DISPATCH: A Writers Party 2026 (Philadelphia)

Two Nights Inside Philly’s DIY Lit Festival

Arrivals

The main flyer of A Writers Party, 2026

The best thing about independent arts: you are empowered to make positive changes.

Founded in 2023, A Writers Party is a community celebration of writers and cross-genre artists. Readings and panels thrive here. Yoga, DJing, coding, music, zines & collage creation have happened in the past. Online events connect creatives around the USA and beyond. Businesses, public parks, and private residences serve as hosts, too. The best part is that all these efforts are free and open to the public. Lean into the grassroots efforts of dozens of organizers. Here are two events that occurred in the great city of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

Leg One: Thirty West / Troublemaker Firestarter

The people who yelled at you.

Top Row: Davi Schweizer (left), James Milanesi, Olivia Zarzycki, Nick Mehalick, Josh Dale

Bottom Row: Alison Lubar (left), Amber Taylor, Allison Whittenberg

Friday, March 20^th, 2026. The El car rumbles overhead. On the corner of Front and W Thompson Street, the venue for the evening: Neon Clown Dream Lounge. The sidewalk entry ascended me above the renowned concert bar, Kung Fu Necktie. A canvas tote slung around my black Monolord band hoodie. The disco lights greeted me first as I entered the vaudeville garage sale. Statues, paintings, posters, and mirrors. You know not where the walls are until the landing above. The bar is vacant, save for the busy bartenders opening the business. I use the restroom and stare at the plethora of stickers. Part artwork, part advertisement, part protest. I dried my hands and took a seat on a stool. Greeted by the friendly staff, I indulged in the happy hour. Well-poured cocktails, mocktails, and beer. The bar takes care of you here. Great staff.

Inside the lounge, I found a circular table and a sofa. An end table served as the impromptu merch stand. In the rear, the stage. Atop the stage hung a disco ball. A dashing, life-sized clown figure guarded the DJ booth. I checked the mic and the soundboard. All was good. In short order, people trickled in. I sipped one of their signature cocktails, welcomed strangers, and set up books. Everything was ready. “People Yell at You,” hosted by Thirty West and Troublemaker Firestarter.

7:30 PM. The show ran on poet time. I knew we had to rival the sound checks of guitars and drums below. Poets can make a crowd electric. Don’t you know?

I, Josh Dale, kicked off the night. I spoke my monologue, gauged the crowd, and picked up my new chapbook and first book. That night, I attempted a rapid-fire cadence, lightly impacted by alcohol. I kept on time and trusted my longtime setlist. A friend’s whooping affirmation after my second poem made me smirk. I concluded and read the next feature. From a stool, I watched Davi Schweizer, the co-host after me. I was thrilled to listen to them for the first time and enjoyed it. So many turns, exuding joy the whole time. Before closing their set, Davi gave us a plug to check out the books they brought, too. Great covers. Olivia Zarzycki approached the mic and was cheerful the whole time. An editor and poet, she drafted poems about Margot, her dog, which were my favorite. Her chapbook is a great read, too. To close out Act 1, Alison Lubar read so many new poems. Their cat, Salem, made an appearance in a poem. Fit check? I think Alison could have won a ‘Best Dressed’ that night. With a bow, I picked up the mic once again and yelled. “Take a break and tip your bartenders!” Four poets benched and four in waiting.

Suddenly, an amplified hum rumbled on the floor. A band keyed off a heavy set. A muffled mass that could bludgeon my aging eardrums. The timing, the duality of poetry and music. An impromptu transition. Awesome.

Olivia Zaryzcki reads poetry at Neon Clown Dream Lounge. Photo by Josh Dale

The break between poetry readings can make or break an event. That night did not shrink away. The crowds remained, trailing friendly banter to and from the bar. Compliments to the poets in earshot. I sold a couple of books. Enough for another round, I supposed. The uplifting energy distilled into all of us. Time flew by, and we had more yellers in waiting.

8:15 and with a beer, I kicked off Act 2.

James Milanesi, from the local collective, Poet’s Row, went first. His set is different every time I see him. Poems on working in service and longing for life outside the walls of the mind and reality. His chapbook is a great read, too. Next up, Davi took the mic to host the second half. They introduced the Troublemaker Firestarter roster with splendor. The first two poets I met today were thrilled to meet and excited to listen to. Allison Whittenberg slowed the pace with engaging, published poems and with dignified candor. Amber Taylor jump-started a set with bold poems and high energy. Poems about punching up and reading from online mags that these women held in high regard. The mutuality of community ran deep with the features thus far. The last reader of the night was Nick Mehalick. I saw Nick at the Philly Writers Circle months before. Memoirs, changing landscapes, and buildings that no longer house the past. Everyone did so well, for real. That hardy, dented microphone endured every word.

A special guest was in the crowd that night. In contrast to the mic-yellers, Hanah Davenport partook in deep conversation with patrons. A musician and poet, she developed, in real time, an interview with participants about their dreams. I volunteered to be the first interviewee. Her conversations were wonderful, and we were mutually excited to conduct them.

This was the starkest dream that catalyzed my interview. As a child, reclining in my dad’s recliner, the sensation of falling. The heart-throbbing conclusion of my brief nightmare. Just a boy’s body, popping into existence, high in the sky, and plummeting. It lasted all but a few minutes, I imagine. I slapped the couch, nearly shook it onto its side. I was terrified. My dad, on the adjacent couch, reading a newspaper, startled, too. Sigh. But we soon laughed it off. I kicked down the footrest with all my might. I stumbled to the stairs and ascended on all fours, just for assurance. I rolled down the stairs once. That fucking sucked. I dare not fall again with my then-boyish body growing. I received glow-in-the-dark plastic stars as a gift. They were stuck on the ceiling and high on the walls. I lulled myself to sleep when my heart got to rest. Thankfully, the dream did not return.

I was, and still am, honored to share the stage with amazing poets. Equally so with an entertainment on a Friday night. Kudos to the crowd, for real. The whole time. Everyone was equally interested and engaged. If poetry readings are rituals, this is our tribe. Snapping fingers, grunting, and clapping after each reader. Poets appreciate an enthusiastic crowd. From undergraduate salons to dive bar open-mics, and more. I speak for myself; conclusions can be the best moment.

9:30 PM. The photos snapped. Glasses clinked. People hugged and shook hands. I paid for my tab and guzzled my water. Everything of mine I packed, and people were lingering with drinks in hand. The crowd went crawling. It left me empowered to draft poems immediately. I took out my iPhone and jotted a bullshit note, absorbed into lists and poems. Packed up and bundled, I exited the bar with remnants of the group. I learned that Alison made a new friend. I learned that Hanah had a queue of interviews. A light but steady shower descended upon us. We reminisced briefly and gave out departing hugs. The rain was soaking into my hood by the time I returned to my car. The tinnitus in my left ear was a phantom in my car. It was too loud there. Despite leaving the city with fewer books and supplies than when I entered, I had to conserve my energy.

The party continued the next day. Not too far away either.

Leg Two: Ghost Harmonics / Bring a Blanket

Panoramic view at The Perch. Photos by Jordan Thornquest

Saturday, March 21, 2026. A tabby cat darted across the dilapidated street in East Kensington. A small mouse was in its jaws. The little tail hung down and flopped in the wind. Small blotches of red around the cat’s jaw. Where was this cat’s den, and where would it feast? The rowhome crawlspace with the broken lattice, perhaps? The cat disappeared underneath. I turned the corner and parallel parked at a vacant lot.

My partner, Jen, and I walked two blocks to The Perch. This grassroots music and arts workshop straddled East Kensington and Fishtown neighborhoods. Emerald Wildflower Garden sits right behind the 2-story building. Sadly, no flowers bloomed at the time. I recalled the scene of 2025’s collaboration with Poet’s Row. There was a big crowd for that one. However, things were different that night. For the benefit of this year, I saw that they expanded into the large, attached warehouse that, previously, was full of junk and refuse. Love to see the growth. A rustic wooden sign, made into an A-frame, sat on the curb. An inset chalkboard contained a single message, written in white and blue chalk: “A Writers Party!” We stepped through the pedestrian door inside the vast warehouse. The Ghost Harmonics & Bring a Blanket double feature awaited us.

6:30 PM. Inside, we saw the large wooden table furnished with snacks and merch from various features. Alexandra Naughton was the first person I recognized and said hello to. She pointed me to the tastiest, freshest hors d’oeuvres. As we talked about Bring a Blanket, a free, outdoor reading series in Center City, Philly, I grabbed loose fruits and candies in a bowl and tucked a seltzer under my arm. I saw Mike Bagwell, the founder of Ghost Harmonics, engrossed in conversation with others, a bundle of wires clenched in his arms. Will Hazard, the editor of the G.H. magazine, was busy making last-minute adjustments to the sound and visual elements of the evening. I traced one cord that wrapped in flashing blue LEDs to the soundboard. The fold-up steel chairs lined up like soldiers in front of a makeshift stage area. I coveted the church pew at the rear but figured it was reserved for someone. There was no proper stage, just a concrete slab and a throw rug. In the background, large black curtains hung on a thick pipe frame. Partially spread apart, the curtains exposed a white, painted concrete wall. The shape reminded me of a house, drawn as if a child had. It reminded me of drawing houses in my youth. Fundamental squares, slopes, and little stick figures outside. A cropped sun in the corner. We picked seats on stage left, and I dropped my plate down. I wanted to save it for later and explore more.

I ventured into the ‘older’ part of The Perch. A hospitable community and workshop space. Modern and furnished, it contained a loft kitchenette, multiple seats, tables, and a beautiful piano: a restored 1888 Steinway! I said hello to local photographer, Jay Shifman, and indulged in his free author headshot exhibit. I was wearing a black and white gingham shirt and chose charcoal drapes as my background. As my facial muscles stretched, I posed on command. I served a more serious look, in which Jay, playfully, noted my cosplay from last night. After more light-hearted to neutral poses, he said to expect an email after the weekend. Excellent turnaround. It was 2 years since my last one. I collected headshots like expired licenses.

7:30 PM. I made my way to my seat near stage left. Jen was eating sweet treats and sipping a seltzer. I dug into my snacks as well: a charcuterie plate. I watched features mingle on the sidelines. People read notes alone, and others conversed in small groups. The audience filled the spaces around us. Last-minute preparations began with the soundboard. There was light feedback on the mic. The studio lights powered on and angled toward the center stage. The projector was illuminating the inside of the concrete house. Ghastly letters remained on the curtain’s flank. LED candles flickered on small tables in the background. The crowd transitioned to a whisper. Mike, Will, and Alexandra kicked off the show.

Will Hazard (left), Mike Bagwell, and Alexandra Naughton announce the reading.

They switched the displayed lineup at the last minute. I wandered into the harmony of this curated reading. Each reader took various time setting up, initiating their set, and performing for us all. I do recall bangers from everyone, though. Here are the features.

All right, so John Pinto went first. A crazy story about a disgraceful mayor had the audience giggling. It read like an orated barstool conversation. Cody Roggio is a friend and author with whom I am familiar. He read his prose poems on addiction and recovery. Aural embraces during horrible situations. Will Newman read poems and prose about linguistics and journalistic integrity. Pretty captivating in times like these, and the wit to back it up. Katie Bennett read excerpts of her forthcoming book. A collection of essays. Writers and transience, domestic violence, and survival. Great storytelling. Matthew Klane closed out Act 1. He opened his guitar case, took a seat on a chair, and tuned an acoustic-electric guitar. The songs were humorous, albeit nihilistic. Depression, isolation, and shortcomings. He had a good spirit. Will, on the laptop, displayed Matthew’s collage on the wall: night-vision goggles with a toothpaste smile. He mentioned his new EP and the free bookmarks he brought. Hand-made laminated collages and puns. I hunted for one: the word ‘poetry’ displayed on a cut-out of an iPhone.

A break for rest and technical changes. Act 2 began shortly after.

8:30 PM. The mixed media was revived. Alexa Smith and Robert David Carey operate two microphones and a laptop. Effect pedals below. The experience was a trippy, intermingling incantation of politics and nature, but morphed into an undefined track. The performance morphed constantly. Their voices were impressive, vying for the dead air, yet sharing cadences. The mood turned hypnotic and unsettling. All the while, flashes of photos and foregrounding text played on the projector. Eventually, they concluded their monologues, and we applauded. Fun time. After a short, technical interlude, Audrey Lee read a suspenseful story from her new book. A suspicious roommate of the narrator attends an event in West Philly. I have not read the book. Listening was an enjoyable time. Yuyi Chen, sporting dyed green hair, had one long poem on printed paper. With each sheet discarded, a pause, and the audience nodded in affirmation. Sharp poetry. Alexandra was next. Her poetry is familiar to me. Reading from her phone, her persona poems, sardonic tones, and refreshing metaphors are nice to hear live. Her new book is good, too. PJ Lombardo performed last. First time hearing his poems. He is a walking dictionary, with poems that felt much like yearning. Myth and reality merged at points. Good stuff.

Mike and the lead organizer, Jeff (I believe), gave closing remarks on the reading and venue events, respectively. People still spent time together and talked, too. Beer cans and bottles were raised by a group in the stage area. Kudos to the production team. I enjoyed the literary journal that displayed each contributor’s name. The website scaled well and brought gravitas to each reader. Go check it out, Ghost Harmonics’ online mag: Oscillations.

9:30 PM. Inside my body, the lethargy was setting in as the dopamine source bottomed out. I sipped the last stale seltzer and threw our trash away. It was time to leave. I congratulated Alexandra on a wonderful time. On the way out, Chris DeMento and I linked up. An event organizer and artist, he ran a great show on Wednesday night, “The Case for Grammar Now!” He said the audience enjoyed the unique refining of grammar. Great news, a departing hug. With that, we departed through the pedestrian door. No leftover Sicilian pizza, lame.

I could not find the cat again. I thought about it, asleep in the dirt after its meal. Into the night we paced, arms around each other’s shoulders. We chatted about the performances and pondered the next year. Inside my car, the heat was on blast. Our breaths fogged the windshield. The engine idled, and instead of tinnitus, I thought of a verse of my own. I shut the iPod off and let my head relax into the headrest. The disembodied voices pounded in my ear. I was mute, but in my mind, I was singing a cappella.

“This is not the…love of money, it was that from earlier, yes, it was, and forever more, is that where it all goes, into collapse and into growth, no money could ever buy, what happens when forever concludes. This is not yet…this is the now.”

Robert David Carey & Alexa Smith reading their prompts off a laptop.

Departures

A Writers Party has gone dormant for another year. I contacted select hosts for their feedback. Read their statements below. Support indie literature and art, always. Mark your calendars for late March 2027. Thank you for reading.

“One of the great and unexpected things about running a reading series is the community that builds around it. The roster for the night heavily depended on scheduling luck and who could travel to Philly on short notice. We had phenomenal readings from folks all around the tri-state area. Overall, it was an unforgettable night and a beautiful celebration of Philly poetics.”

—Mike Bagwell, host of Ghost Harmonics at The Perch in Kensington, PHL

“The space was befitting in every way, intimate, but classy enough for ppl geeking out on syntax. I was surprised to learn that ppl in the PHL area take an interest in this subject, and it was heart-warming and gratifying to make connections with other self-styled linguists I had never met before!”

—Chris DeMento, host of The Case for Grammar Now! at Random Tea Room in Northern Liberties, PHL

“I left AWP with a slow and fast burning desire for artist-led gatherings; for presses and readings that push into pre-existing structures and carve new pathways. This is resistance. It is urgent. And it permeated into my cells via osmosis at every A Writers Party event with accelerating velocity—my desire to make things weird, hand drawn, blurry, gutting, emotional, and extremely strangely perfectly crafted.”

—Rosemary Carroll, host of online workshops: Wanted: Artist Support Clinic / What Do My Abs Have to Say About It!?

“It was a joy to convene a panel for A Writers Party for the first time! I hosted genre-diverse neurodivergent writers sharing their experiences with and approaches to writing and publishing. It was wonderful to hear from Elizabeth Austin, Eshani Surya, Julian Shendelman, and LindoYes, and the vibes Josh and Alexandra curated were fun, chill, and affirming. We laughed, we nodded our heads in agreement, and I even got a DM from an attendee letting me know what a nice event and community it all was. Would do it again!”

—Samantha Paige Rosen, host of online panel, Our Unique Brains