A Kind of Rebellion: Interview with Cody Sexton of Anxiety Press
"Here’s what you’re hiding from."
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Modern literature has largely been taken over by a publishing industry that promotes all things bland, predictable, and aggressively mediocre. In this environment, it’s almost entirely up to small presses to give edgy, boundary-pushing authors a chance at a book deal.
No small press does this better than Anxiety Press, an imprint of A Thin Slice of Anxiety. Just take a look at their catalogue, which currently includes 105 titles. Compare this catalogue to any other small press active today, and you’ll have to acknowledge that Anxiety is doing something special.
The genius behind this publishing venture is Cody Sexton. I’ve gotten to know Cody’s distinct artistic style by following him for years on Twitter (he posts a lot of wild images—including the image featured at the top of this article). I also worked with him when Anxiety put out my short story collection last year. But Cody has always seemed like a bit of a mysterious character. To get to know Cody better, and to get a sense for what inspires his work with Anxiety Press, I reached out to him for an interview.
The resulting interview, published below, is far more insightful and inspiring than I could have ever hoped. Among other things, he reminded me why books of all kinds are so powerful and so necessary. In his words:
We’re in a world addicted to speed and ease, and books—the real, challenging ones—are the antithesis of that. Literature may shrink into a whisper, but maybe that’s exactly what it needs to survive. It’ll become something rare, something underground, a dirty little secret between writer and reader.
Interview with Cody Sexton
Peter Clarke: For people who aren’t familiar, how would you describe Anxiety Press?
Cody Sexton: Imagine a smoky, dim-lit room where all the lost and wounded gather. It’s a morgue and a dive bar all in one. It’s a place where beauty and ugliness are twisted lovers, where words are stripped of pretense, raw and naked. If most presses aim to save souls, we’re here to expose them. We publish the stories that make you squirm, that slap you across the face and say, “Here’s what you’re hiding from.”
What’s the press’s origin story? And what keeps you going after running it for so many years?
The press started the way most dangerous ideas do: out of boredom with mediocrity, a refusal to buy into the illusion that we’re here to do something “important.” It was about carving a space for voices that refuse to be diluted. What keeps me going? The absurdity of it all—the knowledge that we’re filling pages that could end up forgotten in a basement somewhere, and yet, that’s precisely why we do it. The act of pushing against the silence is, in itself, a kind of rebellion.
The book covers from Anxiety Press have a distinct style. Do you do all the art yourself? How did you develop this style?
I do most of the art myself, yeah, but “art” feels like the wrong word. It’s more like an exorcism—like yanking the ugliness out of my mind and putting it somewhere people can see. I wanted covers that aren’t polite or polished but that have the same kind of twisted attraction as an open wound. It’s not a style, it’s a necessary chaos, an attempt to capture the beauty of things most people look away from. Style to me is just everything you do wrong, fuck up.
Who are some of your literary influences?
The usual rogues. Bukowski, Cioran, Bataille—writers who knew that life is a grotesque spectacle, that there’s power in staring into the void without flinching. They taught me that writing isn’t about comfort; it’s about confrontation. They peeled away the skin to get to the nerve and said, “There. Now you feel it, don’t you?”
What are you reading right now? Or what was the best book you’ve read in the past year?
I’m knee-deep in Story of the Eye again, because sometimes you need a reminder of what true transgression feels like, the way it strips you of any illusions about innocence. Last year’s best? The Torture Garden—a masterpiece of cruelty that forces you to see yourself in the darkest places. It’s a beautiful, sickening kind of clarity.
Are you optimistic about the future of literary publishing? Or do you worry—as I often do—that reading fiction will become so niche that it no longer will have any cultural impact?
Not a chance. We’re in a world addicted to speed and ease, and books—the real, challenging ones—are the antithesis of that. Literature may shrink into a whisper, but maybe that’s exactly what it needs to survive. It’ll become something rare, something underground, a dirty little secret between writer and reader—a communion for those who reject the gloss.
Do you have any advice for emerging authors, specifically authors looking to publish with independent presses?
Embrace obscurity. Forget fame, forget success. Write because there’s something inside you that’s tearing you apart, and the only way to keep breathing is to put it on the page. Find a press that respects the dirt in your words and won’t ask you to clean it up. Embrace the madness, because it’s the only real thing we’ve got.
How is the literary culture in Chicago? As the editor of Jokes Review, I’ve noticed that we get a disproportionate number of writers submitting from the Chicago area, and they’re often very talented. I get the impression Chicago is the place to be right now for writers, just like Nashville is for musicians. Could this be true?
Chicago is a crucible. It’s a city that understands hunger, a place that wears its scars like jewelry. Writers here are different—they’re gritty, unsparing, unashamed. Chicago doesn’t just give you stories; it gives you wounds. And it’s full of writers who know how to turn pain into something worth reading, who’ve bled enough to understand what’s at stake on the page.
What are a few of your personal favorite books that Anxiety Press has published?
Look, I love all our books—I wouldn’t fuck with them otherwise. Each one has that edge, that bite, that makes it worth the ink. But if we’re talking standouts, The Garden by Aidan Scott is criminally overlooked, and I’ll say it straight: the kid’s got the grit and the pulse of a young Cormac McCarthy. Every sentence he writes feels like it’s been chewed over, spit out, and refined in a way that most writers only dream of. Scott’s prose isn’t polite—it’s brutal, unyielding, but there’s a strange, dark beauty to it. He doesn’t hold your hand; he drags you through the dirt, the sweat, the blood.
What are you looking forward to publishing in 2025?
For 2025, we’re burning all bridges. We’re throwing out anything soft and palatable. Think Judge Santiago and Noah Rymer, ripping through pretensions with unflinching brutality. We are publishing books that feel like razor blades, that make people question every comfort they cling to. No easy answers, no happy endings—just a raw, unapologetic plunge into the absurdity of existence. If it doesn’t leave a scar, it’s not worth reading.
Peter Clarke is the editor-in-chief of Jokes Review. Read his Substack newsletter The Decadence Project and follow him on Twitter @heypeterclarke.