standard to use vegetable based inks rather than petroleum-based inks to print, but it doesn’t hurt to ask. In offset printing, a press dampening solution is also used; an environmentally friendly printer does not use an alcohol-based fountain solution. 

What do you do with paper waste in your facility? 

A good printer has a fairly serious-looking recycling system that ensures that all waste paper is dealt with responsibly. Our printer offered us a tour of their facility, and the visual assurance that no great amount of waste was being generated was enough to make us feel more comfortable. 

Are you FSC certified? Can you provide our project with an EcoAudit?

Some people say that having the FSC stamp or EcoAudit numbers in your magazine is just for showing off without investing much money or concern. It seems to me that these are just assurances to your reader that you’re meeting some pretty basic requirements to ensure we can continue printing gorgeous magazines far into the future. 

What’s old is new again

Deanne Beattie

One nice thing about starting a magazine is near-instant camaraderie with the beleaguered and battle-weary troops in the magazine publishing industry—all the writers and editors I have, until now, studied and admired from afar.

Gudrun Will is one such editor. Will is the editor and co-founder of one of my favourite magazines, Vancouver Review, a quarterly art, culture and opinions magazine published in Vancouver and distributed throughout Western Canada.

Vancouver Review—the first—started as a literary paper in the ’90s. It was founded and edited by some of Vancouver’s cheekiest and most talented writers, among them Stan Persky and the late Bruce Serafin. When Vancouver Review folded in 1997, it was Will—then just a volunteer with the publication and an emerging local journalist—who dreamed up a VR revival that would carry her own creative stamp. Will, together with creative director Mark Mushet, directed VR’s rebirth in 2004.

Today, the gorgeous, full-colour oversize magazine enjoys its fair share of success. VR attracts the talent of celebrated local writers like Terry Glavin, Timothy Taylor and Deborah Campbell, as well as numerous award-winning visual artists. The talent and dedication of VR’s masthead makes this magazine a favourite at annual magazine competitions, and a fantastic storehouse of west coast talent, new and old.

In a discussion with Gudrun Will, here’s what she had to say about Vancouver Review, past, present and future.

Geist.com: You were a successful newspaper and freelance journalist before forging ahead as publisher and editor of VR. What was your motivation for making the leap to magazines, and starting your own publication?

Gudrun Will: I was interested in creating a forum for a kind of story—beautifully written creative non-fiction or essays about west coast culture that show a willingness to be critical—that I wasn’t seeing published elsewhere.

G: Vancouver Review, as it exists today, is a re-launch and re-imagination of a Vancouver literary magazine that stopped publishing in 1997. Why did you work to bring it back, and what improvements did you bring to the magazine?

GW: I was inspired by volunteering for the old VR for four years in my twenties. The cheeky spirit of the old version always stayed with me, and I wanted to bring back a magazine with a similar role and personality while kicking up the visuals and broadening the content to reflect our new team’s interests and experiences.

G: What were some of the unique challenges and opportunities you had as a new magazine taking on an old name, Vancouver Review?

GW: None, really, given that it is a type of continuation—a “new generation” VR, perhaps. We think it’s an elegant name. We fully involved the former editor, the late Bruce Serafin, in the initial stages of developing a new VR, although he stepped aside before we launched. The only downside to keeping the name is that some people may cling to misty-eyed memories of the old one.

G: Speaking as an independent publisher, what do you see in the future of magazines? What kinds of support does an independent magazine need to survive far into the future?

GW: I believe the future of quality print magazines that fill a specific editorial niche—in VR’s case, long-form articles about local culture, accompanied by beautiful art, which you can experience swinging in your hammock—is solid. But magazines will need a lot of direct support and engagement from a variety of sources to survive in this print-challenged climate: government, philanthropic, and above all the cultural and reading community.

You can purchase Vancouver Review at BC book and magazine shops, or subscribe online.

How to Start a Magazine

Deanne Beattie

Look, we know we’re crazy.

Given the mouth-frothing glee that the general public derives from watching young publishing-hopefuls trot into the professional slaughter, over and over again, it’s difficult to forget that magazine publishing is a non-option . . . especially now. Long hours, small paycheques and stiff professional competition would make magazines appear slightly less awesome than a career in pretty much anything else.

It was not long ago that I began responding to the question of what I’d like to do with my life with, “Oh, writing or editing, or something,” in place of the flat-out lie, “I’m still figuring that out.” I have coveted a career in the glossies from the days when I picked up Mom’s Canadian Living in lieu of a Nancy Drew mystery, but I haven’t been totally thrilled with the idea of telling other, well-adjusted people about this small dysfunction.

It wasn’t until I met a fellow writer at a party about a year ago that I choked up the truth, and asked him if I was, word for word, “going to be okay.” He threw back his head and laughed, “Oh you’re doomed. But there’s no reason to be down about it.” If it didn’t sink in then, I think it did a couple of months ago, when Anna Wintour responded to questions about Vogue and its plans to face the global recession by saying, “You have to remember exactly who you are and not panic.”

So, I’m starting a magazine with some pals without any money or significant experience. Sure, we’re a little crazy—nutty enough, that yes, we feel in a small way that the death of big magazines these days has a lot to do with a dearth of good content that makes sense to today’s audience. As freelance writers, photographers and artists under 30 in Vancouver, we feel desperate to create the kind of work we feel is relevant to us, and to the people we interact with in this city on a daily basis.

We’re going to run a quarterly art and culture magazine, Sad Magazine, out of our bedrooms in collaboration with like-minded writers and visuals artists. Everyone will work for free; we’ll raise just enough money to pay the printers, and give away the magazine for free.

This blog is the online account of my adventures with Sad Mag, and experiences with Canadian publishing at the starting line. Yeah, we’re nuts, but we really wouldn’t have it any other way.