Do you like sex?
Do you like writing about sex?
Do you think people that write about sex are really sexy?
Do you think helping people that write about sex write about sex is sexy?
This is Jessica Haralson's hook for Quake, an erotica literary magazine forming at Penn. She posted about Quake on LiveJournal's "u_penn" community, and the response was terrific. As far as LiveJournals go, that is: 13 replies. Five came from Haralson herself.
Turnout for the first meeting was better. Fifteen people crammed into co-founder Jamie York's living room. She and Haralson didn't know each very well pre-Quake, but you wouldn't know that from talking to them. They have the camaraderie and rapport of best friends. Quake -- or maybe just talking about sex -- has that effect on people.
York and Haralson have circled chairs and couches, but it's not enough. A prospective photographer, William Marsh, sits on the stairs.
If you're coming to this meeting blind, you might expect some leather. Or some handcuffs. Maybe lubrication. Perhaps some nudity. Even just a Playboy would do.
But no. There's a warm spinach dip on the table. Some nachos, brownies, salsa. Even pita bread. The prospective staff members wear jeans and t-shirts and sweatshirts. If you walked into this meeting blind, you might mistake it for, well, an ordinary literary magazine. And it's definitely that, although it's much more as well.
York and Haralson came up with the idea for Quake from -- what else? -- a post Haralson made on her LiveJournal. Haralson was just riffing about something that Penn needed. The idea was appealing, but she wasn't expecting to hold her first meeting a week after posting. But here they are, meeting with friends and strangers to talk about bringing Penn its first erotica literary magazine. Haralson wants to give erotica and healthy sexuality a say on campus.
"I don't think there's a voice for it here at Penn," she explains.
"Broadening people's horizons," York adds. "That's what we want to do."
Still, the early moments of the meeting are spent broadening the horizons of everyone in the room. Haralson and York have a vision, but so do the other 13 people in attendance. They were intrigued by what they heard about Quake, but what they heard was so mysterious that not everyone's on the same page. In fact, everyone has their own page.
"Would it be a Playboy thing or a Maxim thing?" Marsh asks.
Haralson and York, of course, don't want either. While they both respect what those magazines do -- York thinks they're very funny publications -- they want a more academic, open-ended publication.
In other words, they're not making porn. Or wannabe porn.
Still, the duo is fully aware that the pornography misconception is something they'll have to deal with. The room is full of sexually aware, liberal people, and yet one of the biggest problems they face is appealing to an audience that is more conservative -- sexually, at least -- than they are.
"No rape. No bestiality. No incest," Haralson says. These are the group's initial, bare rules.
Devin, a potential staff member says, "A lot of people don't understand the difference between rape and sadomasochism."
These are the sorts of differences the magazine wants to define. While the first official Quake publication is months away -- they won't publish until fall 2005, if all goes according to plan -- the group already starts discussing content. Someone wants to write an advice column. Another person wants to write about the best places to sex have on campus -- they even have a tentative title, "Beyond the Button." Jessica suggests an article about sex misconceptions.
But the one idea the entire group agrees on is that the journal needs to open with an article about erotica and what it is. Something to welcome the reader and explain that this is not, in fact, something you need to hide in your pillowcase.
Even if you might need to break an age certification seal to read it.
***
"I would define erotica as something that turns you on physically, but more than that leads you to question and challenge your perceptions about what it means to be a sensual person," Haralson explains. "I would define it as something that stimulates the mind as well as the body, and that questions you and inspires you to do your own work."
This may be where Quake ultimately succeeds or fails -- in their ability to convince a wide Penn audience that this isn't porn, this isn't sick, this isn't something to be ashamed of. This is beautiful and it's art and it's rewarding.
What Haralson and York are doing isn't groundbreaking. Harvard has its own erotica literary magazine, H-Bomb, that set the groundwork for what Quake hopes to become and hopes to exceed. Swarthmore used to have an erotica literary magazine, but it doesn't exist any more. Swarthmore's magazine set the groundwork for what Quake hopes to avoid: an early demise. Back up in Boston, however, Boston University has Boink, a much more scandalous, pornographic magazine. Boink has the reputation that Quake wants to avoid. Of course, Boink wants its reputation, which should be noted.
When or if Quake reaches the masses, it will be sealed with an age certification sticker. This is required by Pennsylvania law for content that would be obscene to the best wishes of the community area. Does this mean the Penn community, or the West Philadelphia community? Or just Philadelphia as a whole? The law is vague, and thus "safety" is the word of the day for Quake staff.
"The rule now is just caution," Haralson says. "Caution."
By breaking the sticker on the side of the magazine, the reader certifies that he or she is 18 or older. If Haralson and York were to not include a sticker, they would be committing a felony if the magazine got into the hands of someone under the age of 18. Just caution. Caution.
"Is anyone here under 18?" Haralson asks at the group's second meeting. The room bursts out in laughter, and York has to explain that it's a felony if someone is, so they had to ask. They were just being cautious, after all. York goes on to explain the sticker to them.
"I think that having the sticker would make people want it," one staff member says.
Most people agree with this sentiment.
"We have to, because I don't want to be arrested," York replies.
***
Talk dirty.
Ask us why.
-- First Quake Advertisement
Haralson and York work in one week chunks. In a matter of a week, they created Quake and held the group's first meeting. After another week, the group is officially recognized by the University. They also established a weekly meeting time and place.
They suffered their first setback, though, too. The group's first photo shoot at Gay Fridays at Cliff's (a weekly party that changes locations) fell through. Party organizers feared that the Quake photographers might out someone against their wishes.
In only their second week of existence, the group faces tough decisions. In order to get SAC Funding, they need to wait out a three-month process. So, if they want to publish in October, they need to organize themselves now in April. SAC requires them to make a presentation, as well as write their group's constitution. The constitution has not been written. Yet.
"Right now this is a big, informal, fun group," Haralson explains. "But we need a constitution soon."
Should they print in color? That's the first big question of the night. The designer, Andrew Watterson, thinks it would be cost-prohibitive. The room defers to him on this issue.
"If Amy Gutmann wants to pose, we'll give her full color!" York adds.
"Erotica photographs are much more powerful in black and white," one staff member offers. The room nods in agreement.
"That notion is so trite," York responds. "But so true."
With the first decision made, Haralson barges ahead. The decisions aren't dwelled upon in meetings, nor are they officially declared. Once the room seems to agree on something, a new topic is raised.
"How many pages?" she asks. "I know that's such a tough question to ask." While Haralson and York have been quite successful in their two weeks with Quake, there's always the lingering sense that things are moving too fast. It almost seems too odd that they're making such key decisions so early. They've only been around for two weeks.
Numbers are tossed around. Some are as high as 50, but Watterson objects to that one. He asks for something in the 20s. York thinks anything less than 30 is pushing it. Watterson tosses out a compromise: 28. No one seems to vehemently disagree, and the meeting moves on to advertising.
York and Haralson have a good handle on Pennsylvania law, despite its vague, sometimes puritanical rules. They do not, however, have such a good handle on the legality of making Quake copies at one's job. A discussion rages on about whether or not this is a good thing to do. At one point, York stops the discussion.
"I'm sorry if this is so informal, guys," she offers. "It's been a crazy week."
A crazy two weeks, actually. The next topic stretches even further into the fall semester: as a part of their SAC presentation, Haralson and York must set a publication date for Quake.
The room splits here. Some are in favor of publishing before spring break to give people more time to hear about and read the magazine. The others want to publish after fall break, if only for the extra time it affords them. The room eventually sways to the latter decision. Caution. Just caution.
Watterson, who often acts as the leveling presence in the room (or the maybe the killjoy, if he's going against you), raises one of his key concerns, one that's shared by Haralson and York. The staff, as currently composed, doesn't properly represent the Penn community. A good portion of the staff is heavily involved with the LGBT Center, whereas they're only a small minority on Penn's campus.
"I'm LGBT and a lot of the people here are LGBT," Haralson says. "So sometimes I have to remember to think of the straight people."
The group already confronted this problem with their first logo. The logo, which featured the group's name and a naked male (from his neck to his waist), was changed to Gothic white, blue and red text. Andrew Guyer, the group's academic advisor, recommended the change, saying that many would see this logo and think that Quake is a gay magazine.
Haralson and York aren't happy with this misconception, or even with the fact that this wouldn't happen with a female model. Still, they don't think they're compromising. The new logo is just better, they say.
As the second meeting comes to a close, there's talk about the immediate future, for once. The group plans to have a mini-zine out. Eight pages. Black and white. No offensive material, therefore no sticker (they're not made of money, after all). If they're successful, readers will have it the same day, or soon after, they read this article.
Advertising is another matter. The group wants to produce as many flyers as possible and put them up on campus. No one speaks of a plan or focus on a particular part of campus. They just want to get the word out.
"If everyone puts up ten flyers," York says, "We'll be fine."
As the meeting wraps up, Jessica reminds the group of the Quake listserv. With such rapid progress required for SAC funding, e-mail has become Quake's unofficial second meeting location.
"We're always thinking of Quake," Haralson explains. "Not just Thursdays at 8."
"We're thinking of Quake every eight seconds," one staff member jokes. The room was ready to leave, but suddenly they're all riffing on this one joke for possible advertisements.
"Masturbate. Ask us why," another staff member says. The room erupts into laughter. Another staff member suggests parodying Penn's 4 or Fewer campaign.
"Will we get in trouble for that?" York asks.
"We should tell them first," Haralson replies. "Just to be nice."
"I love that this has become Law 101," York says.
"The theme of the month is 'not felony'," Haralson explains.
They haven't been arrested. Not yet, anyways. But they're too busy to think about that. They're focused on the magazine. And on sex, too. At the time of this article's publication, the mini-zine is laid out. But the group still needs to print and distribute. They need to present a constitution to the SAC Funding Committee. They need to establish an editorial board. They need to prepare for a Penn public that may not be as welcoming as they hope. These deadlines call for panic, urgency, worry.
But instead, there's caution. Just caution.
In one week, they had an idea. In two weeks, they had a group. In three, they had content. In four, they have their first official -- albeit small -- publication.
This seems like the work of madmen, but it's not. They aren't bathing in leather and thinking about how to piss off Penn's conservative population. They're sitting at their computers or sitting in the Writers' House or sitting in class.
They're talking about sex and wondering what that fifth week -- that next week -- will bring.
