Anvil Press

In 1990, Anvil Press was nothing more than a dream. A small office on the second floor, one room, rent for $350 a month, two desks, two home computers (as they were called then), a light table, a polishing machine, a coffee machine, a door sign, and suddenly we were (sort of) an official establishment. The plan was to publish a literary magazine (Sab Teren) and a literary book list (ambitious, yes, but we didn't know otherwise!).Leaflets were distributed, communications were made, and manuscripts slowly began to trickle in. Extensive reading ensued, a heated debate about potential takeovers took place, and finally opinion settled. Drawings, photographs, and cover mock-ups began to appear on the wall above the arts area; And the books were designed - it was all handwork, wasn't it? We didn't realize that. It was like a walk down a dead end.But we were relatively young, and time was on our side. It was all very spontaneous – driven by pots of coffee, stale pastries, cigarettes and whisky. Sheaves of papers were circulating—handfuls of poems, stories, novels in writing, letters, and hard-to-classify prose. Ideas, criticism, comments, revisions, edits, draft after draft, and finally books are prepared, manuscripts are printed, proofs are proofread, proofread, filed as later files, and soon, slowly, nervously sent out.onto a disk by a postman to printing shops across the country where the files were copied, formatted, photographed on film, burned onto plates, and then placed on a printing press that would proof the whole process - well, ink and paper.