OLD DOG, OLD TRICKS

THERE'S A DOG AT THE DOOR...

WELCOME BACK!

We know it’s been a while, but the dog lives!!! DOG TEETH is BACK and ready to sink its teeth into some new and wonderful writing. In case you missed it, ISSUE ONE: INTERSPECIES is out now!! Thanks for being here to celebrate with us! Go download the first issue of DOG TEETH from our website! It’s 55 free pages of interspecies queerness, and it’s gorgeous! A HUGE thank you to all our contributors - DOG TEETH would not exist without you! We’ve interviewed some of our issue one contributors and we’re so excited for you to see their wonderful work. 

We interviewed Angela Quinton, one of our INTERSPECIES contributors, about her thoughts on interspeciesism, her process, and her piece Spit, which is a gorgeous exploration of identity and connection.

CONTRIBUTOR HIGHLIGHT: Angela Quinton Interview | 2023-11-30

What does interspecies mean to you?
Understanding comes from interaction, communication, and thought. Creatures of differing species are separated by cognitive and physical differences that are often as vast as the interstellar space between our sun and other solar systems. As with astronomy and interstellar bodies, we can observe and infer things about different species, but we can’t ever really know. Our experience of these things is compartmentalized by distance or sentience into walled gardens that we can see out of, but can’t escape. To me, “interspecies” describes a way of throwing a ladder against the wall and getting out, of thinking about “species” as modes that overlap, or a spectrum similar to gender or neurotype.

Your piece in this issue, Spit, is beautifully written, and its themes of community and levels of understanding and connection really speak to me. Was there any particular inspiration for this piece?
Thank you! To me, the story's core is the phrase "I don't understand you, but I believe you."

Imagine your life as a trek across a desert or a high mountain range. There are trails and camps and fellow travellers you encounter along the way. People that come into your life – walking the same path as you, in the same direction – from different starting places. They may have different destinations, starting points, values, or reasons for their journey. But for now, you share the path: trading stories, resources, advice, and comfort. You're joined in a temporary and generous community despite your differences. Some of those differences may be profound – positively interstellar in distance from your own motivations or way of thinking or living – and I think it is one of the most precious forms of generosity to accept what someone tells you about themselves, especially if it comes from a place of vulnerability. I try to practice that generosity with people, and I wanted to write a story about two people trying to do that for each other.

In "Spit", the narrator, June, is committed to reaching her destination, and in Liam she has found someone who will travel with her a little way, even though he doesn't understand  – and may actually abhor – her motivations.

In that same vein, are there any works in particular you find yourself drawing consistent inspiration from, or want to emulate in your own writing?
I've given two extremely rambly, high-concept answers so far, so I'm relieved to be more concise here! In my writing, I want to be: 

• the Douglas Coupland of lycanthropy

• the Kim Stanley Robinson of the Cascade Range

• the M.D. Lachlan of gender

I want to write about metamorphosis and self-actualization in a way that's as visceral as the Black Mirror "Mazey Day" transformation scene, and as meticulous and sincere as liminalbean's "Lycanphiliac" comic.

I’d love to hear a little about your creative process, if you’d like to share.
Sheer panic! If I have three months to write a story, I will spend two of them building a "vibes" music playlist and rotating the story's core in my mind like a low-poly model of a house. During this time, I won't write a single word. At some point during week eight, a big switch in my brain will flip from "I have plenty of time" to "I have no time at all," and I will write the first draft in a two-week-long frenzy and then fling it at a few trusted readers who can give me feedback. I'll do one revision, read the story aloud to my wife, and then submit it to the editor at the last possible second. If the editor likes it, I will feel very pleased with myself for a few weeks, then finally re-read the story and recoil in horror as all the rough edges and half-measures finally reveal themselves. If the editor is kind, like Jack, I will sneak in one last round of revisions and then call it "done".

This is obviously irresponsible, unsustainable, and extremely rude to my writing group, my wife, and my editors. I don't recommend it unless you're way more charming and capable than I.

Are there any patterns within your own work that you love?
This is a great question! I had to think about it for a long time. Usually, I wouldn't say I like finding patterns in my writing – they stand out once I notice them and make my writing feel too same-y and self-referential.

I think most of my fiction revolves around a protagonist I have bestowed with some quality I want to see or feel in myself. Then, I try to make that quality the least exciting thing about them. Within the first page of "Spit", the protagonist reveals that she has just become a werewolf. Her lycanthropy is incredibly important to her (as it would be to me), but I hope the reader will be more interested in her motivations, methods, and sacrifices than the bare fact that she got what she wanted.

Spit deals in transference of power and knowing, which I love; I wanted to ask, do you have a favourite method by which lycanthropy may be transferred?
There are so many fun ways, but I think the bite is the best. It's dangerous, intimate, ritualistic, slightly uncontrolled even at its most careful, and it centers on the wonderful-icky body-horror mixture of saliva and blood. Then again, the best method of lycanthropy transference I have ever read – the one that speaks to my heart the loudest – is in Blue Neustifter's story "Names and Addresses*." I won't reveal how it happens in that story, but suffice it to say, I felt highly understood and affirmed when I read it.

*Editor’s Note: Names and Addresses by Blue Neustifter can be found in Werewolves Vs. Everything. 

COMMUNITY COLUMN
It’s thanks to our contributors that DOG TEETH exists; we love their voices and we love their work! We want to be a space for the thoughts and voices of those beings who may find themselves often unheard, and strive to make those voices as heard as possible. In light of that, we want to announce our newsletter’s new community column! We want to encourage anyone who feels they have a reflection on something DOG TEETH and its pack may enjoy to submit it here for consideration for inclusion in the newsletter! This is a space for DOG TEETH-esque pieces you would like to get out into the world, but that might not fit our zine’s themed issues. We love musings on the non-human, spirit of place, strange bedfellows, the complexities of intimacy, and all things capital Q Queer. 1500 words max, please submit only one piece per newsletter. Submissions accepted on a rolling basis. 

This time around, we have two contributors: Mahaila Smith and Nat Raum. 

Mahaila Smith - How would you like to be perceived? 

(cw: morphing oneself, physically, to please a partner)

How would you like to be drawn?
The body artist asks. She sits under
a shower of mist.
Her blue-green scaled body
catches sunlight from the watery window.

There are sketches of beings on the walls
and her tables. And there are feathers and furs,
leaves, branches, a narwhal horn, porcupine quills,
a snake skin, a miniature rose.

My birth mother became a Fawn,
soft beige—wideset eyes,
oval pupils.
Her mother, too, a Fawn throughout her life.

My sister became a Willow.
Her skin thickens with each year,
her hair has grown into yellowy,
flexible whips stuck with thin green leaves.

Our bodies become stronger.
We learn skills to help one another
and help heal the Earth.
I am collecting seeds for the library.

And I have fallen in love
with a petite brown-feathered Hawk.
Their golden eyes, outlined in black
always observing, always listening.

Once I saw a hint of their milky white tummy,
and I have thought of it for days.

I chose to be drawn up as a Wren
and hope I am tempting enough.

Mahaila Smith (any pronouns) is a young femme writer, living and working on the traditional territory of the Algonquin Anishinabeg in Ottawa, Ontario. They are one of the co-editors for The Sprawl Mag. They like learning theory and writing speculative poetry. Their recent chapbooks include Water-Kin (Metatron Press 2024) and Enter the Hyperreal (above/ground press 2024). Their novelette in verse, Seed Beetle, is forthcoming with Stelliform Press. You can find more of their poems on their website: mahailasmith.ca. 

Nat Raum - hot sugar 

(cw: gender dysphoria)

you know, how in “hot sugar,” dave bayley sings about the kind of crush you
really only want to be like rather than around, & now everyone in the
fandom uses the song as an allegory for gender envy, or maybe you don’t
know & that’s fine. bear with me anyway. the first crush i had was a two-
dimensional man in my favorite disney film, chest & shoulders broad,
masculinity unshakeable. never mind the fact that i clearly also have a thing
for a man with long hair & kind of questionable intentions, i have never felt
like a girl & i have only ever felt like a woman in the presence of one
particular lover. this isn’t about that, though—moreso the way that i
genderswap in my daydreams & always have. no, i am not man, but i am also
not woman. the void calls to me because i wish to become it—genderless. &
gaston wasn’t the last hot sugar crush, instead the first in a cavalcade of
learning gender by rapt observation. the point is that i still hold bits of lovers
in my bones in the form of envy—not of gender, but of the sureness with
which it was performed. now i want to be a man & kill the beast as much as i
want to succumb to the idea that as long as i am in this body, i will only ever
be a woman to some. which is to say i have space for neither, only the quiet
knowledge that i can hold masculine and feminine within me and still choose
divine emptiness.

nat raum is the poet laureate of the void; their corporeal form lives in Baltimore. They’re the author of the abyss is staring back, random access memory, camera indomita, and many others. Find them online at natraum.com or astral projecting inside a Royal Farms.

ON THE LITMAG SPACE
As DOG TEETH makes its way out into the world in earnest, I want to reflect on how happy and grateful and excited I am to be part of the litmag space. It is such a genuine and joyful community of people doing their best to make and distribute art accessibly and authentically, and that’s something I have always struggled to find. Learning through this community that indie publishing is fun! And possible! Is something that has changed my life for the better. 

There are some truly inspiring and amazing voices out there and it has been an honour to get to see and love their work! This has been such a wonderful place to find myself in, and it has brought such great people who make ridiculously lovely and thought-provoking art into my life. I’m excited to keep creating, keep curating, and keep DOG TEETH rolling into the future for everyone who wants a space like this one, because I know I do. 

Thanks for being here and thanks for being part of the pack!

ISSUE TWO: KIN
To carry us into that future, let’s talk about Issue Two! 

As the seasons change around us, I find myself thinking of kin more and more often. Who stays near us in the bare periods of our life? Who do we go to for warmth and companionship? Who sees us through difficult and spare times with connection, affection, and love? 

I wanted Issue Two to focus on kin for two reasons: one being the above idea transitional periods are always times that leave me reflecting on the beings around me and how we can enrich one another’s lives; the other being that following INTERSPECIES with KIN felt right to me. Last issue explored our relationships with the self and with others; I hope this issue will dive even deeper into those connections with others, whatever the species, whatever form the kinship takes. 

MEET OUR ISSUE TWO CONTRIBUTORS: 

POETRY
JENNIFER R. EDWARDS • C.S. THOMAS • MEG WHITELOCK • KIMBERLY GLANZMAN • JONATHAN FLETCHER • SALEM B HOLDEN • SAVANNAH GRIPSHOVER • M.V. RIASANOVSKY • NOLL GRIFFIN

FICTION
JIM REDFOOT • ASHLEY ANDERSON • NOXPROPH

CREATIVE NONFICTION
JADE WINTERBURN • ERIN JAMIESON

CHARITY FUNDRAISING
You may have seen it on Twitter, but in case you missed it, I wanted to mention here that we’re doing some fundraising for Gaza. I’ll link the page here (link) and I ask that if you’ve ever considered donating to our ko-fi, that you send that money here instead. We’re raising money for Medical Ais For Palestinians, a cause which is really important for Gazans on the ground as they suffer under genocide. If you want something tangible for your donation, you can email a screenshot of proof of donation to dogteethlitmag@gmail.com, and request a DOG TEETH sticker (see below). They glitter! This is an ongoing fundraiser we’ll be leaving up for the foreseeable future.

 

ISSUE THREE: PERIPHERY
Issue three subs are opening soon! Keep your eye on our Twitter for the submission point; we will be asking for all your weird and wonderful writing on the theme of PERIPHERY; interpret this issue however you like, and as always if you have any questions you can email us at dogteethlitmag@gmail.com. 

THANKS + FINAL THOUGHTS
Thank you so much for reading! Reminder to go support our wonderful contributors and their creative works; go tell them you loved their pieces in INTERSPECIES! Thank you so much also to those wonderful contributors; we’re here because of you! Have a safe and wonderful time until I see you in the next one! In the meantime, find us HERE.

Stay strange,

Jack