Squircle Line Press was a boutique press, which was a big name for liking pretty things. Pretty, witty, giddy things. We had our moods, which we adored. We yawed effortlessly between minimalism and hyperbole, from a crimson obsession to locating the perfect blue in say, cobalt, teal, and periwinkle, and every other kind of blue.
Our rabbit hole was oddly shaped, like a squircle. Yes, a squircle. Squircle is an actual word. It’s a kooky hybrid between a square and a circle. Like the psychedelic prints on Mom’s 1950s house apron. Like her glow-in-the-dark placemats. Like trusty goggle-boxes before they became home theatrette widescreens.
We read, wrote and published. We were ultimately about the writing. As Anne Lamott put it: “Publication is not all that it is cracked up to be. But writing is. It’s like discovering that while you thought you needed the tea ceremony for the caffeine, what you really needed was the tea ceremony. The act of writing turns out to be its own reward.”
Squircle Line Press was happy to have a humble, good run, and we were deeply grateful to culminate on truly blessed, God-given projects. This website was long overdue for an overhaul, and is being migrated to a new web service. Our invaluable projects will still be housed on this website, which is being redesigned as an archive of all good things past.
Perhaps, one day we will return, with new vision and meaning and purpose.
We did love every kind of narrative conscious of its craft. We did love everything crisp. Like a caesura. We loved everything figural – the leitmotif. We loved the literary weltanschauung.
We loved you. And your love of language. We still do.