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5220 Dexter Ann Arbor Rd.
Ann Arbor, MI, 48103
United States

Dzanc Books is nonprofit press specializing in literary fiction and nonfiction. In addition to publishing activities, Dzanc Books also supports the Disquiet International Literary Program.




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Categories: Fiction, Hybrid or Cross-genre
Availability: 4 hours per month
1-hour session: $20
2-hour session: $35
4-hour session: $50

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ANGELA WOODWARD is the author of the novels End of the Fire Cult (Ravenna Press, 2010) and Natural Wonders (Fiction Collective Two, 2016), winner of the Fiction Collective Two Catherine A. Doctorow Innovative Fiction Prize. She is also the author of two short fiction collections, The Human Mind (Ravenna, 2007) and Origins and Other Stories (Dzanc, 2016). Origins won the Collagist’s prose chapbook competition. Woodward’s short stories and essays have appeared in many journals including Ninth Letter, the Kenyon Review, the Los Angeles Review of Books, the Adroit Journal, and Conjunctions. She won a Pushcart Prize in 2016 for her story “New Technologies of Reading.”

Mentorship sessions are available at a cost of $20 for one hour, $35 for two hours, or $50 for four hours. All payments are processed through Submittable at the time of manuscript submission.

To book a mentoring session with Angela, please select one, two, or four hours (depending on availability) from the product menu above.  Please continue clicking through the checkout process; though you will not be charged at this time, finishing your purchase reserves your hours with this mentor.  Though you will need to provide a billing address, you do not need to enter a credit card at this time.

Once your purchase is completed, a Dzanc staff member will be in touch to help you submit your manuscript and your payment through Submittable.


Three years ago my husband gave me two-thirds of an exceptionally beautiful and sacred mountain. I disputed whether he owned it in the first place, but I accepted through treaty his offer of the majority portion. The mountain lay on the northern border of a country I had intricately imagined a year earlier. I visualized it at first as a topographical map, hillocks and indentations mostly shrouded in mist. But gradually it became clearer to me, and I filled it with barley fields and tin mines, forests, a few largish towns, and many pleasant hamlets. I gave it a capital city, a system of decaying highways, a library, a river port. I considered placing a benign queen in charge, but then named it the Free Republic of Marmoral, and put it under the auspices of a hereditary oligarchy of thieves. I peopled the towns with several tribes of conflicting religions and a useful urban poor. The countryside remained quiet and green, more of a mystery. I used to tell my husband about it, back when we leaned against each other in the evenings, and sometimes he would ask if he could add a little bit—a touristy waterfall, a rare species of hummingbird. "I don't think that's quite right," I said.