Black Sails Publications

Black Sails Publications first began in 2021 as an online blog for my own writing. It was a way, I thought, to get my work out into the world, with hopes of eventually collaborating with and showing the work of others. After six months of posting, I began to feel like my writing was being thrown into a digital void. I didn’t feel connected to my anonymous readers. There were lists of views and likes, full of random usernames and strange emails, but not a strong sense of community. The blog slowly fell apart, and I assumed that was that: another digital tombstone in the internet graveyard.

I moved to Toronto in May of 2022 to complete my Master’s at Toronto Metropolitan University. Although I’ve lived across Canada since growing up in Nova Scotia, I’d never lived in a major Canadian city that I could compare to the size and cultural capital of Toronto. 

Living just west of Spadina between College and Bloor, my first weeks in the city were dedicated to exploring the local pubs along College, connecting with fellow students from the universities, and trying to scope out Toronto’s local writing communities: all while still looking for some much needed work. 

It was around this time I met the volume’s co-editor, James Dunnigan, at a party hosted for English PhD students from U of T. I had no business being there, but since my roommate was in the program, and the event was in our front yard, I made an appearance. I got chatting with James about our areas of study and poorly practiced my French against his Quebecois fluency. Eventually, we found out we were both writers, and I mentioned my desire to get involved in the local poetry scene; but I didn’t want to fall back into the traditional ten-dollar cover, sign-up to read, big microphone and stage scene that I had been a part of before. I wanted to find/create an environment where established and up-and-coming writers could convene, discuss work, and feel comfortable to share their writing in a low-stakes, accepting environment. James loved the idea, and it was decided that Black Sails was to be reborn. 

The first event we hosted was just the two of us. James and I took turns taking photos of each other reading to an imaginary crowd to make it seem like we had magically conjured one on our first try: do-it-yourself events, we learned, do not always have rip-roaring beginnings.

For the second event, we prepared. We posted the event on social media, loaded ourselves up with cheap Portuguese wine, a few packs of smokes, and a bowl of cut-up pineapple. Then we poured a glass of wine, sat down on the front porch, and waited. 

One person showed up. 

I’m not sure what Dean Vukovic first thought when he walked up to my small front porch in the dark to see two strangers drinking and discussing poetry underneath a single yellow porch light, but I know that in the silence of his arrival, when I reached out the bowl of pineapple to offer him a piece, he lit-up, laughed, and joined in on the conversation. Dean has been a regular contributor to Black Sails and a good friend ever since. 

From there things began to grow. We dubbed our front yard readings “Kitchen Party” as a throw back to the parties I’d known back home in Nova Scotia, where individuals came together, often with instrument and song, to play and drink and celebrate community. 

Kitchen Party soon established a regular group of readers from the community, and we began to entertain the idea of starting a zine to showcase our work. Searching around in my basement, filled with the leftover junk of ten-years worth of student tenants, I found a beat up printer, got an ink cartridge for it, and the first issue of the Kitchen Party zine was created. 

As I write this, Black Sails now has a bi-monthly residency slot for our Kitchen Party readings at Tranzac Club, just up the street from where our readings began. We have received grant funding to support our ongoing work and have now released our first professional printed volume of writing: Black Sails Volume 1.