IMAGINE A DOOR, an interview with LAURA STANFILL

Laura Stanfill, publisher at Forest Avenue Press, talks about her new book (and project!) IMAGINE A DOOR

Apr 28, 2025

I’m so excited to bring you an interview with Laura Stanfill, writer and publisher at Forest Avenue Press, about her new publishing project IMAGINE A DOOR. Laura says on her Substack, “IMAGINE A DOOR is my take on breaking into publishing without letting the industry break your heart,” and I would describe it as the go-to “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” for publishing. To me, it’s like the book you might read in the stages before you need to buy Courtney Maum’s Before and After the Book Deal. Laura follows, “IMAGINE A DOOR—with original reporting, advice from award-winning authors, and personal stories from the publishing trenches—is a rallying cry to focus your creative life on what really matters: the work itself.”

IMAGINE A DOOR has voices from across the industry, advice on topics from attending conferences, sustaining a writing practice, managing burnout, and launching your own small press, plus so much more. Below you can hear a bit more about the book and the ways Laura thought through putting something like this together. Of course on this Independent Bookstore Weekend, you might pick this one up from Bookshop.org and support your favorite indie bookstore!

You’ve been the publisher of Forest Avenue Press for a good while, what did you see in the independent landscape that made you feel like Imagine a Door was necessary (perhaps even urgent)? And then likewise, what did you see in your life as a writer that made it necessary (and perhaps even urgent?)

I started Forest Avenue Press in my mid-thirties as a way into publishing. I had an agent, but after taking classes, writing constantly, revising and re-revising, reading all the books, and attending lots of book events, I still hadn’t gotten my debut novel placed. I figured if I could learn about the industry from the inside, I could share that information with all the other writers who had been knocking on New York doors and not getting any response. Writers like me, on the quiet side of the desk, waiting for someone to recognize our work. To say yes. To usher us across the divide into the land of the published.

In approaching publishing as an undercover author, wanting to know all the things, I learned a ton and quickly found myself focused on logistics that were unfamiliar to me as a disciplined but unpublished writer. Imagine a Door is the part of my heroine’s journey where I get to circle back home, having defeated several dragons, carrying knowledge I have learned along the way. It’s everything I want authors to know so they grow their careers sustainably, don’t give up because of unrealistic expectations, and understand distribution before they sign contracts.

The biggest, baddest dragon in this analogy is my own sense of self-worth. The earliest drafts of this project cut my story out and focused on everyone else’s experiences, because I felt too new to publishing. I didn’t think anyone cared about my stories. The manuscript took shape only after my debut novel came out and I realized, My stories matter too. Which—spoiler—is kind of the whole point of Imagine a Door.

Launching Imagine a Door at Powell’s Books with Joanna Rose, a Forest Avenue Press author.

I loved the conversation you had with Liz Prato where she says, “Why are we waiting to be invited to the table?” I have a theory (and a practice) that the folks that get what they want out of publishing are equal parts shameless and loudly persistent. They ask, they pursue, they put themselves out there. You call Prato’s question revolutionary–are there sections of the book that you recommend as sort of calls to action, in which writers are advised on how exactly to do that work (of stepping into inviting themselves).

This idea of creating your own path weaves through the whole book, but “The DIY Approach” chapter, which begins on p. 150, is a great example because it includes interviews with Skyler Reed, a Klamath Tribes poet and artist who runs a community project called Moved by Words, and Wendy J. Fox, who has written about small press books for Buzzfeed and Electric Lit.

I admire both of them so much for how they have chosen to spend their energy and time shining spotlights on other writers. They contribute so much to their communities—and they chose these avenues because of their interests and strengths, which feels really important. To build literary connections, lean toward what you love and what you’re good at. That helps it feel less awkward when you appear on the scene with a new reading series or with your first byline as a book reviewer or however you choose to contribute.

You mention the “slide rule of success” in the chapter titled “The Comparison Trap,” what are ways to counteract this narrative once you’re in it?

The slide rule of success works like this. You accomplish something, you feel good for a hot second (as the kids say), and then you think about what’s next.

Well it’s nice to get an essay published, but I really want a book out.

Or, Hurray! I’m getting my manuscript published, but what would matter even more is winning an award for it.

When you’re proud of an accomplishment and a friend casually mentions an even bigger accomplishment, this comparison trap thinking can really burn your heart.

The antidote? Celebrate all the milestones. Get a full manuscript request? Tell a supportive friend. Have a poem accepted? Take a walk. Receive helpful feedback? Bake cupcakes. Finish that darn revision? Plant tulip bulbs so you can look forward to them next spring.

At first, as you establish this practice, consider writing down your win and how you celebrated in a notebook. On your down days, you’ll have a growing record of what you’ve accomplished as a writer and how you’ve chosen to center those moments instead of ignoring them. Yay you!

Your goal for the book was accessibility–in what ways is this a book for everyone?

I want to give a shout out to Tantor Audio for making Imagine a Door into an audiobook, increasing its accessibility in a way I couldn’t do on my own. Especially in inviting disabled authors and editors to add their voices to this project, it feels really important to be able to offer multiple formats.

Accessibility is intertwined with inclusion. I knew I could deliver my stories about writing and publishing, but it’d be a more inviting book for all writers if I embroidered quotes from people with assorted identities, publishing paths, and lived experiences. Not just famous writers, or a certain kind of writer or a particular genre expert, but a mix of everyone. That decision became the foundation of the writing process: in-depth original interviews, not available online or anywhere but in this book. It took longer to thread my own experiences through everyone else’s insights—that self-worth dragon is a feisty one—than it did to nail down a ton of interviews.

I also used Imagine a Door as an opportunity to refute the advice about setting schedules for your creative time, because that doesn’t work for everyone—especially disabled folks and all of us with caregiving responsibilities. And I opted to be realistic about the financial, mental, and physical costs of conferences and why I often opt out. We’re bombarded with images of writers performing success by attending fancy events, and it felt important for me to normalize saying no. Sure, I’d love to take all the opportunities and encourage everyone to do so as well, but I did that for a lot of years, putting money toward buying access, and it didn’t yield a publishing deal. And when I did get that long-coveted contract for my debut novel, the earnings didn’t even begin to cover the cost of my self-driven education. I’m glad I did all of it, but I wish someone had told me: this probably won’t pay off in terms of dollars earned.

We often talk about artists as if they aren’t (and maybe can’t be) business people? Yet, you talk about being an entrepreneur and starting Forest Avenue Press in the book–what can you share about that reframing between art and business, and also is there overlap, are there things you’ve witnessed to show artists can be exceptional at in business?

I am all for writers pursuing the stories they want to tell, but sometimes a project isn’t easily distilled into marketing language or the project itself isn’t accessible to a large swath of readers—maybe because of an unusual structure or a particularly bleak premise or wildly experimental prose. I believe there’s value in storytelling, no matter what the result, but if you want to get published, understanding the landscape by reading current work is essential. That can help you find your most promising way into print.

If you know your book is most likely a small press book, then start there, instead of losing a year (or two) to a fruitless agent search. If you have a dynamite proposal for a nonfiction book, and you need your writing career to earn money, try the agent search after you have some outside eyes on your document. If you just want your book out, and you believe in yourself, consider hybrid or self-publishing with a service provider. If you can’t see clearly what you’ve written, because you’re too close, ask friends for help.

It’s really hard to make a living by publishing your work, unless you hit the agent-then-editor jackpot and they put real money on the table, which is rare. More and more, those of us who are writers are scrambling for other revenue streams and often those avenues mean teaching, consulting, or editing—all of which position the writer as the customer. The person to be sold to, not just asking them to read your book but to buy into your services. I started growing my consult revenue stream in the last year or so to help even out my income when a title doesn’t perform as expected, and I only take on clients when I feel sure my professional experience can actually help achieve intended goals. It still feels strange and uncomfortable; with my Forest Avenue publishing hat on, I want to pay for everything. The money always flows toward the author. Consulting is the opposite. My wanting to help writers, and not having limitless time for volunteering, is what finally got me to offer paid services.

For writers seeking paid help, talk to other clients before committing and be realistic about how much you can afford to spend. No one opportunity will for-sure fast-track your manuscript to success. Not every editor or workshop leader has skills that are a match for your needs. It’s not one size fits all.

One of my favorite things about Imagine a Door is how tangible it is. There is an actual “Conference Checklist” on pg. 186. When I was in my MFA program, I just wanted a high profile summer writing workshop to say yes to me–to the point where I put myself through a miserable (truly, miserable) week at one of them with a teacher I didn’t know and a sum of money I had no business spending. When writing Imagine a Door, which is a hefty 515 pages, what did you think about as far as tangible needs for the reader?

I opted to start the book with the process of writing instead of going right into the querying tips. Part of that is because how-to-submit advice is all over the internet. In asking writers to step back, to evaluate their creative practices and build relationships with their peers and their local bookstores, I’m asking them to treat showing up and being present as part of publishing. Not just the querying. Not just the writing. But every event you attend, every book you read because it’s published by a specific press or a certain agent on your list sold the book, all of that is the foundation for you to take your work out into the cold scary world. It makes it less unknown, more connected and connectable.

If you set yourself up for success by reading widely, listening to authors talk about their work, and getting to know booksellers’ taste, you’ll be so much better positioned to handle what comes next: querying and rejections, and if you’re lucky, publishing, which has its own pinch points and pitfalls.

Show up for your community to learn and to appreciate others’ work, not because you want leverage those relationships for favors in the future.

Imagine a Door is a compendium of many professional conversations and ideas. It’s a many-voices book, how did you decide who to include?

I began with a lot of cold calls (well, cold emails) in 2016, using my journalism skillset. Many agents I didn’t have relationships with said yes to talking with me, and I’m so grateful for that. Their belief in what this book could be, even before I had a title or a plan for publication, kept me writing and revising.

At a few points, in the messy middle, I thought to myself, Dan Lazar of Writers’ House gave me such great information on what makes a great title! (See p. 392.) And Erin Harris of Folio is so smart in articulating a gut-level reaction to a manuscript. (See p. 237.) Those early interviews became touchstones; if I didn’t wrestle the project into manuscript form, it’d be a waste of excellent resources.

Once I had amassed initial material from New York agents, I shifted to interviewing people in my community, the Portland (Oregon) lit scene. That approach yielded some of the most in-depth, no-holds-barred information in the book. I couldn’t have gotten to that level of trust with my cold-call reporting; I’ve known many of those sources for twenty years.

Then, because this was a nine-year process, I sorted and sifted my material to determine what I still needed in terms of content and representation. Ultimately I quoted more than 75 authors, agents, editors, and publishers, aiming for fifty percent people of color, because why would I want to aim for less? I got close to fifty percent, but came a little short because of some last-minute adjustments. In addition to authors of color, I intensively recruited and requested interviews with queer, disabled, neurodivergent, and elder writers, so that anyone picking up a copy would feel included and seen. Like they’re not alone.

Ever since I went to print in January, I keep meeting people I’d love to add to this book. Maybe there will be a revised edition someday!

So much of Imagine a Door is really a reimagining (repetition intended) of the writing mindset. There are so many things in publishing outside of the control of the artist, how did you balance the practical advice with the mindset advice, and what does a healthy relationship with both look like to you?

Information about the industry helps so much with mental health. Over the last two decades, I’ve met so many writers who are angry or sad about how publishing has treated them, and that usually goes one of two ways: being sour about someone in publishing (often caused by a lapse or lag in communication) or being self-deprecating about the worth of their own work. I hate hearing publishers and other industry pros being berated or defamed, because most of us are trying our best. I have met a lot of industry pros and we’re all here because we love books, not because we’re trying to mess with someone’s ego by not getting them a starred review or whatever. We are all up against a massive number of titles, every time we put a book out, and there’s no guarantee of reviews or sales.

I also despair when I hear writers claim that nobody cares about their manuscript—when rejections have tipped them over into quitting—because usually the issue is not about quality or concept; it’s about revising well and/or pitching the right people.

Reacting to those two responses is the reason for Imagine a Door. Here, learn about publishing! It’s not you, it’s how things work, so don’t take it personally, and please keep going. We need your voice. This book is like one big pep talk. An information sandwich garnished with feel-good fixings.

Thinking about your ideal Forest Avenue Press writer–a person you would love to publish, what are they coming to the table already knowing, and what do you hope they learn along the way with you?

My ideal writer knows why they wrote the manuscript. They understand how it’s their material, and why nobody else could have possibly written it, at least not in this style or form. Clear thinking about the work is essential before signing a contract, because it’s really hard to create a publicity campaign around a book when the author can’t articulate its origins.

Besides a smooth process and transparency, I want to provide consistent emotional and technical support to each of my authors. The technical piece includes explaining how we use early galleys, how we work with our cover designer, and how we can use metadata to maximize visibility of the book in the pre-launch months. The emotional part? That can be anything from giving my standard bad-review speech to sending a special gift by mail.

It’s deeply personal to release a book; even when it’s not a memoir, parts of ourselves stick out between the lines. People can see us, or (sometimes worse), they imagine they understand us. The whole internal-to-external journey of a book, no matter what the genre, feels harder when there’s nobody to talk about it with. I want to be there to answer questions but also to reassure, to clarify, to praise—to remind each of my authors, your work matters to me. No matter what anyone else says or doesn’t say.

With Daniel A. Olivas, author of CHICANO FRANKENSTEIN, at the Tucson Book Festival

I love when you’re talking about reviews and distribution in the second half of the book, you say, “Am I asking for too much?” and yet, Imagine a Door seems to encourage the continued asking. I wonder, for you, what does true collaboration look like between artist and publisher, and how do you find that sweet spot?

Collaboration and communication are keys to a good publishing experience on both sides of the desk. I always want to build trust so if a review doesn’t come through, or there’s a process hiccup, my authors can take it in stride. They know I haven’t lost faith or given up on them. As a writer, having a champion in your corner, asking you about your intent and preferences, wanting to center your expectations in a publicity campaign—all of that helps offset and protect from disappointments.

Always, as we move through the process with a book, I tinker. With how we describe the plot. With which blurb belongs on the front cover. Sometimes the price. My sales team at Publishers Group West gives me great advice, based on their knowledge of the market, and after receiving suggestions, I return to my authors to talk about the feedback, seek their input, and be transparent. The scariest part, I think, for a creative person is to hand the work over to someone else. By inviting my authors to ask questions and by asking them their opinions, they feel included, not shoved aside in favor of the latest best practices or the algorithm.

So much of Imagine a Door in practicalities and logistics is about sustainability. Like pointing authors towards thinking about manuscript word count in terms of how much those books later will cost to mail (genius!). For you, what makes independent publishing (and maybe writing in general) a sustainable career, and how can folks find that center for themselves (do you think?)

Honestly, the financial part is terrifying. The more I spend, the more I earn, but the numbers float up together, parallel, so I’m basically waiting for the Big Event: that book that will break the pattern and earn way more than what I put into it. Of course, just as that starts happening, I usually have to reprint. Which means more dollars spent and more waiting to see if the sales stay brisk, or not. Sigh.

Returns add complexity; a book can sell into stores, with a lot of copies brought in and available, but then if customers don’t buy them, they can be returned to the warehouse, and the money gets refunded, and I pay a small fee for restocking.

Like I mentioned earlier, doing consulting work has helped even out my cash flow and so has working on metadata for select publishers. All of my pockets of publishing experience feed into the experience I give my authors; I’m always learning and sharing what I learn. Imagine a Door is a way to herd all those insights and stories into one accessible place, where anyone can find them.

Once upon a time, Laura Stanfill lived in a New Jersey house filled with music boxes, street organs, and books. She grew up to become the publisher of Forest Avenue Press and the author of Singing Lessons for the Stylish Canary. Her short-form work has appeared in Shondaland, The Rumpus, Catapult, The Vincent Brothers Review, Santa Fe Writers Project, and several print anthologies. She believes in indie bookstores and wishes on them like stars from her home in Portland, Oregon, where she resides with her family and Waffles the dog.