Paul Yamazaki on Reading the Room

“I always start asking myself, if I really love this book, how did it get to me?” In this conversation with Politics and Prose Bookstore co-owner Bradley Graham, Paul Yamazaki talks about his book, Reading the Room: A Bookseller’s Tale (Ode Books, 2024), and discusses his life and career as the principal buyer at City Lights Booksellers & Publishers in San Francisco.

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Author: bphi

Enneagram Types for Writers: Types 1-4

The writer’s journey is a quest that transcends the mere act of stringing words together. It is a profound exploration of the self. When navigating the landscapes of our minds, personality tools such as the Enneagram can offer illuminating guidance into our unique inner terrains. Knowledge about Enneagram types for writers can help us decipher what personal strengths and weaknesses shape our narratives and define how we approach our craft.

Systems of personality theory, such as the Enneagram and MBTI, are models that categorize common personality patterns. They offer tools to help individuals better understand themselves, their motivations, their strengths, and their weaknesses. Although the “pop” versions found in Internet quizzes can be fun (if often misleading), the true value is found in using these systems to go deep with your own personal inquiries. As writers, some of those inquiries inevitably investigate our relationships with creativity.

The Enneagram offers a nuanced exploration of not just behavior but specifically the core motivations, fears, and desires that drive individuals. It emphasizes the interconnectedness of its nine distinct types to reflect the complexity and fluidity of human nature. Where the Enneagram stands apart from other personality systems is in its acknowledgement of the potential for individuals to move between healthy and unhealthy expressions of personality and in its provision of a growth path for each type. This holistic approach sets the Enneagram apart, making it a powerful tool for self-awareness and personal development.

As I’ve written about before, I have found personality theories in general  and especially the Enneagram to be transformative. Discovering and studying my best-fit type—the Three—offered me one of the most mind-blowing epiphanies in my journey of self-growth. The more I have studied the Enneagram, the more insights it has provided about how to lean into my strengths and address my weaknesses.

Creating Character Arcs (Amazon affiliate link)

A while back, I wrote a two-part series mapping the inherent possibilities for character arcs—both Positive Change and Negative Change—for each Enneagram type. This was based on the Lie/Truth specific to each type. Shortly after publishing those posts, I received an email from subscriber Caine Dorr asking how this information could be applied to the challenges of the writing life:

What advice can you give to writers who personally suffer from one or more of the core lies of their personal Enneagram, getting in the way of their writing?

Today, let’s explore the mysteries of each Enneagram type, as we delve into this profound intersection of self-discovery and storytelling prowess. Please note that, necessarily, this post and the one to follow next week offer the briefest of overviews of each type and inevitably present a limited perspective of strengths and weaknesses. Please use the post as a jumping-off point for further reflection and study.

Also, I will just say that it feels a bit cocky to have written what turned out to be a glowing recommendation of the Three toward the end of this article. However, as someone who started out feeling nothing less than horrified to realize she was a Three, I mark it as a sign of growth to now be able to recognize that Threes are awesome! This is not to say less of the other types, and I hope I have done them equal justice, but obviously writing about the Three is an inside-out job for me in a way that the others are not. I don’t claim to have realized all of the Three’s potential (or overcome all of its weaknesses), but I am proud to unabashedly advocate for its beauty.

Also please note that the examples included of authors for each type were mostly drawn from this post and this site and are suggestions only, since in most instances we can only guess at people’s types.

If you aren’t familiar with the Enneagram or aren’t yet sure what type best identifies you, check out the following resources (which include Amazon affiliate links):

Type One as a Writer: The Reformer

The One’s Vice: Anger

The One’s Virtue: Serenity

Core Lie the One Believes: “It’s not okay to make mistakes.”

Core Truth About the One: “You are good.”

Also referred to as the Perfectionist, Ones are characterized by a strong inner drive to improve themselves and the world around them. They are principled, responsible, and hold high standards for themselves and others. They have a keen sense of right and wrong, striving for perfection in their actions and endeavors. Driven by a desire to make a positive impact, Ones can be advocates for justice and moral integrity.

However, their pursuit of perfection can lead to self-criticism and a tendency to be overly critical of others. The inner critic, a prominent aspect of Type One, pushes them to constantly seek improvement but can also contribute to feelings of frustration and guilt. Understanding and navigating these dynamics is essential for personal growth and balance for Type One individuals.

Overcoming the One’s Weaknesses as a Writer

If perfectionism is a common downfall for many writers, it is nowhere more potent than in the One’s experience. For Ones, the inner critic can be especially barbaric. It is never satisfied, always nitpicking at the smallest of punctuation doubts, and translating practical opportunities for improvement into proof of general unworthiness. When unaddressed, this can lead Ones to give up in despair. Ironically, although Ones take criticism from others harder than just about anyone, they are also capable of turning the brutal criticism of their own inner critic outward onto fellow writers whom they believe must also live up these impossible standards.

One of the greatest challenges for this type as a writer is to learn to cultivate a healthy relationship with the inner critic. This can be especially deep work for Ones, who have internalized authoritarian voices that equate their self-worth with their ability to do things “right.” Simply becoming aware of the inner critic’s voice as a voice that is not inherently one’s own can be a tremendous step toward reclaiming a realistic relationship with the necessity of making mistakes and creating growth in one’s own writing.

Enhancing the One’s Strengths as a Writer

Ones possess a tremendous awareness of details. They understand how the pieces of a whole come together to make it work. Their competence at anything they set their minds to is arguably unmatched. Especially when freed from the burden of the unhealthy inner critic, Ones have the capacity to harness their talent and create a mind-blowing level of effectiveness.

More than that, the beautiful Truth at the heart of the One’s doubts about their worthiness is their tremendous potential for goodness. Their drive to improve the world can inspire them to create stories that redress society’s wrongs and encourage audiences to strive toward peace and cooperation.

Examples of Ones as Writers: C.S. Lewis, George Bernard Shaw, George Orwell, Tina Fey.

Type Two as a Writer: The Helper

The Two’s Vice: Pride

The Two’s Virtue: Humility

Core Lie the Two Believes: “It’s not okay to have your own needs.”

Core Truth About the Two : “You are wanted.”

Also referred to as the Caretaker, individuals of this type are characterized by their innate desire to meet the needs of others and build meaningful connections. Twos are empathetic and generous. They thrive on creating a sense of warmth and support in their relationships. They often put the well-being of others before their own, seeking validation and love through acts of service and care.

While their giving nature is a strength, Twos may struggle with setting boundaries and acknowledging their own needs. The fear of being unwanted or unloved can drive them to overextend themselves, leading to potential burnout. Understanding the balance between supporting others and caring for themselves is crucial for personal growth and fulfillment in Type Two individuals.

Overcoming the Two’s Weaknesses as a Writer

Some Twos may struggle to maintain a dedicated writing practice because “putting their writing first” feels too much like “putting themselves first.” As Twos work through their challenges with equating their self-worth with their service to others, they may find that disciplining themselves to focus on a dedicated writing habit can offer a tremendous leverage point for growth. They can also flip the script and practice recognizing how the act of writing can, in itself, be of service to others.

Twos may also tend to over-identify themselves with their writing, making it difficult to separate constructive criticism or rejection of their stories from personal criticism or rejection of themselves. Pride can be a reflexive defense for Twos, in which they swing from a humility arising from poor self-esteem into an arrogance that rejects the authority or wisdom of anyone who doesn’t appreciate them.

Enhancing the Two’s Strengths as a Writer

Thanks to their natural empathy, Twos have the capacity to write powerfully authentic characters with complex motivations and arcs. They are often highly emotionally intelligent and are able to translate this into an understanding of the subtle emotions that drive characters and create realistic story development. They may feel more comfortable writing from the heart rather than from the head, which can make plot-heavy or planning-forward approaches more challenging. They may instead thrive when turning their characters loose on the page and “watching to see what they will do.”

Twos are often the heart and soul of writing communities. Not only do they naturally seek to build community—whether of fellow writers or of their own community of readers—they foster it out of true love and devotion. They take great pride in putting people first, and their talent for empathy can again serve them well in understanding how to connect with and market to their audiences.

Examples of Twos as Writers: Lewis Carroll

Type Three as a Writer: The Achiever

The Three’s Vice: Self-deceit

The Three’s Virtue: Hope

Core Lie the Three Believes: “It’s not okay to have your own feelings and identity.”

Core Truth About the Three: “You are loved for yourself.”

Also referred to as the Performer, individuals of this type are characterized by their ambition, drive for success, and desire to achieve their goals. Threes are highly adaptable, charismatic, and skilled at presenting themselves in a positive light. They often set high standards for themselves, seeking external validation and recognition for their accomplishments. Threes are efficient, focused, and goal-oriented, using their natural talents to excel in various areas of life.

However, their relentless pursuit of success can cause them to neglect their authentic selves and emotions. The fear of failure and the need for approval can drive Threes to prioritize image over genuine fulfillment. Balancing ambition with self-awareness and authenticity is crucial for Type Three individuals on their journey of personal development.

Overcoming the Three’s Weaknesses as a Writer

Threes are extremely aware of what any given segment of society holds as its ideal, and they are driven to achieve that ideal. Although this awareness and drive can provide extraordinary opportunities for advancing both their talent and their careers, it can come at the high cost of separating them from their deep authenticity. They can easily lose touch (or realize they were never in touch) with their own personal vision for their writing. As they embark on a madcap dash to the top of their field, they can lose sight of the unique story they were meant to tell in this life.

Although Threes (like Twos and Fours) are a heart-based type, they generally feel safer leading from their heads. Their overvaluing of the mental can come at the expense of the emotional, to the detriment of both their art and their careers. Unlike Twos, it can initially be difficult for Threes to access the empathy necessary to write deeply authentic characters. They are more comfortable with the cause-and-effect of plotting. They can also struggle with burnout as they distance themselves further and further from the spark of inspiration that attracted them to writing in the first place, viewing writing more and more as a job rather than a creative act.

Enhancing the Three’s Strengths as a Writer

Threes’ value for competence and efficiency gives them the opportunity to be incredibly productive, both in the writing itself and in any related business endeavors. They understand what is required for success and can translate this into a keen awareness of what creates a successful story. They are exceptional at translating their mental vision into practical results. Charismatic and (seemingly) fearless, they relish challenges and are rarely discouraged by criticism, even when it stings.

When healthy Threes get in touch with their hearts, they are able to dedicate themselves to writing only what aligns with their own genuine vision. They have the capacity to write deeply truthful and inspiring works that touch on the deepest chords of humanity’s frailties and strengths. This allows them to access their core virtue of hope in writing authentic characters who plumb the depths of the human experience.

Examples of Threes as Writers: Truman Capote, F. Scott Fitzgerald (although neither were particularly healthy Threes)

Type Four as a Writer: The Individualist

The Four’s Vice: Envy

The Four’s Virtue: Equanimity

Core Lie the Four Believes: “It’s not okay to be too functional or too happy.”

Core Truth About the Four: “You are seen for who you are.”

Also referred to as the Romantic, Fours are characterized by a deep sense of uniqueness and a desire to express their authentic identity. Fours are keenly attuned to their emotions and are inclined to navigate the world through the lens of their subjective personal experiences. Driven by a longing for significance, they are naturally drawn to creativity and self-expression—in part as a way to distinguish themselves from others. Fours enjoy introspection and may grapple with feelings of melancholy. This emotional depth fuels their artistic pursuits. Their creativity shines in the form of unique perspectives, artistic endeavors, and genuine authenticity.

Overcoming the Four’s Weaknesses as a Writer

Because Fours create out of the deep well of their own subjective perspectives, which they may tend to over-romanticize, they can struggle with following “the rules” or accessing the necessary objectivity to hone their stories into effective finished products. Perhaps more than any other type, they can struggle with fears of diluting their personal vision for their work. “The rules” of fiction can feel like an intrusive constriction to their unbounded creativity—which, in turn, can feel like a betrayal of the Four’s very self since this subjective creativity is so inherent to their experience.

Fours may also struggle with insecurity and pessimism—about themselves and about the industry. They can struggle to trust that systems will support them and their unique vision. The Four’s core “vice” is that of envy, born of a general feeling of personal lack, which can cause them to endlessly indulge in unfavorable comparisons between themselves and others whom they view as more successful. A huge leverage point for a Four’s growth can be found in learning to genuinely celebrate fellow writers’ successes and to change the perspective that there isn’t “enough” success in the writing world to be shared by everyone. Instead, Fours may learn to recognize feelings of insecurity when faced with another writer’s success and to exchange it for gratitude toward this other writer for inspiring them and showing them what is possible.

Enhancing the Four’s Strengths as a Writer

Another of the suggested names for the Four is that of Artist. This recognizes their inherent passion for beauty and their intrinsically creative nature. Because they draw so much of their perspective of life from their own subjective experiences, they have the ability to create wildly original stories and effortlessly authentic characters. More than any other type, Fours are not afraid to look at the dark side. Not only are they capable of fearlessly revealing the shadows of humanity, their ability to see beauty in almost anything lets them shine a light into that darkness and transform it.

Writing Your Story’s Theme (Amazon affiliate link)

Fours are often effortlessly skilled at evoking holistic themes from their stories. Not only does their intense emotionality allow them to create dimensional and realistic characters, it also extends to the creation of thematic plots and settings that naturally arise from the internal struggles of those characters. Just as Fours themselves tend to project their inner experiences onto the outer world, they are able to translate the core themes of their characters’ arcs into plots that function as nuanced metaphors for those inner journeys.

Examples of Fours as Writers: Edgar Allan Poe, Virginia Woolf, Anne Rice, William Faulkner, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Tennessee Williams, and J.D. Salinger.

***

In this two-part series, we’ve so far journeyed through the dynamic landscape of Types One, Two, Three, and Four, unraveling the distinct qualities that shape how writers of the different types approach storytelling. Next week’s installment will shed light on Types Five, Six, Seven, Eight, and Nine, providing a comprehensive understanding of the diverse traits that influence writers in their creative endeavors. Stay tuned for the next installment as we continue our exploration and offer guidance on harnessing the unique attributes each Enneagram type brings to the writing process!

Stay Tuned: Next week, we will explore Types Five, Six, Seven, Eight, and Nine of the Enneagram.

Wordplayers, tell me your opinions! Do you identify with any of these Enneagram types for writers? Tell me in the comments!

Click the “Play” button to Listen to Audio Version (or subscribe to the Helping Writers Become Authors podcast in Apple Podcast, Amazon Music, or Spotify).

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The post Enneagram Types for Writers: Types 1-4 appeared first on Helping Writers Become Authors.

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Author: K.M. Weiland | @KMWeiland

Using Tools To Automate Your Author Business with Chelle Honiker

How can you use automation and tools to help you streamline your creative and business processes so you can get back to the writing? Chelle Honiker gives some mindset and practical tips.

In the intro, IBPA guide to publishing models; We need to talk about independence [Self Publishing Advice article; my podcast episode with Orna Ross]; The Financial Times signs a partnership deal with OpenAI [FT]; The Big Leap — Gay Hendricks; AI Tools on Brave New Bookshelf; Spear of Destiny; Stone Hunters by Rod Penn;

draft2digital

Today’s show is sponsored by Draft2Digital, self-publishing with support, where you can get free formatting, free distribution to multiple stores, and a host of other benefits. Just go to www.draft2digital to get started.

This show is also supported by my Patrons. Join my Community at Patreon.com/thecreativepenn 

Chelle Honiker is the co-founder and publisher of Indie Author Magazine, Indie Author Training, Indie Author Tools, and Direct2Readers.com. She’s also an author, speaker, podcaster, and program manager at the Author Nation Conference.

You can listen above or on your favorite podcast app or read the notes and links below. Here are the highlights and the full transcript is below. 

Show Notes

  • Finding a community with other indie authors
  • Blocks that might stop authors from using technology effectively
  • How to figure out which tools work best for your creative process and author business
  • Moving into new and reinvented processes as technology changes
  • Using Zapier to automate your author business
  • When to use a tool vs. when to outsource a task
  • What to expect in the upcoming Author Nation Conference

You can find Chelle at ChelleHoniker.com, IndieAuthorMagazine.com, IndieAuthorTraining.com, and AuthorNation.live.

Transcript of Interview with Chelle Honiker

Joanna: Chelle Honiker is the co-founder and publisher of Indie Author Magazine, Indie Author Training, Indie Author Tools, and Direct2Readers.com. She’s also an author, speaker, podcaster, and program manager at the Author Nation Conference. So welcome to the show, Chelle.

Chelle: Thanks, Joanna. It’s good to be here.

Joanna: So first up—

Tell us a bit more about your background and how you decided to build businesses to help indie authors.

Chelle: Sure. Actually, you’re a little bit at fault for this, so I’ll explain that. My background is that I started in the travel industry. I was a technology and training professional for many, many years. I had my own consultancy for a very long time.

In 2016/2017, I was in Austin, Texas, and I went to a bunch of meetings for NaNoWriMo. I met just the most vibrant authors there, and we got connected. Then I went to the Smarter Artist Summit, and I met those guys. At that conference, I met Craig Martelle, who then went on to start 20Booksto50k conferences.

I went to the 20Booksto50k conference in Edinburgh in 2019. At that conference, I met my business partner, Alice Briggs, who coincidentally also lives in Texas, but nine hours away because it’s a ginormous state. We had to go all the way to Scotland to meet. When we came back as accountability partners, we had a group of friends that we’d met at that conference. Then I went to the SPF Conference where you spoke. I actually went to London to hear you speak, so that’s where you thread in here.

Then we all know what happened in 2020, the whole world shut down in the middle of that conference. So I was in Ireland for four months, sort of “stranded.” I say “stranded” in air quotes because I wasn’t really stranded, but I had decided to stay over there because my airline went bankrupt, and it was just going to be really difficult to get back. My townhouse was up for a lease again, and it was just a whole mess.

So I stayed in Ireland, and I sort of put up a bat signal for friends to write with. We had 24 of us that started to Zoom together twice a day. We were sharing tips and tricks, and things that we were doing, and courses we were taking, and podcasts we were listening to, and sharing our lives on top of that.

So we would hear about what was going on in Germany, and Albania, and Malta, and just all over the world. All of us were from everywhere around the world. From that, we started a website called Indie Author Tools, which was really just sort of a crowdsource place for us to stick everything.

Then when I came back to the States, Alice and I separately had been thinking about starting a magazine or something that would provide more context for all of the stuff that we were learning, and a way for us to dive in a little bit deeper. So with those original 24 people, we started the magazine three years ago. We’re three, we turned three!

Joanna: That SPF Conference, as you say, that almost didn’t happen. James, kind of as a joke, wore a hazmat suit on stage. Then lockdown happened very soon after. So, I mean, that’s kind of crazy. As you were talking now, I was wondering—

Do you identify as an introvert or are you an extrovert?

Chelle: So I’m an ambivert, actually. I’m like right smack in the middle of it. It just depends, so I’m an equal part of both. It’s funny though because I lean more towards introvert, like I’m technically an INTJ. Robert Downey Jr. and I are both INTJ. I can get excited about being around people, but then I have to retreat.

Joanna: You’re quite a connector, obviously, because you create things that are bigger than you. I really admire that. This is something I struggle with. I always had the feedback at school and in my jobs, like, “does not play well with others,” or “needs to be a better team member.” I’m just not very good at that. So I really appreciate what you’re doing. I mean, you’re creating much bigger things than just an individual person.

Chelle: Well, I love that you recognize that, but I also have to say I have an amazing group of friends and team members. So it’s me that sort of says things, but there’s a lot of crazy ideas that come from a lot of different places.

I’m just a number one activator, so I synthesize and distill the crazy ideas that everybody has into something else. So I’m very aware that I’m surrounded by genius all day, every day. I get up and play with my best friends every day as a job, like that’s the greatest thing ever.

Joanna: I love that, and we all need that.

The author community would literally have no conferences without people like you.

Chelle: It’s so funny because this is such a generous industry, and there are so many people that sort of step up and say, hey, I’m going to do this. It’s probably one of the most interesting—just from looking at it from the business perspective, from the outside looking in, it is still a small industry, so to speak. Everybody sort of knows everybody, but it’s so generous, and people are so supportive.

There’s not a lot of cutthroat competition for business like there is in other industries. I think the coolest thing that I see is that we’re not in competition to sell a product with one another. Authors aren’t competing with one another to sell books, in the strictest sense.

We all have our end product as a happy, satisfied reader. They don’t buy one book, they buy multiple books.

So it’s very different than other industries, and it’s so unique. I think it’s why we stick around and have such success in the industry, in terms of satisfaction, in terms of wanting to keep doing things. We’re not getting beaten up continuously by a zero-sum game or market forces that force us to be mean or cutthroat. It’s just a very different industry, and I love it. I absolutely love it.

Joanna: Well, that’s fantastic. I agree with you. I feel like we definitely do not compete in terms of books and readers, but we do compete on things like ad spend, and pay per click, and all of that kind of thing, but that’s quite different.

So I do want to talk to you particularly about technology and tools. You mentioned Indie Author Tools. I do see that a lot of authors get enthusiastic around notebooks, and pens, and some writing software, but mostly a lot of authors struggle with using technology and tools to improve their process.

They often will kind of shy away from spending even very little money for a tool that will help them. So I wondered—

What are the biggest blocks you see to authors using technology effectively?

Chelle: I think there’s two that I see. The first is overwhelm because we’re responsible for doing all the things, #allthethings.

We’re responsible for writing the book, and then also making sure it’s edited, and making sure that it’s got a great blurb, and got a great cover, and got things that are on brand, and then we have to be responsible for marketing. So I think just in the sense of that’s—

The opportunity of an indie author is to be in control of your career, but it’s also the overwhelm that comes with it.

Especially as creatives, I hear a lot of people say, “I just want to write the book.” I mean, you just can’t. This is an industry that requires that you be an entrepreneur and requires that you take charge of your career.

So if you reframe it as an opportunity, it gets a little less overwhelming, but the first is overwhelm, and the second is time. I think that’s probably the biggest factor is people don’t feel like they’ve got time to adopt it, or there’s too much that they have to think about. It’s just where do you start?

Those are the two biggest obstacles, but I think that if you reframe it as an opportunity to learn something new, and you reframe it as an opportunity to market yourself, and get excited about your books, and get excited about sharing your books.

If you think of marketing and technology as tools to do that, rather than the next thing you ‘have to do,’ then I think that makes a big difference in terms of mindset.

Joanna: I was thinking about this as you were talking, the choice is also really difficult.

So just even take editing, for example, the two biggest ones would be Grammarly and ProWritingAid. Even just the choice between one or the other tool, and there are loads more out there, can be difficult for people.

There’s also budget involved. So if people are assessing a number of tools for pretty much the same thing—

What would you say is the best process for figuring out what tools work for that person?

Chelle: So I think those are choices that you have to make personally, you have to get comfortable with them personally. I’ve used both Grammarly and ProWritingAid, but I had to spend a little bit of time and understand my own process.

Then I had to make a decision which one was best and which one wasn’t as overwhelming or fit in with my process. The good thing is both of them have free trials. So I’m big on free. I’m a freemium girl. I love free. So I’m always looking for things that I can try free and see if it fits, and then figure out how it fits in with my process instead of trying to rewire my process.

That’s another thing, you know, as a technologist, I try all the things and I want to do all of the things. The thing that I came back to is there are some things that aren’t really, technologically speaking, helpful.

So I write down my calendar each day. I have a digital calendar, I have digital reminders, but I use tactile to write down my schedule and my things for the day on a piece of paper. That seems so strange, but it’s making sure the technology fits in with the way that you do things, rather than saying, “Oh, I’m going to have to go to a digital calendar,” or “I’m going to have to use this digital tool,” or “I’m going to have to use this thing.”

So when you evaluate it, think about your objective and think about your style and the way that you work. Make sure that you’re choosing things, they can be small things or big things, to help you do the thing that you want to do better.

Don’t try and fit yourself into some box that won’t ultimately fit because then you’ll be frustrated.

The other thing that I think is also helpful is asking people that are similar to you. Find a community that you can ask questions that can help you evaluate those things.

Not in the broadest terms, like “other authors,” that’s a very big bucket. If you ask other romance writers or other hockey romance writers about certain tools, right, one tool might be better than another tool for your specific genre or your specific need.

That’s where community is hugely helpful in this industry. We have such a solo mindset sometimes when writing, so I think we all need to find our people that we can trust, and ask questions, and ask stupid questions. I love that. I love stupid questions. People think there are stupid questions. There’s no such thing as a stupid question. None, none whatsoever.

Joanna: Totally true. It is interesting because I feel like it is also about asking authors who have similar process. For example, I’m a discovery writer, and I tried so many times to use tools like Plottr and some of these other ones that really try to help you with plotting and structuring, but that’s not my creative process.

Every time I try one of these tools, I’m like, this is just too constraining for my chaotic brain. Then I go back to, well, pretty much just being chaotic and dumping stuff into Scrivener and figuring it out later, using notebooks and things like that.

So that is, as you said, find people who are similar to you in that way. Then you do have to feel whether or not it’s good or not. I think there is almost something to —

Just try it and see, and if you hate it, like just ditch it.

Chelle: Yes, and don’t feel any shame about ditching it either. There’s a lot of people that can be prescriptive about how to do things, and I’ve come away feeling like, oh my gosh, I don’t get up at six o’clock in the morning and write for two hours, I’m a failure. If I want to be successful, I have to do this.

No, you have to find what’s best for you, and technology is just one part of that. So I used to try to write five days a week, I can’t write five days a week, it’s just too exhausting. So I have two days a week where I just go full bore for six hours and just write in sprints and spurts. Then I edit in sprints and spurts.

I think that when people say develop your writing muscle, they don’t realize that you can have muscles that you engage on different days of the week. It doesn’t have to be an everyday thing. I see too many people feel like they’re a failure or they’re frustrated. You know, kick that to the curb. Do what makes you happy and find your bliss. Do what works for you.

Joanna: Yes, I totally agree with that. So I also did want to ask around process because, of course, there are specific tools. I’ve been doing this a long time now, since 2008, and I feel like I have got stuck in my processes for an amount of time.

So you mentioned calendar there. For ages, since I’m in the UK, I would email backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards with people, trying to find a time where we could actually meet. Then in the end, I got Calendly, which is fantastic. So if people are doing regular meetings across time zones, Calendly is just so useful.

Another one that’s interesting right now is social media. I started on Twitter in 2009, and I really got into a rut of what that was for me. Then, of course, when Elon Musk took over and it all blew up, I just kind of threw in the towel and was like, oh, I just can’t do it anymore.

I was struggling to reinvent myself, and I feel like a lot of authors are also feeling that way in social media worlds, but also in other ways.

How do we break out of processes when we’re stuck in a rut?

Like how can we move out of that into a new reinvented process?

Chelle: So my best advice around that is to take a look at the things that are causing you pain. Take a look at the things that are causing you to not have enough hours in the day for the thing that you want. Then sort of gap problem solve, look at the specific problems.

So, for example, I was getting really overwhelmed by my email, and my email box was just completely out of control. My process was that I would get in there in the morning, and then I would triage my email, and then I would save everything that I was going to deal with.

Then I would go on about my day thinking that I was going to get to that thing at two o’clock in the afternoon. Well, I never got to that thing at two o’clock in the afternoon. So eventually, my email box had like 670 emails, and that’s a problem because all of them required action.

So that was my pain point. That was the thing that was causing me frustration. So what I did was I have someone else triage my email for me. Then they put it into a series of buckets: these are the things that need action, these are the things that just are FYI, and these are the things that you need to do.

I was very fortunate that I had somebody to do that, but that’s also one of the tools that you can use AI for. I know —

There’s a lot of controversy around AI, but some of the AI tools are genuinely just there to help you get back to the thing that you love to do, which I think is writing for most of us.

So my best advice, again, is look for the thing that’s causing you problems, and then make some changes around those things. You can do it shortly, and you can do it small.

You don’t have to rewire your whole office. That’s what Alice calls it when I go on these big rants with technology and rebuild everything, and say, “Okay, well now we’re moving everything to Notion.” You know, that’s not always the best thing.

So start small and look at the things that are causing you to keep away from the thing that you love to do. Start with just that thing in mind.

Joanna: It’s funny you mentioned Notion because I’ve been hearing a lot about it. They incorporate AI in everything, and I was like, I’ve got to try Notion. Anyway, I literally went on there, and within five minutes, I was like this is not for me.

Chelle: I did too. Here’s the funny thing, I was an Evernote girl forever. I was an Evernote evangelist, and I loved Evernote. I had no less than 4000 notes in there. Then they changed, and I was really upset about the change. I was really upset about the way that they removed devices.

They moved all their support outside of the States, which was frustrating for me because I had people in Austin that I would just ping and say, “Hey, what’s this?” and they got laid off. I was really upset.

So I said, alright, I’ll go to Notion. I was with you, five minutes in I was like, I hate this thing, I absolutely hate this thing. Then my daughter, my millennial daughter, came over and said you’re doing this wrong. So sometimes you just need a sherpa to come alongside you and say, “If you do this, this, and this, you’ll love it.” And I did, I did that, that, and that, and I went, “Oh, I love this now.”

Sometimes leaving it to our own devices to evaluate something isn’t always the greatest. Sometimes you kind of need somebody to come alongside you and show you just the thing that you need to know.

You don’t need to know the whole big Notion app, you just need to know how can I put a task in and check it off? How can I put in a note from a web clip? How can I just do the small things?

I think we just get so overwhelmed sometimes that we don’t realize that we don’t have to use everything. I don’t use the generative AI in Notion at all. I don’t like it.

Joanna: Yes, different things for different things. It’s interesting, you said they changed about Evernote. I think this is another point, like I said, Twitter which became X, it changed. What’s so interesting is I’ve come back to X now, and I’m literally treating it like a completely new platform, even though I’m the same @thecreativepenn.

I’m like, okay, this is a new platform. I don’t have to think of it like it used to be, I need to think of it as a completely new thing. That has really helped my mindset Whereas I feel like when things change, for example, in the US as we record this, with TikTok there may be a ban, but probably it will just change hands and belong to another company, but it will change.

Chelle: It will change.

Joanna: We have to be flexible. You and I have been around long enough, things change, tools change, sites change, publishers change.

We can’t be fixed in our processes or our technology because things move on.

Chelle: It’s true, and those are the frustrating things. Market conditions being what they are, TikTok is going to change hands, but TikTok’s already been through a change.

When they introduced TikTok Shop, a lot of things changed. The “for you” page changed, and people couldn’t get the visibility and the traction that they once had. Now, with the music changing, there’s so many changes.

The beauty of being an indie is that we can pivot.

We can pivot. We don’t have to take it to a committee and a board, and they make decisions, and then we study market strategies for 12 months, and then we come out with a plan. We can pivot that day.

Joanna: Actually, that’s one of my tips is often these tools will offer you a cheaper rate if you pay for the whole year, but I never do that unless it’s something like my hosting or something like that. For any of these tools, I just get it month by month because so often I end up cancelling and not even using things for a whole year. I don’t know about you.

Chelle: I do that a lot, actually. I had a calendaring app that I used that I did love, I did like it, but it didn’t fit in with our company strategy. So it was me out here and then the rest of the team over there, and there was just too much friction for it to work. So I had paid for a whole year, and I lost like $200. I was really upset about that. I agree with you. I don’t do that anymore. I just pay month to month.

Joanna: So I was told about an amazing presentation you did at the Future of Publishing Conference on Zapier, and I wanted to talk about that in particular. So for anyone who doesn’t know—

What is Zapier? Why is it so useful?

Chelle: So I liken Zapier to the one ring to rule them all. It is a connector of apps. So if you have two apps that don’t natively talk to each other, for example, WordPress and Facebook. They’re two separate companies. They’re two separate things. There’s not a direct integration between the two.

Zapier can bridge that gap. It can connect and talk to those two apps. So you can post a blog on your WordPress site, and it can automatically post a social post on Facebook.

So there’s other ways to do that, but Zapier has very special powers. It connects something like 5000 different apps together. So the most obscure apps can be connected together. There’s other companies that have ways to do that. There’s Make and IFTTT, there’s all kinds of them, but Zapier, in my world, it’s the one ring to rule them all.

Joanna: So what are some examples? You mentioned 5000 possibilities, but—

What are some of the best use cases that you’ve seen for authors using Zapier?

Chelle: Well, one of the things that I say is I don’t build on rented land. That philosophy comes from years and years and years of having mistakes made and seeing things happen. So one of my philosophical things is that I don’t use the email subscription forms from the email service providers. So I like what they do, I like Mailerlite, I like MailChimp, I like all of them to do the job, but I don’t let them collect email addresses on my behalf.

What I do is I start with a form on my website, and then I use Zapier to take that email address and then send it over to an email validation service to make sure that that’s a valid email before it goes on to my email service providers list.

That prevents spam bots and all the junk from cluttering up my email list. For most email service providers, you pay for the number of people that are on your list. So if you use Zapier to collect the email, validate it with a service provider first, and then if it’s a good address, put it on your list, you’re not paying for junk.

Then you can also use Zapier to put that email address into a backup spreadsheet with the IP address that it subscribed from, so that if some catastrophic failure happens with your email service provider, you have a backup copy of your email list. So those are just some small ways to get started with it, to build those Zaps so that you have some protection built in.

I did a poll one time at Indie Author Magazine and said, “Hey, how many people have backed up your email lists lately?” It was like 3% of people. We just trust that the email service providers are keeping our email list safe, but they’re subject to market conditions too. What if they go out of business? What if Elon Musk buys MailChimp tomorrow? Who knows what will happen? No one knows.

Joanna: That is true. Well —

That’s a good reminder to everyone to back up their email list.

I tend to do mine every couple of months, but I’m going to go do it after this. What about social media?

I feel like this is something where social media has really splintered, and a lot of people are posting the same thing on multiple platforms and changing some things and others. So do you recommend using Zapier for any of that kind of thing?

Chelle: So I have a Zap set up that when I have something in social media that I want, we use articles obviously from the magazine, we have a Zap that will read a spreadsheet row in Google Sheets with the bulk of the article. Then we send a prompt to OpenAI, to ChatGPT, and we ask it to create a social post using our voice, using our Avatar Indie Annie, and we say, “Can you please write an appropriate social media post?”

We do a different one for Instagram, a different one for Facebook, a different one for X, a different one for LinkedIn, and a different one for TikTok. Since all of those audiences are different, we’re going to speak to them in different ways, and we have different calls to action for them.

For example, when we have ChatGPT write the one for Instagram, we don’t have a link in there because the link is in the first comment. So we write it for the different audiences, and then Zapier can write all of those and bring it back into a spreadsheet for us.

Then our human editor that does social media can actually review them. Then at the end of the row is a box that she can check. Then that will actually send them to the different social media platforms. We can connect Zapier with our different social media platforms.

So that’s two different Zaps that do things. The first is to generatively create them, and then the second is to actually send them, with that human intervention in the middle there to be sure that it’s saying what we want it to say.

We can also have it create images with DALL-E. Zapier connects with DALL-E, and it can create the images and then put those into Dropbox so that our social media person has those.

We could finish that loop and have Zapier actually post to the social media platforms for us, but we use a scheduler because we’ve got a couple of moving parts in different places from Indie Author Magazine and Indie Author Training. So we have a person in the mix to be sure that that’s right. Zapier does the heavy lifting, connecting DALL-E, Google Docs, Google Spreadsheets, Dropbox, and WordPress.

Joanna: Just a question around scheduling—

What scheduler do you use?

Chelle: So we have two that we use. We use them for different purposes because we use one for Indie Author Training, and we use one for Indie Author Magazine. We use PromoRepublic for the magazine, and we use VistaCreate for the IndieAuthorTraining.com. The reason why is we loved PromoRepublic, it was connected, but it didn’t have TikTok capabilities. It does now, but it didn’t have TikTok capabilities.

Then AppSumo, which is my favorite deal. I’m addicted AppSumo. It’s really just the most amazing little place to buy lifetime deals on things. We got a lifetime deal on VistaCreate before it was bought by the larger Vista platform. So we will use that because it did have TikTok built in, and now PromoRepublic does have TikTok built in.

Joanna: I mean, I use Buffer. I’ve used Buffer for years, and they are also adding new platforms in.

What’s interesting there is you talked about a human in the loop. I think this is what’s really important is we’re not saying you are just turning everything into AI and robots. I mean, that may come in a couple of years. I mean, who knows?

I mean, we still want to make sure that what’s going out there is in our voice, and you never know what could happen otherwise. So this brings up a question around tool. Do we find a tool or do we outsource to a human? So you mentioned email earlier. I went through a couple of years of outsourcing that same triage process, and now I’ve taken it back onto myself again.

What would be your decision process around outsourcing to a human or looking for an automated tool that will do that?

Chelle: So my philosophy right now is that I use tools to get us as far as we can to give people a head start. Then we always bring in people to finish that process because I want to second set of eyes. Especially as a magazine, we have journalistic standards that we have to meet.

The one thing that we are never going to do is outsource our writing to AI. So all of our articles, we have 68 writers that write for the magazine now, we publish every month, and that’s not going to change.

So we still have 68 writers that are writing for the magazine, and we have an editor in chief that goes through every single article. She uses tools for that. She’ll use Grammarly ProWritingAid to edit some of those things to the Chicago Manual style.

It’s still her that’s in there and making sure that things are fact checked and making sure that that’s all right.

I’m a big adopter of AI, but I do feel like the one thing that AI can’t replicate is the humanity of it. It can’t replicate human interaction.

That’s my litmus test for everything. So if there’s some spark of humanity, if we need to make a connection with a reader or make a connection with someone, I at least want to have some humanity involved in that so that there’s not some nameless faceless bot that’s answering a question or making someone feel a certain way.

I think that’s the creative part of being in this industry, and that’s the thing that AI really can’t replicate is the connection, the human-to-human connection.

Joanna: Let’s talk about that more then because many authors don’t want to use it for writing or they don’t want to use it maybe just for the generation of the words. Although I keep telling people, look, you are not a word generator. Like as an author, we’re not word generators.

We are authors, we make meaning, we make connection, we come up with ideas. So even if people are generating words with AI, I don’t feel like that is an issue. You know, there’ll be editing it and all that kind of thing.

There is more to us than word generation.

Chelle: I mean, it’s so true. I feel like now we misnamed Indie Author Magazine, it should be Storytellers, because there’s so many ways to tell stories. There’s so many ways to do that. We are authors, but we’re also in the broader sense, storytellers.

We connect people, and we’re selling them an experience. So, I mean, AI can do a lot of that, but it can’t replicate that. So if you don’t want AI to write for you or do those things for you, you can brainstorm with it.

You can have it suggest keywords, you can have it suggest a blurb, you can suggest marketing hooks, you can think outside the box with some weird stuff. I’ve asked it some really strange things, and it’s come back with some really strange things. I’m like, oh, that’s the direction I never thought I would take with it.

So you can use it to brainstorm with. You can set it up to do your social media and the junk that you don’t love to do. You can use it to create some social imagery if you’d like. You can use it to inspire.

One of the things that I do—so I am not allowed to create graphics for the magazine. This is a sad thing about me. I’m the least creative graphical person on the planet. Like I’m stick figure girl. I’m a binary, I-like-it-or-I-don’t-like-it girl when it comes to graphics.

I happen to be partnered with one of the most creative fine artists in the planet, in my opinion, and a lot of others. So we can’t talk to each other sometimes. I’ll say, “I don’t like it.” Then she’ll say, “What don’t you like about it?” Then I’ll say, “I don’t know, I just don’t like it.”

So she’ll have to sort of tease out of me what I don’t like about it. So what we’ve done is we have a Pinterest board, and I can go and I can type in my stupid little grunt work into ChatGPT and spit out a DALL-E image to put on the Pinterest board.

Then Alice will go, “Oh, yes, you need more negative whitespace.” I’m like, “I don’t know, sure. What’s that mean? I don’t get it.”

So you can use AI as a translator to your creative people. You can set it up so that if you’ve got an idea in your head of what your protagonist looks like, you can type that in and spit out an image to then give to your cover artist to inspire them to create something for you. So it doesn’t have to be an all or nothing.

You can use AI in a way that helps you broaden your ideas or communicate your ideas in a better way and an easier way.

Joanna: I totally agree with that. As a collaborative tool, it’s amazing. I mean, because you can now upload pictures, you can draw a stick figure picture or whatever you want, upload it, and then say, “Can you make this into a better picture?” or whatever, and then give that to your cover designer.

I go back and forwards with my cover designer. Sometimes I’m like, “Here’s 15 different images I made. Use them in some way to do something for this book title.” Like you say, you’re able to communicate your thoughts and your emotions a lot more through imagery.

Well, what about the future then? Obviously, again, you and I have are already using AI tools as part of our process, and we’re already using quite a lot of technology.

Over the next few years, how do you think things are going to change?

How much more are indie authors going to use tools? How about things like direct sales as well?

Chelle: Oh, yes. Direct sales, I think, is the future of publishing. I think as some of these tools become more sophisticated and it becomes almost impossible to hear the difference between AI-generated audio and AI-generated videos, we are going to have to decide how we’re going to adapt to those things.

I don’t think narrators are ever going to go away. I think great narrators will stick around, but I think generative AI does pose some threat to the mass market. So as authors, we’re going to have to navigate that, on where our ethics lie, where business decisions lie, and how we’re going to respond to that.

I also think that, again, narrators can pivot a little bit and maybe become more editors for some of the translations, because AI can do translations, or add some humanity back into it. There’s going to have to be ways that we navigate this carefully and with a lot of grace. I don’t have a lot of answers around how that’s going to change, but I do know that it is going to change.

One of the things that we’re doing at the magazine is we’re asking people, what do you think, and where do you think it’s going to change? We’re asking people that are in positions of decision making, what do you think, how do you think that’s going to change, and how are people going to respond to these things?

I saw this in the travel industry, right, because in the travel industry before the internet, before the World Wide Web was a thing, you called a travel agent and you booked an airline ticket. That was the only way you could. There was no direct line to the airlines, you called a travel agent to do it.

When the internet came about, the travel agent was there to back you up and to fix things that you made mistakes with. Now it’s more sophisticated, and now you very rarely see travel agents.

They’re not there for transactional things anymore, but what they are there for is I will gladly plunk down $300 and have somebody plan my Eurail vacation. I will gladly pay somebody to take that off of me.

AI is not sophisticated enough to do that. It might be in the future, but it’s not right now. I also love the thought of collaborating and dreaming with someone about my trip and my travel and my vacation.

So my futurist hat sort of says, I think it’s going to be a little bit like that.

We will have some very artisanal items that we do, and there’s artisanal narrators, and there’s artisanal graphics designers, and then the mass stuff is AI-generated.

The market is going to decide. There’s a lot of people that just absolutely hate seeing AI imagery. There’s a lot of people that are just pushing back.

It’s like with anything, there’s a lot of fear around it. I think that people are going to figure out that it’s not going away. I mean, it’s just not. It’s not going away.

We did an AI issue, an issue dedicated to AI last year at the magazine. I told Alice at the end of it, when we were putting it together, I said, “Listen, this could be such a hot topic that we’re going have to fake our deaths and go work at Waffle House.” Like this is going to be something that could drive us out of business.

We felt very strongly to get the information out there, and that’s the stance we took was that we were just going to present the information. What people did with it is completely up to them as a business decision.

We had eight people cancel their subscriptions in protest. They were very, very upset with us for even mentioning AI. Then we had 300 people subscribe, 300 people that were new subscribers.

It’s a very vocal minority that are frustrated and angry. Most people are just curious and trying to figure out how to make it work.

It changes so rapidly, and there’s so much happening. Like even just this week, three things happened that are really, really big that we’re still synthesizing and trying to figure out, what does that mean? How does that work? What does that do?

Joanna: It is a fascinating time. I’m so glad you did that issue. I mean, you’re probably going to have to do them quite regularly, I guess.

Chelle: Yes. Well, that’s actually why we started IndieAuthorTraining.com is to have a more rapid response to that, because we publish one issue a month, right? We can only have so much information in each issue.

Things change so rapidly we wanted to have education, and webinars, and community so that we can have discussions around those in a very safe, positive, proactive way.

We moderate those conversations pretty regularly so that they don’t go off track. We’ve adopted kindergarten rules: no biting, no hitting, and no calling names. So if you want to come and have a conversation about it, just come.

We’re all trying to figure it out, and there’s no one answer for any of it. There’s no one answer for any of it. We have to respond as an industry. So how do we do it ethically and morally and with the best business decisions in mind for longevity? Those are questions that we don’t have answered. No one has the answers to those. We’re all trying to figure it out.

Joanna: It’s good to remember, I mean —

We are independent authors, and we make independent decisions.

So the decisions I make can be completely different to another indie author, as we have across many of the things that have happened over the years. As you say, having those rules is quite good. Let’s all just respect each other’s decisions.

Chelle: Yes, and —

If you are fearful about it, I would encourage people to learn more.

People tend to think, “Oh, I know that AI trained on stolen material.” Well, no. That’s not the way that it’s trained. That’s not the way that it works. That’s not the way that it learns.

Go beyond the sound bites and really do some digging in and talk to people that know what they’re talking about. Don’t live in an echo chamber when you’re making decisions or finding out things. Get opposing opinions.

One of the things that we did in the AI issue was we had competing conversations about things. We wanted people that were anti-AI to say why they were, and they had great points. They had really, really good, thoughtful questions that we should all be asking.

Like, where does the money come from? Where does the money go? Where are my books being indexed? How are my books being indexed? What can I do to protect myself if I don’t want this, if I don’t want to be part of this? Those are all good questions. There’s no bad question around AI. We should be asking those questions and staying curious.

Joanna: For sure, and you have lots of free webinars and other courses at Indie Author Training, which is brilliant. I did want to ask you just before we finish, you’re also the program manager at Author Nation. I have my ticket, I’m planning to be there.

Tell us a bit more about what authors can expect and why they might want to come [to Author Nation]?

Chelle: So 20Books has finished, and Joe Solari bought the contracts for the conference space. So we’re reimagining what a conference can be. So we’re taking some of the things that we’ve learned over the years, I’ve been involved with 20Books from the beginning and loved it. I love the spirit of generosity, and I love the fact that people felt welcome and comforted.

Introverts had spaces where they could take a breath and not feel overwhelmed and find people to help them. So we’ve kept all the best parts, in my opinion, of 20Books because all of the team has been involved with that, but this is a completely reimagined show.

So we start the first day, Monday, with a vendor expo where you can come and meet all the different people that help you sell more books and help you tell better stories. So you can meet Lulu, and you can meet Indie Author Magazine, and you can meet Bookfunnel, and ProWritingAid, and all the different vendors there.

Then we also have some education sessions, some hands-on sessions, which is a little bit different. We’ve never really had hands on sessions before. So we have a tech cafe where people can come and sit down and learn Facebook ads and sit down and learn how to use some of the tools. I think that’s brilliant. Plus, you can listen to Damon Courtney talk about Bookfunnel in his most engaging way and see things on the screen. It’s just so different when you’re in the same room with someone and you can connect and meet with people in the same room.

Then we have three days of education, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday are jam packed with education and sessions. We have designed them around tracks. So we have craft and marketing and advertising, which are different. We have a health and wellness area, which is a little bit different.

We’re going to be talking about mindset, how to stay healthy, how to have a sustainable career. There’s lots of talks around that so that you have a more well-rounded and better and healthier space to write in and a longer career.

We talk about business and strategy. We talked about transmedia, which is all the different ways that storytellers can get their works out there.

So we’ll talk about AI, we’ll talk about audiobooks, we’ll talk about video. We’ll talk about, I don’t know, launching stuff into the moon. Who knows what’s coming next? Between now and November, there could be ten thousand new things.

Then Thursday night, we kick off our reader-centric focus. So we have Kevin Smith, who is an indie artist himself. He’s written a book, but he’s also a filmmaker. He’s coming really to capture readers there. Then we kick off on Friday with RAVE, our book event where we’ve got all of the authors and readers that are coming to connect. We’ll have panels for authors, we’ll have giveaways.

I mean, it’s so fun. I’m more excited about the education part than I am RAVE. RAVE, to me, is just like the big, “Oh, this is fun. Now I get to hang out with my friends.” Then we can stay through the weekend in Las Vegas and enjoy all that Vegas has to offer.

Joanna: I attended last year at the last 20Booksto50k conference, and as an introvert it is pretty hardcore, but I think it’s so important for us to push ourselves out of our comfort zone.

Yes, you might just have to go back to your room and lie on the floor for a bit like I did sometimes to kind of de-people, but it’s so valuable. You started off at the beginning talking about how much of your career and your business is based on meeting people at conferences.

Chelle:  100%.

Joanna: Where can people find you and everything you do, but also Author Nation, online?

Chelle: Absolutely. So IndieAuthorMagazine.com is our main site with the magazine we publish every single month. It’s a plethora of information that’s well edited. We also have two apps on the App Store. We have an iOS app in the Apple Store and a Google Play app.

Then Indie Author Training is just kicking off. That’s reimagined from our Author Tech Summit which we did, and we just said we can’t do it quarterly, we have to do it all the time. So IndieAuthorTraining.com is where we have webinars, and product tools, and conversations, and groups where people can chat about tech.

Then Author Nation is AuthorNation.live. It’s November 11th through the 15th at the Horseshoe in Las Vegas. So please come, it’s going to be an amazing conference. I’m very excited about this conference, not just because I am seeing all of the talks take shape, but it’s just going to be a little bit different in terms of setup.

So there’s going to be lounge chairs where you can sit instead of just tables. There’s going be more conversation pits, more quiet spaces. We’ve taken all the best and improved on it. It’s going to be so great.

Joanna: Brilliant. Well, thanks so much for your time, Chelle. That was great.

Chelle: Thank you so much, Joanna.

The post Using Tools To Automate Your Author Business with Chelle Honiker first appeared on The Creative Penn.

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Author: Joanna Penn

Wildcat

Directed and cowritten by Ethan Hawke, Wildcat is a film based on the short stories and letters of Flannery O’Connor and explores both her characters and her life. Starring Maya Hawke and Laura Linney, the film dramatizes some of O’Connor’s most famous short stories and delves into the author’s craft and faith.

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Author: jkashiwabara

If I Must Die by Refaat Alareer, Read by Brian Cox

“If I must die, / you must live / to tell my story…” In this video filmed for the Palestine Festival of Literature, actor Brian Cox reads “If I Must Die” by the late Palestinian poet and English literature professor Refaat Alareer, who died after an Israeli airstrike on Gaza on December 6, 2023. Alareer’s posthumous book of the same name will be published in September by OR Books.

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Author: jkashiwabara

Ten Questions for Dorothy Chan

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Dorothy Chan, whose new poetry collection, Return of the Chinese Femme, is out today from Deep Vellum. In these sharply playful poems, Dorothy Chan presents the speaker to readers as they already figuratively, if unconsciously, envision her: an object of consumption, the most delectable “dish” on the expansive restaurant menu that Chan’s collection is designed to spoof. With Gurlesque verve and formal dexterity, Chan feasts, struts, frets, and cackles through poems that understand the self as an illusive concept dancing somewhere on the spectrum between essence and performance. The poems’ “Chinese femme” dazzles as she tosses out bits of pop culture, superstitions, family anecdotes, gossip, and confessions before reframing each one with astute assessments, hilarious takedowns, or personal mantras—which may be disavowed as quickly as they are posited: “There are too many poems about fathers. / Or not enough,” she writes in “Triple Sonnet for Veronica Lodge’s Tigers.” The poems’ humor, however, belies their serious critique of the sexist, Orientalist assumptions that gum up the collective imagination like so much icing on the “gender reveal cakes” that infuriate the speaker of “Triple Sonnet for Hers and Hers Towels and Princess Aurora’s Blue/Pink Gown.” Dorothy Chan is the author of the poetry collections BABE (Diode Editions, 2021), Revenge of the Asian Woman (Diode Editions, 2019), and Attack of the Fifty-Foot Centerfold (Spork Press, 2018). Their poems have appeared in the American Poetry Review, Poem-a-Day from the Academy of American Poets, Poetry, and elsewhere. She is an associate professor of English at the University of Wisconsin in Eau Claire.

1. How long did it take you to write Return of the Chinese Femme?  
I’m a strike-while-the-iron-is-hot writer. I’m all about instinct and feeling and passion. Return of the Chinese Femme took me a year to write. And then I took another year to edit it. I was being finicky on purpose because I already knew this was my favorite book I’ve written (so far).

I love indulgence. Part of the “finicky on purpose” process of creating this book was printing out the manuscript numerous times and laying it out on the floor, determining and re-determining order, and employing other organizational tactics. I love indulgence. Yes, my pleasures include getting an ombre gel manicure, drinking an Aviation or Vesper at a nice bar, ordering everything at dim sum, and filling a fitting room with endless outfits on a trip. But touching the printed Word doc of a completed manuscript is an indulgence that surpasses all of the above. It’s because of the tangibility—how the complete collection is one step closer to being released in the world.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book?  
In my workshops I always emphasize to my students that poetry is hard, but that’s why it’s fun. I love to take every challenge of writing as the infinite volta of discovery. Speaking of volta, the Triple Sonnet is my baby—my signature poetic creation. One of the challenging parts of writing this collection was making my Triple Sonnet fresher than ever. But of course, including references to Dennis Rodman’s style in one of my favorites, “Triple Sonnet for Dennis Rodman, #91, on my Television Screen,” helped. I don’t do sports, but I get basketball…aesthetically.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
Every day—because I consider notetaking to be an integral form of the writing process. I just checked: I have 753 notes on my iPhone’s Notes app. These notes contain amusing things I overheard, fashion boards I want to revisit, fragments on nostalgia, Chinese words that will make their way into my poems, Chinese idioms my father teaches me, dreams I write down before they flee, etcetera.

4. What are you reading right now?  
Sonnets and chapbooks from my Honey Literary workshops! I adore the atmosphere of our Honey Literary workshops and the brilliance, grace, and enthusiasm of our Hive.

This is not an exhaustive list, but poetry books I’m always reaching for include Gustavo Hernandez’s Flower Grand First, Rita Mookerjee’s False Offering, Jessica Q. Stark’s Buffalo Girl, Taneum Bambrick’s Vantage, Divya Victor’s CURB, Rosebud Ben-Oni’s If This is the Age We End Discovery, Yanyi’s The Year of Blue Water, Diamond Forde’s Mother Body, Eugenia Leigh’s Bianca, Nabila Lovelace’s Sons of Achilles, KB Brookins’s Freedom House, and many more. I’m really excited to get my hands on Jason Koo’s NO REST with Diode Editions.

5. What was your strategy for organizing the poems in this collection?
I love this question because I love that my table of contents is organized like an evening menu:

I. Recipe for an Asian Femme: I’m a Snack; I’m a Tease; I’m the Dish

II. The Triple Sonnets: Classic Amuse-Bouches with a Twist

III. The Recipes for Disaster, Sex, and Popular Culture

IV. An Ode to Decadence

V. One More Dessert for Discovery

I like organizing my books into odd-numbered sections. For some reason I find elegance in this move, perhaps because I have a deep passion for and studied art history during my undergraduate years at Cornell University. I affectionately call a three-part book structure a “triptych.” Return has a five-part structure, thus pushing us into further elegance.

6. Would you recommend writers pursue an MFA?
People who pursue MFAs have many reasons for doing so. People who do not pursue MFAs have many reasons for doing so. I can only speak on my own experiences. Whenever students ask me this question, please note that I preface it rather extensively. I will say that my experience of meeting my Poetry Family, Norman Dubie and Alberto Ríos, during my MFA, is not an experience I will ever trade.

7. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Return of the Chinese Femme?
The ease with which I created my section titles astounded me. But of course the Triple Sonnet is my signature “amuse-bouche”—it’s the volta-based gift that just keeps giving.

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started Return of the Chinese Femme, what would you say?
Just keep writing.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
I believe that the best poets and writers are also the best researchers. Research can also take many forms and various disciplines. Rewatching episodes of Batman: The Animated Series and Riverdale was one of the most fun aspects of researching popular culture.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?
“Always remember this: ‘Write to think; don’t think to write.’” —Lyrae Van Clief-Stefanon

“In poetry we want to f with the ineffable.” —Lyrae Van Clief-Stefanon

“The best line of the poem is the line that I am reading; and that does not exclude the title.” —Alberto Ríos

All three of these quotes by my mentors / Poetry Family grace every syllabus I’ve ever created.

Ten Questions for Alison C. Rollins

4.23.24

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Alison C. Rollins, whose second poetry collection, Black Bell, is out now from Copper Canyon Press. A dynamic collection filled with images, diagrams, and verse experiments ranging from concrete poetry to a poem in the form of a Turing test, Black Bell offers a poetics of Black survival and liberation. The book’s title alludes to a device worn by enslaved people in the nineteenth century as a form of constraint and punishment. Rollins refashions the bell device literally and figuratively in this collection, with poems contemplating the material, cosmic, and spiritual dimensions of bells while incorporating their sound into the verse itself: Several poems begin with notes that they be performed with the accompaniment of bells. Rollins herself incorporates musical performance into many of her readings, including by wearing a device reminiscent of the one alluded to in the book’s title, an archival image for which can be found in the collection. Black Bell otherwise pays homage to Black historical figures, including Jean-Michel Basquiat, Langston Hughes, Harriet Jacobs, Phillis Wheatley, and others whose creative life force infuses the collection. Publishers Weekly praises Black Bell, calling it “an unflinching and incisive compilation.” Alison C. Rollins is the author of Library of Small Catastrophes (Copper Canyon Press, 2019). A recipient of the Poetry Foundation’s Ruth Lilly and Dorothy Sargent Rosenberg Poetry Fellowship, a Harvard Radcliffe Institute Fellowship, and a National Endowment for the Arts Literature Fellowship, Rollins holds an MFA from Brown University and is an assistant professor of English at the University of Wisconsin in Madison.

1. How long did it take you to write Black Bell?
I consider book publication to be a lifetime in the making, so my answer would be my current age of thirty-six years. This book’s discussion of time and space operates in some ways like a time capsule for me across the past, present, and future, so the concept of “how long” is beyond realistic measure. Black Bell is my second poetry collection, so in many ways it builds and expands on my first book, Library of Small Catastrophes, which was published five years ago, in 2019. 

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book?  
During the latter stages of writing this book, I battled feeling quite lonely, so that was a struggle. But I know that in my making I am never truly alone. Writing a book that is steeped in history and the archive but is also fresh and queer was a fun but particular challenge in terms of asking readers to trust that the narrative strands of the book pleasurably thread together, even when they feel particularly disparate or far reaching. I was pregnant while I did the final edits of the book, so watching my body house a child while preparing to usher a new book into the world was no small task!

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
I write most days, often using the Notes app on my phone or in little locket journals using mechanical pencils. I don’t hold myself to a rigid writing schedule but instead listen to my mind, body, and heart and write accordingly. I view self-care and being in community with those I love to be forms of writing that are not connected to labor and capital. It is just as important for me to rest as it is to produce. Now, as a mom, I have a little baby to care for, so realistically I write whenever I can get a moment to myself!

4. What are you reading right now?
I just finished Christina Sharpe’s Ordinary Notes and am currently reading Toni Morrison’s Paradise, Camille Dungy’s Soil: The Story of a Black Mother’s Garden, and Airea D. Matthews’s Bread and Circus.

5. What was your strategy for organizing the poems in this collection?
I knew I wanted to have four sections to represent a quartet and with the understanding, in thinking about the word stanza translating from the Italian to room, that a room has at least four corners. Music figures prominently in the collection, and I knew that I would have one section regarding the seasons open with a Stevie Wonder quote and another section with a Sun Ra quote. One of the epigraphs of the book is taken from Moses Roper’s 1837 A Narrative of the Adventures and Escape of Moses Roper, From American Slavery, in which he shares the story of a young, enslaved girl trying to escape; she is wearing iron horns and bells, a contraption Roper says the owners of enslaved people made them wear as a form of punishment. The book’s four sections are in tribute to her fugitivity.

6. Would you recommend writers pursue an MFA?
The MFA is a terminal degree that has a particular function, such as serving as the qualification for an academic job. Obtaining a job qualification and being a writer are arguably two different things. I got an MFA after already earning a master’s in library and information science and working for years as a librarian. I recommend writers do whatever they need to hone their craft while centering joy, play, love, liberation, and rest. 

7. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Black Bell?
I found myself surprised that poetry, as a genre, would uniquely afford me a type of liberatory play on the page and in my lived experience as a poet. I surprised myself by experimenting more with language as malleable sound that can be powerfully manipulated in terms of both speech and silence. I’m thinking a lot about voice and percussion instruments with this collection. I also am thinking more thoughtfully and critically about the act of giving a public reading as a work of performance art. 

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started Black Bell, what would you say?
I would reassure the earlier me by letting her know that she is going to create something outside the bounds of what she has ever read before or thought was even possible. I would tell her to follow her gut, stay the course, be strong, and keep dreaming, imagining, pushing!

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
I am a researcher and librarian at heart, so I did a lot of research in physical archives as well as in online databases for this book. “Freedom on the Move” (a database of fugitives from North American slavery), the New York Public Library, and the Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture are just a few of the sources I drew from for the collection.

For this collection I learned the trade of arc-welding to be able to practice metalwork to make a “sound suit” to wear while reading, or rather performing, poems from the book. I delved further into performance art and sonic practices for this book, viewing the poetry as a musician or composer would a musical score. Additionally, I developed a small but substantial collection of bells to use in connection with the work to create a more percussive live experience when I give public readings.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?
It would probably be Toni Morrison’s prompt, “If there’s a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it,” coupled with Thelonious Monk’s belief: “A genius is the one most like himself.”

Alison C. Rollins, author of Black Bell.  

Ten Questions for Callie Siskel

4.16.24

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Callie Siskel, whose debut poetry collection is out today from W. W. Norton. In these finely wrought lyrics, Siskel offers a personal history in the shadow of a father’s early death, considering how absence and loss can shape a life as much as any tangible presence. The poems are simultaneously concrete and philosophical, with snapshot memories from childhood through adulthood captured in sensate detail, then mined for revelation—which remains always just out of reach, much to the consternation of the self-aware speaker: “Why this need to eke out meaning / from every errant thing?” she asks herself in “Prophecy in Blue.” The poems capture the fragmentary quality of traumatic grief, as they seize upon remembered moments and attempt to wrestle them into narrative coherence. Poems of personal experience are interspersed with ekphrastic pieces contemplating the works of Caravaggio, George Clausen, Monet, and others: “When told I look like a man’s image / of a woman, I believe it,” she writes with wry humor in “Jeanne,” a poem titled for Amedeo Modigliani’s wife, a frequent subject of the artist’s paintings. The heavy permanence of canonical art becomes a counterpoint to the ephemerality of human life, a contrast that by turns soothes and troubles the speaker, “[t]hat we would be outlasted / by a heavy coat of paint.” Victoria Chang praises Two Minds: “Siskel’s poems are wise and thoughtful, quietly evocative.” Callie Siskel’s poems have appeared in the AtlanticKenyon ReviewYale Review, and elsewhere. The author of Arctic Revival, winner of the Poetry Society of America Chapbook Fellowship, she is a former Wallace Stegner Fellow at Stanford University and holds a PhD in creative writing and literature from the University of Southern California.

1. How long did it take you to write Two Minds
I wrote the oldest poem in the book, one of many elegies for my father, twelve years ago. Just now I’m realizing that I’ve been writing the book as long as I had my father—I was twelve years old when he died. That symmetry also feels asymmetrical (my time with my father feels so much longer). As someone who looks for meaning everywhere, I feel some sense of catharsis knowing my efforts to inscribe him in writing took as long as he existed physically in my life.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book? 
Writing about loss was challenging—dilating that painful moment in time, looking backward. One of the questions underlying Two Minds is to what extent grief shapes who we are. At one point the poems wanted me to answer that question “completely.”

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
I write at my computer when I feel inundated by an idea or a phrase. Right now I’m working on a series of linked poems, which has sustained momentum. I’ve written late into the night and first thing in the morning. The time of day is less relevant to me than the sense of urgency that I have to feel in order to commit to the page. I’ve tried writing by hand, to free myself from my impulse to edit as I write, but I’ve recently embraced that my process is to edit as I go; I prefer to create by taking things away. Revising while writing allows me to distill my thoughts and to reach for a clearer line of communication. Once I’ve reached that place, the poems come much more easily.

4. What are you reading right now? 
Eliza Gonzalez’s Grand Tour, Leslie Jamison’s Splinters: Another Kind of Love Story, Saskia Hamilton’s All Souls, and Sigrid Nunez’s The Vulnerables, all of which are keenly about transformation. I like to read poetry and prose at the same time—often poetry in the morning with coffee and nonfiction/fiction in bed.

5. What was your strategy for organizing the poems in this collection?
Reordering until the editing voice inside my head quieted and I was able to read the collection front to back without the impulse to change it. I also had help. My teacher told me which poems she felt should appear earlier in the manuscript and which near the end. My friend told me to order it poem by poem, and to trust those movements intuitively. Breaking it into five sections also helped because it took some pressure off “the beginning” and “the end”—each section presented another chance to do it differently—and ambivalence and opposition are themes in the book.

6. Would you recommend writers pursue an MFA?
I would! Maybe less for the sake of the degree than for the experience of having a number of years to focus primarily on writing and to build a community that lasts way beyond those years. I appreciated how the MFA empowered me to take my writing practice more seriously. The financial support and experience teaching creative writing to undergraduates was also extremely valuable.

7. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Two Minds?
The poems that came the easiest, the most suddenly and least painfully, are among my favorites in the book. The same is true for some of the poems that are furthest away from the direct subject of loss. Perhaps that makes sense—that I’d like the poems less bound up in struggle—but I tend to place a lot of value on difficulty, whether that be emotional or technical, and writing the book taught me that there is also beauty in lightness, mindlessness, and ease. 

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started Two Minds, what would you say?
I would be tempted to say, “You will publish a book.” But I wonder if that would have eased the nerves I needed to write in the way that I did, without thinking about how the poems would one day become public. While I am always thinking about a reader—singular—I find that writing uninhibitedly, without a larger audience in mind, is the only way for me to disclose and excavate my inner life. Perhaps I would just say, “You will finish a book,” and leave it at that.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
There were the things I did to support my writing—teaching, leading book clubs, editing, copywriting—and the things I did to nourish my writing: academic research, therapy, and hiking. I was doing a lot of hiking with friends in the year before I finished the book, and I credit it with allowing me to see things differently, and, conversely, to live more in my body than in my head. I think the arc of writing a poem is similar to the experience of ascending and descending physical terrain. Ideally the view at the top surprises and reorients you.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?
If you already know what you want to say, if you are attempting to transcribe the past, it won’t come alive on the page.

Callie Siskel, author of Two Minds   (Credit: Lauren Kallen)

Ten Questions for Sheila Carter-Jones

4.9.24

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Sheila Carter-Jones, whose new poetry collection, Every Hard Sweetness, is out today from BOA Editions. In this dynamic work that bridges the lyric and experimental, Carter-Jones explores the intersection of personal and sociocultural history. In a mix of archival images, erasures, and more traditional verse, Carter-Jones unfolds the narrative of her father’s wrongful detainment in a state mental hospital and the fallout for her family during his nearly seven years inside the facility during the height of the Civil Rights movement. She documents her father’s institutionalization as a symptom of a broad scheme to criminalize and incarcerate Black men, one that dates to the nation’s founding and continues into the present. Carter-Jones also explores the will to survive, as she traces her and her family’s life in the shadow of their patriarch’s absence, witnessing their daily rounds of work and intimacies that sustain life despite oppression and peril: “With tiny gestures I put fork to / mouth,” she writes in “Fissured.” Terrance Hayes praises Every Hard Sweetness, calling it “a fabulous combination of old school storytelling and vibrant hybrid experimentation. … Carter-Jones weaves masterful stories from the mercurial feelings and rhythms of everyday experience.” Sheila Carter-Jones is the author of Three Birds Deep (Broadside Lotus Press, 2012), winner of the Naomi Long Madgett Poetry Book Award. A recipient of fellowships from Cave Canem, the Callaloo Creative Writing Workshop, and the Sewanee Writers’ Conference, Carter-Jones has published poems in the Mom Egg Review, Northside Chronicle, Pittsburgh Quarterly, South Dakota Review, and elsewhere. She received her MFA in creative writing from Carlow University, where she facilitates writing workshops for the Madwomen in the Attic Program.

1. How long did it take you to write Every Hard Sweetness?  
It took so many years to write Every Hard Sweetness. I really can’t count the years in definite numerical terms. I had been writing around the hard sweetnesses for a very long time—more than twenty years.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book?  
The most challenging thing about writing the book was how to manage and balance my emotions with language that could not only express but also hold and carry those same emotions forward without destroying the interior of each poem.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write
I write at my dining room table, where I can see the sun rise in the early morning. It’s so peacefully quiet I can sit with myself undisturbed. It is my poetic ritual to write or read-into-writing every day. This is how I center myself for the day.

4. What are you reading right now?
I read several books at one time. I’m realizing that I read to contextualize my work, and I don’t mean necessarily just for setting or history but for the language, rhythms, cadences, and nuances of image and metaphor that begin to take shape in my mind. Once I feel the movement of a story or facts, I am led into my own writing sensibilities. All this is to say that I am reading Caste: The Origins of Our Discontents by Isabel Wilkerson, Finding the Mother Tree: Discovering the Wisdom of the Forest by Suzanne Simard, and What You Have Heard Is True: A Memoir of Witness and Resistance by Carolyn Forché.

5. What was your strategy for organizing the poems in this collection?
I began to organize the poems based on the symbol for infinity. That is, I moved from one connecting poem to another—whether in time, space, or personal and public experience—in order to create the appearance of one endless experience that African American people go through at various times and places, and always. And I must admit that I didn’t know I was doing this until the poems made me aware of the unconscious movement that was taking place. I learned more deeply that creative energy has a way of doing its own thing—and to trust it and fight against allowing my mind to censor it.

6. Would you recommend writers pursue an MFA?
I would recommend that writers think deeply, perhaps over a period of time, about how they want to experience their writing, what work they want their writing to do in the world, and how they want their work to enter and live in the world to do that work. From this viewpoint, at least a well thought out decision can be made as to whether there is any value in pursuing an MFA.

7. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Every Hard Sweetness?
I was surprised to learn that I actually could use words and images to act as purveyors of emotion. With this understanding, or from this perspective, I could write the hurting things while focusing on language, language use, and structure. Also that’s how I ended up using pictures and graphics to deepen meaning—a kind of see-for-yourself idea.

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started Every Hard Sweetness, what would you say?
This is an opportunity to develop a courageous spirit. Be brave! Be brave! Above all, be brave!

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
To complete this book I did a meditative practice every day, morning, and evening. I did yoga. I played my flute, running notes together—never a song, just making sounds that seemed to correspond to my feelings. I guess one could say it was improvisation. I went to my hometown and walked to the creek to sit quietly. I talked with old friends and new ones. I spoke with the two journalists who investigated the state hospital I write about in the book and met with one of them. I did research and read the book the other journalist had written as a result of the investigation.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?
“Never be ashamed or embarrassed about your life.” This advice opened me and rearranged my heart. It helped me begin to understand how I could get writing to function for me, to lift me.

Sheila Carter-Jones, author of Every Hard Sweetness.   (Credit: Corey Lankford)

Ten Questions for April Gibson

4.2.24

This week’s Ten Questions features April Gibson, whose debut poetry collection, The Span of a Small Forever, is out today from Amistad. In this mix of lyrics, prose poems, forms, and experimental poetics, such as erasure, Gibson considers chronic illness, child-rearing, spirituality, and the trials and triumphs of Black womanhood. In language that is by turns meditative, elegiac, and enraged, the poems confront the speaker’s long battle with poor health and a toxic medical establishment that brings as much pain as it relieves, as she recounts in “Misdiagnosed.” Yet the poems make space to celebrate, as in “An Awkward Ode to My Awesome Stoma,” a musical praise song for “my fishing hook / emptying pink mess / pulled through flesh / my Jesus side wound / my Sisyphus.” Sisyphean exhaustion is a prominent theme, both physical and emotional, particularly when it comes to enduring microaggressions and social violence; a fatigue that ultimately boils over in “The Black Woman Press Conference,” a section of the book in which the speaker pulls no punches in naming injustices, calling out perpetrators, and enumerating unabashed desires: “nothing can stop this flowering.” Memories of childhood mingle with later reflections on motherhood to poignant effect, capping off the collection with an epilogue in the voice of the speaker’s son, who “tells me how the world began.” April Gibson is a poet, writer, and professor from the South Side of Chicago. A winner of the Gwendolyn Brooks Poetry Award, a Sustainable Arts Foundation Award, and a Loft Literary Center Mentor Series Award in Poetry, she teaches in the Department of English, Literature, and Speech at Malcolm X College in Chicago. Her work has appeared in the Kenyon Review, Michigan Quarterly Review, Prairie Schooner, and elsewhere.

1. How long did it take you to write The Span of a Small Forever?
It took about ten years to write.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book?  
Time, patience, and distance. Time to actually write. Time to be patient with myself and my process. Some things cannot be created until other things are left behind. Time to distance myself from some of the realities beneath the poems. Time to reflect on who I was and who I was no longer. Time to let those versions of myself grow into their own stories, for the narrative to move from personal to collective, from catharsis to art.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
It really depends and has changed a lot over the years. When my children were younger I often wrote very late at night, after they were asleep and into the early hours of the morning. Now they are young adults, and I am a much older adult who needs to go to bed before midnight, so I often write on the weekends, especially Sundays because it’s my most peaceful day. Also, I teach full-time, and we all know how hard it is to write and teach. Needless to say, there may be some inconsistencies in generating work, but I always forgive myself. When I do write, be it intentionally or by a stroke of inspiration, I’m not generally at a desk. I may be propped up in bed with a million pillows, in the corner of my couch, outside on a porch, on rocks at the lake, or just about any place that does not make me feel like I’m “working.” And for some odd reason every time I am on a plane I am inspired to furiously write. I should take more flights, I suppose.

4. What are you reading right now?  
Too many books at once. What’s sitting on my random reading pile right now? All About Love by bell hooks, American Precariat: Parable of Exclusion edited by Zeke Caligiuri et al, A Little Bump in the Earth by Tyree Daye, More Than Meat and Raiment by Angela Jackson, Feelin by Bettina Judd, and so many books I promise I will get to soon.

5. What was your strategy for organizing the poems in this collection?
The book is organized in sections, and the sections hold the poems in a way that is threaded by a theme or driven by a thematic emotional core, which, at least for me, is generally expressed in the section titles. The order offers readers a flow that starts with a kind of origin and carries out to an almost-end while offering a spectrum of feeling and reflection throughout that I hope shows a circling, a connection within and between sections.

6. Would you recommend writers pursue an MFA?
Leaving aside the discussions about student loan debt (which is a serious concern), I simply don’t think it’s essential for every aspiring writer to pursue an MFA. It really depends on their larger goals, their motivation, their life experiences, and a plethora of other factors. What I miss most about being in an MFA program is the dedicated time I gave my writing and having a consistent writing community. Because even after you have learned a great deal about craft, MFA or not, you will still need time and the right people around you (and to always read, read, read!). If writers can find or create those things outside of an MFA, they are heading in the right direction.

7. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of The Span of a Small Forever?
Finding connections in my own work that I did not intentionally place there. I’d notice how pieces years apart would be in conversation. I also noticed how I was evolving the same conversation with myself over time. I would have these aha moments as I was putting the collection together, especially when organizing where poems would go, and I’d be amazed at how one piece fit so neatly with another, followed by my audible “Hmm” or “Yes!”

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started The Span of a Small Forever, what would you say?
Take as long as you need. You’ll know when it’s time, and you’ll be glad you waited.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
The hardest part of writing this book was working to make more time. I had to do the work of teaching, parenting, and taking care of my health while completing this book, so I had to be creative with time and resources. One thing I did was work to secure fellowships and residences so I’d have designated writing space and time. And like many writers I conducted research for this book, from learning medical terminology to double-checking historical events and making sure I’d learned the proper names of products or items, since I name them throughout my work. But due to time constraints, I’d have to come up with creative ways to acquire information related to topics in the book, like asking my doctors a million medical questions and studying their after-visit notes, since I spent an excessive amount of time at the hospital. I also involved my sons in my work to reduce the strain and stress of being a writer and a parent. In some ways my children became part of the team. More than anything I had to talk to people—not in a formal-interview way but to just converse with folks, from my grandparents and parents to siblings and friends. So much of my writing is rooted in memory, and memory is tricky; it’s not right or wrong, but it can be singular sometimes. I wanted to bring in more collective memory, even if I was writing mostly in first person. I wanted that perspective to be informed in a more nuanced way. It could be as simple as asking someone, “Do you remember that time when…?”

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?
So much good advice on how to write has been shared with me. Once, over a decade ago, I shared a poem that used a reference that was from African American culture, and the mostly white participants expressed confusion, which led to the premature conclusion that my reference should be removed. But there was one person—the only other Black woman in the workshop, I think—who knew with ease and appreciation exactly what I meant. The facilitator, who was also a Black woman, told me: So long as the people it’s meant for understand, don’t take it out. I forgot about that until now. But I realize it was about a practice of having agency and controlling your own narrative.

 

April Gibson, author of The Span of a Small Forever.   (Credit: Min Enterprises Photography)

Ten Questions for Garrard Conley

3.26.24

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Garrard Conley, whose debut novel, All the World Beside, is out today from Riverhead Books. In this historical drama set in Puritan-era New England, two men—a doctor named Arthur and a minister named Nathaniel—find their Christian faith tested by an attraction to one another that defies tradition and threatens their ties to their community. As they become increasingly bound to one another, their wives and children are unwittingly caught up in their affair and must maneuver to shield themselves from the consequences. Nathaniel’s son, Ezekiel, who considers Arthur his father as much he does Nathaniel, is sympathetic to the men’s predicament and seeks a world in which people can live more freely. Meanwhile Ezekiel’s sister, Sarah, has the opposite reaction, with her father’s “sinfulness” launching her on a more zealous religious path. Publishers Weekly praises the book, calling it “a potent chronicle of an underexplored era in queer history.” Garrard Conley is the author of the best-selling memoir Boy Erased (Riverhead Books, 2016). His work has been published by the New York TimesOxford American, Time, and Virginia Quarterly Review, among other outlets. He is an assistant professor of creative writing at Kennesaw State University in Georgia.

1. How long did it take you to write All the World Beside
If thinking can be called writing, then I spent about seven years writing All the World Beside. The book involved a repeating pattern of thinking, researching, writing, and redrafting through about three or four major overhauls to the novel’s structure.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book? 
I was very conscious of the fact that my characters, many of whom we would call “queer” today, would not have conceived of themselves along those identity lines. Writing with an eye toward the modern reader’s understanding—really trusting the reader to get it without my saying it—was a challenging craft concern.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
I want to say I can write anywhere, but the truth is I migrate throughout the house because I need to feel comfortable to write. One month in the bedroom, another at the kitchen table. I get into obsessive habits and rituals, everything you’re not supposed to do. If I’m at work on a project, I write every morning for two to three hours, anywhere from 6:00 AM to 11:00 AM.

4. What are you reading right now?
I just reread 1984 for a segment I did on Ali Velshi’s show on MSNBC. What a marvel that book continues to be. “Doublethink” is a concept that saved me from fundamentalist thinking.

5. Which author or authors have been influential for you, in your writing of this book in particular or as a writer in general?   
It should, I hope, come as no surprise that Nathaniel Hawthorne is a big influence on this project. As part of my research I also ended up loving a biography of Anne Hutchinson by Eve LaPlante called American Jezebel: The Uncommon Life of Anne Hutchinson, the Woman Who Defied the Puritans

6. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of All the World Beside?
I was most surprised to learn that the women of my novel were very much in charge of the framing of this gay love story. In many ways it’s how the people around the gay love story react that shapes the entire narrative.

7. What is one thing your agent or editor told you during the process of publishing this book that stuck with you?
Both my agent and editor gave me some version of this very helpful advice: Don’t get so conceptual with your project that you lose sight of the living, breathing characters that matter most.

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started All the World Beside, what would you say?
Get ready for about fifteen drafts. Get ready for doubt and false starts.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
I traveled to multiple historic towns to get a feel for the period. I visited the archives of the Massachusetts Historical Society to read letters from the period. I read a lot of sermons—so, so many sermons. 

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?
Commit to the vision.

Garrard Conley, author of All the World Beside.   (Credit: Brandon Taylor)

Ten Questions for Heather McCalden

3.19.24

This week’s Ten Questions features Heather McCalden, whose debut memoir, The Observable Universe: An Investigation, is out today from Hogarth. In this surprising and touching book, McCalden, born in 1982, confronts the death of her parents in the early 1990s from AIDS-related complications, delving into the history of the disease while linking its emergence to the development of the internet. McCalden structures her book in a manner that captures the frenetic reality of the Information Age, with brief, titled vignettes recording memories, bits of research that read like Google-search revelations, and meditations on science, linguistics, family lore, and trivia that fascinate the author as she circumambulates her loss and attempts to better understand her parents’ lives as well as her own existence. The notion of “virality” functions as a powerful metaphor bridging the medical, digital, and social histories that McCalden seeks to comprehend. Publishers Weekly praises The Observable Universe, saying it “movingly illustrates the fragmentary experience of grief.” A multidisciplinary artist and a graduate of the Royal College of Art in the United Kingdom, Heather McCalden has been awarded residencies by the Banff Centre for Arts and Creativity and Mahler & LeWitt Studios. The Observable Universe won the Fitzcarraldo Editions/Mahler & LeWitt Studios Essay Prize. She lives in New York City.

1. How long did it take you to write The Observable Universe: An Investigation
Overall the process took around six years. I began the book in late 2015—not consciously, but I was just making notes, doing research, and composing sketches of scenes/feelings that all centered around virality. At that point in time I had been out of art school for about six months and was still operating under that paradigm of success, meaning I was glued to the idea that I should be making art installations. With this at the forefront of my mind, I couldn’t really admit to myself that maybe I was writing a book, and for a long time I believed I was generating content that would get siphoned into something visual or experiential. Eventually this changed in 2016 when the volume and diversity of material grew to such an extent it would be impossible to contain it in anything other than a book. After I hit this “acceptance” stage, I worked on Universe nearly every day until the summer of 2019. It was revised in 2021, when I received the Fitzcarraldo Essay Prize and again when Hogarth optioned the North American rights in 2022.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book? 
Facing the darkest aspects of my psyche day after day and figuring out how to put language to it.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?  
My preferred location is my desk, but I can make anywhere work for writing if need be. I write after coffee and before the sun drops out of the sky. I do it every day; I just love hanging out with words.

4. What are you reading right now?   
As usual, too many things! Fiction: Orbital by Samantha Harvey, Alphabetical Diaries by Sheila Heti, and Acts of Desperation by Megan Nolan. Nonfiction: There’s Always This Year: On Basketball and Ascension by Hanif Abdurraqib, Atlas of AI by Kate Crawford, and I Heard Her Call My Name: A Memoir of Transition by Lucy Sante. 

5. Which author or authors have been influential for you, in your writing of this book in particular or as a writer in general?
For this book there were several influential authors: Joan Didion, Raymond Chandler, William Gibson, Mary Ruefle, and Eve Babitz. Outside of literature, I kept Kate Bush and David Bowie close at hand. I needed the energy of lateral thinkers.

6. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of The Observable Universe?
I’m not sure if this counts, but I genuinely gasped when I realized I could quote the film The Matrix in the book without stretching the plot, so to speak. I was so floored that this was possible that I immediately texted a friend who simply responded with, “Now you can retire.”

7. What is one thing your agent or editor told you during the process of publishing this book that stuck with you?
There were many things my agents and publishers said to me, but the one thing that really stood out to me was a poem I found in the New Yorker called “112th Street” by James Longenbach taped above my desk. It’s one of those poems that comes into your life by chance and then ends up being something of a North Star. The first few lines:

If only once, if ever you have the chance,
You should climb a volcano.
The hermitage at base camp, the glasses of brandy—
That’s the past.
Who wants to think about the past?

You want to push forward, climb higher, while all around you,
Inches beneath your feet,
Earth is seething, a river of liquid rock.

The words were a reminder to keep working, keep climbing, keep pushing beyond the past.

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started The Observable Universe, what would you say?
First I’d say: Just go ahead and write the thing; no one cares. Then I’d say: Trust yourself; if you can manage that, the writing will come.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
I mean, of course there was the research, and the sleepless nights on Wikipedia, and trips to the library with the inevitable (and totally embarrassing) issues with the copy machines. But there were also Friday evenings spent at the cinema, long walks along the Thames (I was living in London until 2019), and weekday mornings at the Rough Trade East Café. At the time Rough Trade—a record store—opened quite early, at like 9:00 AM or 10:00 AM, and they had a special on coffees: any type your heart desired for only £2. I used to go in about five minutes after they opened, get a cheap (but amazing) flat white, and just tune into whatever eclectic music the staff happened to put on that day. It used to warm up my brain to prepare for the writing.

Lastly: Dance. In another life I was a dancer, and while I no longer take technique classes, I do spontaneously dance in the kitchen.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received? 
Annie Dillard wrote, “It is no less difficult to write sentences in a recipe than sentences in Moby-Dick. So you might as well write Moby-Dick.” Another way of saying this came out in a lecture by Canadian writer Douglas Glover: “Don’t save your good ideas for the end.”

Heather McCalden, author of The Observable Universe: An Investigation.  

Ten Questions for Zefyr Lisowski

3.12.24

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Zefyr Lisowski, whose new poetry collection, Girl Work, is out this week from Noemi Press. In these unflinching poems, Lisowski contemplates womanhood as a kind of labor, one performed under the weight of history, stifling social arrangements, and troubled memory. Interrogating the nature of childhood trauma, the poems envision it as something like a horror-movie curse, casting the speaker into a cycle of traumatic repetition via fraught encounters that occur both out in the world and within the psyche. The reader follows the speaker through sidewise accounts of these traumas alongside narration of everyday experiences, appraised with a critical attention that frames them as products of interlocking systems of oppression, which grant the speaker varying degrees of privilege and precarity: Her whiteness offers protection even as her trans identity makes her a target for violence. Refusing to indulge feelings of self-pity, the speaker nonetheless moves toward a position of self-compassion, one necessary for survival: “Poem, I don’t need to tell you what happened, / but I’m finding myself in it even as we speak, as I write / again toward this body so many / have written on already.” Zefyr Lisowski is the author of the poetry collection Blood Box (Black Lawrence Press, 2019). A poetry coeditor of Apogee Journal, she is also a 2023 NYFA/NYSCA Fellow, a 2023 Queer|Art Fellow, and a recipient of support from the Tin House Summer Writers Workshop, Blue Mountain Center, the Center for the Humanities, and Sundress Academy for the Arts. Her new book, Girl Work, is the winner of the 2022 Noemi Book Prize.

1. How long did it take you to write Girl Work?  
I wrote the first poem at a haunted arts residency at a former robber baron’s hunting lodge in 2018. I finished the first draft of the book approximately a year later. That said, I continued working on Girl Work, in various forms, until 2023—although the last major revision was in 2022, before I sent it to Noemi. While editing I tried to preserve the me who I was when initially writing it—messy, at times vindictive, sometimes wrong, and committed to a language of directness. Time has softened all of those things, but I still respect who wrote that initial draft, even if she feels more like a stranger now. 

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book?  
The book started in response to the whiteness (and wealth) of the most mainstream iteration of #MeToo. Around the same time as the #MeToo movement’s 2016 mainstream resurgence, I noticed a more localized trend among white trans people of talking about transness as a state of death, independent of class or race. In both of these trends, differently classed experiences of sexual and physical violence were collapsed into the same experience, and womanhood was positioned primarily as a deracinated state of victimhood or ruined innocence. I myself am a recipient of violence, many times over. I also am a laborer. I also am white, which serves as a mitigator of the intensity of the frame and was an identity notably left out of many mainstream #MeToo discussions. I was interested in writing a book that spoke to these intersections of class, race, and sexual violence while refusing to ascribe a redemptive or palliative “goodness” to the speaker—to live more in the mess.

So the most difficult thing about the book was writing about violence without positioning the speaker as a perfect victim—looking at the messy ways that sexual violence, labor, and emotional cruelty led the speaker to, at times, a cruelty of her own. Or perhaps the most difficult thing was writing about what scholar Achille Mbembe terms “necropolitics”—the politics of who is granted death and who is granted life in a society, with death often ontologically inscribed onto Indigeneity and Blackness—without foreclosing the potential of life for the subjects about whom I was writing. This was difficult, in part, because I don’t think I fully pulled it off; regardless of the care I took, including during the revision process, Girl Work is still a wound of a book. But those central concerns still animate the whole of the text, the gristle on which I chew.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write? 
I’m an inconsistent writer, a disposition caused in part by the other waged labor I do and the conditions of capitalism; I write when I’m able to write. Sometimes daily, often weekly, occasionally monthly. But I think about writing every day, which I suppose is a sort of writing itself. The exception to this is at residencies, where I’m prolific in both my reading and writing: Again, capitalism.

In terms of where I write: my bed, or my desk, or stretched out on the floor, tummy down. When: late morning and late evenings. Pre- and post-work. When feeling lonely, or not. Writing, initially, was a way to access love without the fear of loss. As I’ve grown, it’s become a way to know loss and love sound like almost the same word anyway, to find care in that nonetheless. Now I write for myself. But I also write to show what I’ve written to lovers, friends, community—to get back from them in turn. Regardless of where, when, or how, I write to receive.

4. What are you reading right now?   
Currently I’m reading Diana Khoi Nguyen’s second poetry collection, Root Fractures, and I just finished Jules Gill-Peterson’s brilliant, incisive A Short History of Trans Misogyny. As a birthday gift my girlfriend got me the complete novels of Lynn Ward, the leftist woodcut illustrator whose wordless novels paved the way for the modern graphic novel; I’ve been savoring my way through them. Similarly languorous and brilliant is Clarice Lispector’s The Hour of the Star, which I read during a recent hospital stay, sparking a renewed interest in her work; I’m following it up with The Passion According to G.H. And of course I’m always reading the work of my friends. I’m especially excited about Cyrée Jarelle Johnson’s Watchnight and have read some brilliant essays and poems by Sloane Holzer I can’t wait to see in the larger world. Finally, since her passing, I’ve been rereading the funny, transformative work of luminary activist, mother, and revolutionary Cecilia Gentili. If you haven’t read Faltas, do so immediately. 

5. What was your strategy for organizing the poems in this collection?
When I first wrote this book I structured it around the spiral—the circle of the well from the 2002 film The Ring, the conviction that this (labor, gendered violence, the aforementioned necropolitics) will keep happening, the anguish of repetition. I wrote out of a desire to see the thing unguarded, whether that thing be beauty or violence; and I wrote out of a lack of faith in terrestrial redemption. That version of the book was nearly published several times, and I still hold tenderness for its tenderness. But after several years, a minor breakdown, and a complete reconfiguration in my understanding of what my life could look like, I started to hope; and I realized that while the book is haunted by repetitions, love repeats thematically too. From there I started threading more poems into the collection that cared for, rather than cut, the reader—and gradually the spiral uncoiled. Now the book is structured around descents and ascents, which feels more honest—or at least more complex. The last significant change in the collection happened when my editor, Diana Arterian, suggested moving the poems that laid out the concerns of the book most explicitly—whiteness, violence, labor, and beauty—to the first half of the book. This provided space in the second half for a more capacious kind of holding as well, a more total transformation of the speaker’s relationship to herself and the world.

6. Would you recommend writers pursue an MFA?
The short answer is no. The long answer is maybe. My MFA was a fraught but incredibly generative experience: I wrote a whole first draft of the book there, and I was also told by a classmate that by writing about the whiteness and transphobia of the program in said book, I was “shooting my allies.” The program was fully funded; I received outstanding feedback on the first draft of the book; I was miserable. That said, I’ve been able to professionalize as a writer in part because of the credential of the MFA. And since the MFA I’ve built back my sense of community, which I had grown disillusioned with completely for several years. Which is to say: The damage wasn’t permanent. I think MFAs are rooted in white supremacist, ableist, cisnormative standards, although there are certainly programs that don’t follow those fault lines of power. I think that for anyone minoritized in our society, any interfacing with systems of power needs to be tactical and very intentional. But I don’t think that precludes going for it anyway. Just to be safe: If you’re considering a program, don’t go into debt. Try not to move somewhere you wouldn’t move already. And outside the program surround yourself with those who love you enough to be honest. Living, I believe, not working, is the work.

7. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Girl Work?
The book started from such a despairing place, so the fact that it wrapped back around to a state of hope by the end of the writing process was a balm and a gift. But maybe that’s to say I was surprised at how my life changed, and the work reflects that life. Life, after all, is a form of active revision too. Growth shouldn’t only happen on the page.

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started Girl Work, what would you say?
Not to sound like Dan Savage, but: Things will get better. You will heal, surround yourself with those who love you and those you love. Grief complicates a life but is also a measure of care and, as such, it enriches it too. Continue working on multiple projects beyond this one—they’ll buoy you. Rest more. Nurture your relationships. Let it cook.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
At a reading I gave in 2018, early in the writing process for this book, an audience member came up and told me, “You must have gone through a lot of therapy to write this.” It was such an (accidentally?) accurate read. I’m skeptical of a lot of things about therapy—at its worst, it individualizes systemic problems—but I have to acknowledge the ways it helped me. Before I wrote the book, I started thinking through it; and before I started thinking through it, I felt it through. Therapy helped me feel.

So much of Girl Work is about embodied trauma, so writing it was an exercise, often unsuccessful, in avoiding retriggering myself. Things that helped: working in forms that had their own containers built into them (which is why there are so many visual poems cropped in by the dimensions of the page and long columns of text in the book). Taking frequent walking breaks. Smoking herbal cigarettes. Watching movies with friends. Pursuing other hobbies (teaching myself how to play banjo, building a dollhouse, writing and recording a musical based on The Ring, getting back into drawing comics). Laughing. I couldn’t have written the book without all of these.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received? 
My Queer|Art mentor, T Fleischmann, told me once that I sometimes use the lyric to avoid naming more difficult truths. So many of the writers who are most important to me, such as June Jordan, engage in a poetics of directness, a way of naming and not looking away from machinations of power. I love the delights of a pretty line or sentence, but often they obscure rather than clarify. T’s dictum to say the thing directly is hard because it requires a deep vulnerability and conviction of purpose in my words and acts. I strive for that bravery every day.

 

Zefyr Lisowski, author of Girl Work.   (Credit: Ayesha Raees )

Ten Questions for Cindy Juyoung Ok

3.5.24

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Cindy Juyoung Ok, whose debut poetry collection, Ward Toward, is out today from Yale University Press. In these sharp poems that range from traditional lyrics to formal experiments, Ok presents a personal narrative of identity formation amid a struggle with mental health as well as a critical dismantling of received ideologies and traditional ways of seeing the self and others. With bleak humor, an eye for the absurd, and careful attention to the line, the poems offer a window into the Kafkaesque labyrinth that is the U.S. medical establishment, elegiac analyses of racist violence—particularly against Asian Americans—and critiques of popular culture. In her foreword poet Rae Armantrout, who selected Ward Toward for the Yale Series of Younger Poets, calls the collection “radically honest and unpretentious…. Cindy Juyoung Ok is a wonderfully inventive poet with a command of her craft.” A writer, editor, and educator, Cindy Juyoung Ok is a MacDowell Fellow whose poems have been published in the Nation, the Yale Review, the Massachusetts Review, and elsewhere.  

1. How long did it take you to write Ward Toward?  
Four years. Its oldest poem is from autumn 2018, and its newest poem is from autumn 2022.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book?  
I had understood a first book to be all one’s successful poems put into a manuscript as though a shrine to a period or a portfolio of competence. Only once I gave up the urge to stuff individual pieces into a document as an archive of the ego could I write the book. The phrase “ward toward” came late but felt like receiving a revelation, upon which I formed a shorter manuscript that was a wholly separate entity from the storage unit I had accumulated. There are poems I find taut or elegant or even relevant to the book’s concerns that were not included. I thought a book could be carved out of a block of poems, but instead it had to start from blank space.

The most practical challenge of writing the book was not having workplace health insurance for the first year and most of the last year. I received insurance through the Affordable Care Act but did not get off the wait list for a primary care physician. It would have been much easier to write if health care were as accessible as it is when my contracts are full-time with school districts or universities.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
Nothing ritualistic. I write on pads when I have something to write with, which can be during any hour or season and with seemingly undivinable frequency: three ready poems at once, not a line for nine months, and so on. It brings me only annoyance to force consistency or write bad poems. I don’t find that they lead to more interesting ones so I prefer to wait until ready poems seem to exist to me whole. I usually write in bed or on a couch, and when those are unavailable I resort to a desk.

As a process, writing is like pooping. I try not to push it, and I hope that all my passive non-writing activity is digesting well and can become, through my trusty body, something new. Strain is not often necessary. The products, though, differ: What comes out in a poem is, I hope, the best and most concentrated bits of me, parts I could never hold in and which can live beyond my one mind and small life.

4. What are you reading right now?  
[…], which Fady Joudah mostly wrote this autumn during the ongoing U.S.-backed genocide of his people in Palestine. I include poems from his collection at my readings (with his knowledge and blessing, as we share a publication date and are reading each other’s books now), and I am grateful for the book’s wildness and precision, for the fathomless generosities he offered in these poems and also personally in this period: When I lost income, he offered aid; when I received an unfavorable medical diagnosis, he offered, as a physician, to discuss its details with me.

While writing recently on a piece by Christine Imperial that undoes the visuality of U.S. colonization in the Philippines by marring texts by Dean Worcester, I was disquieted to realize the extent of National Geographic’s complicity in creating the visual imaginary of the other, of colonialism’s needs and ends in the U.S. I started reading the images and texts of issues from various years, and they are terrifying, amazing, telling. In news of another sense, I’ve begun The Smell of Risk: Environmental Disparities and Olfactory Aesthetics by Hsuan L. Hsu, who considers in daring detail how the Western aesthetic project has categorized and metaphorized smell, how art makes sense of air.

And I am always reading student work. After reading the reviews in Anthony Cody’s Borderland Apocrypha (found from Trip Advisor) and Courtney Faye Taylor’s Concentrate (created in Yelp form), my student Avery began collecting and working with beauty-product reviews, crafting pieces in which the speaker has experienced pain or even hospitalization because of a product but hugely recommends it because it works, or they feel happy. Her poems and prose discern this pattern but are careful not to satirize the review writers or blame any individual for the structures at play, and extensive research on daily performativity clearly intrigues her impulses.

5. What was your strategy for organizing the poems in this collection?
The poems are formally constrained in their enactment of material constraint, as with boxed stanzas. So their arrangement also has a stringent logic in three sections, or “wards,” with reiterative transitions between adjacent poems.

6. Would you recommend writers pursue an MFA?
I neither particularly recommend nor argue against graduate school, but funded programs provide a way to structure time differently than many jobs. For a public school teacher to suddenly have the option to wake up without an alarm and read or cook—it moved my mind, even as I planned to return to my full-time job and imagined the degree as a break from a nine-to-five that was more like six-to-six. I lived reasonably on my stipend and additional gigs, which was not as feasible for those with costly roles as family caregivers or with major student debt, or as relevant for peers who were financially supported by parents or partners.

Most of my writer friends I met at residencies, conferences, and readings, and all my publications and jobs came through applying to public calls. Having the degree was not a prerequisite for my job as an incoming assistant professor in an MFA, and there is so much evidence that there are no true prerequisites to writing itself.

7. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Ward Toward?
It surprises me still that I wrote Ward Toward alone. No one had read it when I sent it into just one contest, whose screeners and then contest judge were the first ones to meet the book. My friends are thankfully the basis of my days and years in all ways, and my spouse is otherwise my thrillingly brilliant first and last editor, so it is unusual that the making of a major undertaking, one I felt proud of, happened this way. If I publish another book, I hope I will be able to describe writing it alongside and through and because of many others.

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started Ward Toward, what would you say?
Nothing related to writing: Buy a water filter. As your grandparents continue to die off realize how many people raised you and how devotedly. Apparently soap is different from face wash. The city provides free radon tests. The pain of your wishes coming alive is preferable to the pain of the alternative.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
Most of what I did was not writing. I taught at a dozen universities and nonprofits, moved to and left nine cities, attended hundreds of dinner parties. It can hardly be called work, but time passed and the poems happened. Writing the present yields my dullest stretches of words. To make poems I need to live and have such a distance that there is no catharsis to be sought or risked.

Before turning the book in for production, I also contacted everyone mentioned in its pages, even if unrecognizably, and cited any conversation I felt was referenced. This included calling my childhood friend in prison, checking every relevant line with my mother, and tracking down a retired group therapist from a decade prior who had no recollection of me but was pleased with my recounting of our interaction. I hoped not for permission necessarily but to prevent surprise. Happily, everyone was supportive of the book and delighted to be included.  

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?
Two years ago I used the word “grooming” to refer to a short story character’s routine of hair brushing and face washing. My students momentarily recoiled and then explained that my usage of the word seemed strange, as they experienced the primary meaning of the verb as the initially metaphoric one: to manipulate, usually younger people, toward sexual and other violent ends. The exchange was a piece of writing advice these writers were providing me:

You cannot refuse language’s constant renewals by claiming nonparticipation. The meaning of all words is socially determined, and their users are a part of, and responsible for, their changing possibilities.

Cindy Juyoung Ok, author of Ward Toward.   (Credit: Joanna Eldredge Morrissey)

Ten Questions for Tomás Q. Morín

2.27.24

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Tomás Q. Morín, whose new book, Where Are You From: Letters to My Son, is out today from the University of Nebraska Press. In these intimate and candid epistles, Morín writes to his child about his daily life, family history, literature, and the precarious situation for people of color in the United States. The title of Morín’s book alludes to a story James Baldwin once told about being asked where he was from and his answer—that he was from New York City—not convincing his interlocutor. Morín recounts being similarly questioned about his origin, despite his family’s long history in Texas and a lineage that traces to Spain, “the land from which our people crossed an ocean to come here to these continents to steal, murder, and enslave,” he writes. Yet as a self-described brown man, Morín finds himself the focus of racist attention and wondering how his son will fare in decades to come: “When you lift your head from this book and look around, what do you see? What are the faces like, O boy of the future?” Morín also offers meditations on the nature of love, relationships, self-knowledge, and a host of other topics he shares in hopes of influencing and connecting with his child through the years. Tomás Q. Morín is the author of the memoir Let Me Count the Ways (University of Nebraska Press, 2022), winner of the 2022 Writers’ League of Texas Nonfiction Book Award, and the poetry collections Machete (Knopf, 2021), Patient Zero (Copper Canyon Press, 2017), and A Larger Country (American Poetry Review, 2012). He is on the faculty of Rice University.

1. How long did it take you to write Where Are You From: Letters to My Son
The first draft took eight weeks. But then it was another few years before I added the last third of the book. Turned out I hadn’t yet lived what remained to write.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book? 
Hmmm, I guess not becoming so overwhelmed by my postpartum depression that I would become frozen and not be able to channel what I was feeling into the writing.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
Gosh, that depends. I love writing at this giant desk I’m typing these answers on now. I’ve been lugging this desk around move after move. In the times I haven’t had access to it, my office (especially when campus is empty) has been a wonderful spot to work. Ditto my car, on the Notes app of my phone. As for how often, well, not nearly as much as I would like. But often enough to remain connected to the work.

4. What are you reading right now?   
I’m reading Lisa Halliday’s Asymmetry, Fugitive/Refuge by Philip Metres, and on deck is Szilvia Molnar’s The Nursery.

5. Which author or authors have been influential for you, in your writing of this book in particular or as a writer in general?
For every book, different literary angels perch on my shoulder and whack my knuckles when I go astray, haha. Okay, they don’t really whack my hands like the nuns of old, but they do keep me company. For this book, there were four: James Baldwin brought me courage, Albert Camus light, Ralph Ellison fire, and Dostoevsky—he brought the zany humor.

6. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Where Are You From?
The groundhogs. How they burrowed their way into this book still feels somewhat mysterious to me. I’m glad they were there to guide me.

7. Would you recommend writers pursue an MFA?
A hundred percent. I would never advise anyone who wanted to become a shoemaker to skip the apprentice stage.

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started Where Are You From, what would you say?
I’d say: Things will get better. You’ll get better. It won’t always be this hard for you and your family.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
I couldn’t have completed this book without Prince’s album Piano & A Microphone 1983. Those songs gave my work routine and my sentences a rhythm that I could count on.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received? 
Philip Levine said, “Write everything that occurs to you to write because you never know what’s going to stick.”

Tomás Q. Morín, author of Where Are You From: Letters to My Son.   (Credit: Jeff Fitlow )

Ten Questions for Phillip B. Williams

2.20.24

This week’s Ten Questions features Phillip B. Williams, whose debut novel, Ours, is out now from Viking. In this historical narrative with a supernatural twist, the plantations of 1830s Arkansas are overtaken and liberated by a heroic woman named Saint, who wields immense, otherworldly power. Under Saint’s aegis, the formerly enslaved people travel to a hidden town where they are able to build lives for themselves and their families. For a time, they live in a kind of paradise, without fear of violence or persecution by outsiders. But eventually the shelter provided by Saint begins to feel constrictive, and the town’s residents wonder if they are truly safe within the narrow bounds their savior has measured for them. Kirkus praises Ours, calling it “a gorgeously written, evocative saga of Black American survival and transcendence, blending elements of fantasy, mythology, and multigenerational history.” Phillip B. Williams is the author of two collections of poetry: Thief in the Interior (Alice James Books, 2016), which was the winner of the Kate Tufts Discovery Award and a Lambda Literary Award, and Mutiny (Penguin Books, 2021), which won a 2022 American Book Award. A recipient of a Whiting Award and fellowships from the Radcliffe Institute for Advanced Study at Harvard University and the National Endowment for the Arts, Williams teaches in the MFA program in creative writing at New York University.

1. How long did it take you to write Ours
Sixteen years, from 2006 to 2022.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book? 
Having patience enough to allow myself to fully discover and build the vision.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
I can only write in places that feel like home, so my own home, a close friend’s place, etcetera. I cannot write in public places. I write whenever it feels best to do so. It can be late at night or in the afternoon. Rarely do I write in the morning because rarely am I ready to do anything in the morning. I do not write as often as I used to. It comes in spurts, during which I write compulsively until the project is complete. Most of my time is spent doing the other, often disregarded, activities of writing: thinking and reading.

4. What are you reading right now?   
Right now I am reading Tayari Jones’s novel An American Marriage and Michael Dumanis’s second collection of poems, Creature.

5. Which author or authors have been influential for you, in your writing of this book in particular or as a writer in general?   
Gabriel García Márquez, José Saramago, Toni Morrison, Sonia Sanchez, Brigit Pegeen Kelly, Thomas Glave, Amos Tutuola, John Steinbeck, Zora Neale Hurston.

6. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Ours?
That characters talk back. My process of writing Ours was basically one long free-write. I didn’t have an outline; so much of the plot revealed itself to me as I was writing. This posed an interesting problem: I felt that I both guided the story and was guided by it. Imagine me pacing my home, talking aloud to no one present (except in my mind), asking, “Are you sure you want to do that?” Then I would write the scene and shake my head in disbelief that a character wanted to do that.

7. What is one thing your agent or editor told you during the process of publishing this book that stuck with you?
They both shared the sentiment that the book will have a life of its own and that said life would be major.

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started Ours, what would you say?
Nothing. I’m not about to change the trajectory of what I’ve created. If I encourage younger me, I might get cocky. If I warn younger me, I might take fewer risks. I’m not saying a thing.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
Lots of sleep. You will see this appear more and more in interviews. I was and remain exhausted after finishing this book. Finding time to rest, comfortable enough blankets, the right rain sounds, the best candle—all of this was necessary work to unwind from the endless writing schedule that was Ours.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received? 
Read.

Phillip B. Williams, author of Ours.  

(Credit: Nicholas Nichols)

Ten Questions for Omotara James

2.13.24

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Omotara James, whose debut poetry collection, Song of My Softening, is out now from Alice James Books. In these intimate lyrics, James explores family history, memory, and the body as a site of emotional, social, and cultural knowledge. The poems play the scales between high lyric music—as in “Pier 52,” in which a lover “looks through the wound of my life like it’s light. So I let him. The last cube of ice.”—and bold humor: “Bitch, / wake up! Why are you / sleeping?” God queries the speaker of “When I Dream of Escape.” Desire—for sustenance in the form of food, sex, or spiritual fulfillment—is a recurrent theme, one that serves as a counterpoint to some of the collection’s other primary concerns: betrayal, loss, and violation. “I ask: is pain grief, leaving the body? / If so, freshly-seeded trauma stay close,” James writes in “Black Woman Gets a Massage: Has Discourse With God.” Library Journal calls Song of My Softening “a stunning debut…. It’s not often that fat women feel such thorough representation of themselves…not only in the beautiful moments but in the sorrowful ones.” Omotara James is the recipient of the 2023 J. Howard and Barbara M. J. Wood Prize from the Poetry Foundation, a 92NY Discovery Poetry Award, a Bread Loaf Katharine Bakeless Nason Award in Poetry, and other honors. Her chapbook, Daughter Tongue (Akashic Books, 2018), was selected by the African Poetry Book Fund for the New Generation African Poets Box Set, and her poems have appeared in the Nation, BOMB, the Paris Review, and elsewhere.

1. How long did it take you to write Song of My Softening?  
In a way, I have been working on Song of My Softening for over thirty years. I remember being about eight years old, pressing my pencil to my first diary, trying to articulate an experience for which I had no words. I’m referencing “Untouched,” which is one of the first poems to appear in the collection but was actually one of the last poems to be written. The oldest poem to appear in this book was drafted around 2007 or 2008, which would make this collection sixteen or seventeen years in the making.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book?  
Finishing the book presented the largest challenge. I loved writing this book. I couldn’t stop writing. Each time I felt the book was complete, I would write new poems that felt essential to the text as I understood it. The collection was solicited soon after I finished my MFA program. I was in the midst of processing the death of a loved one while completing my thesis. When the book was accepted the following year, in 2020, as a society we were collectively thrown into grief over losing family members and close friends. The collection became my healing site, my safest place. My refusal to part with it came out of not knowing who I would be without it. Who I would be if I wasn’t writing my first book was too frightening a concept to confront. But eventually I did part with it, albeit begrudgingly. Inside the work of the book, I felt like my best self. As I felt my most knowing self come to the fore, I refused to let her go. The person I was while writing the book was my best friend and sharpest critic, and it took me a minute to realise emotionally that this person wasn’t going anywhere.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
I tend to write every day and everywhere. I write in bed, at the kitchen table, outside on my balcony, in the loo. Many of these poems began while I was driving and had to pull over, or on the train to my MFA program. More than a few of these poems were written in the Lillian Vernon Creative Writers House at New York University between the hours of 10:00 PM and 2:00 AM, waiting for the Uber surge-charges to fall. That stated, I also can go days or weeks without working on a project. But I’m usually writing in some capacity, even it’s only a voice memo or text message I send to myself. There’s always something I’m trying to articulate to myself that keeps me up at night; I relish the opportunity. Mainly I find myself writing in those unguarded moments, in which one allows the yearnings of one’s life to align flush with one’s God-given desires.

4. What are you reading right now?
I’m currently reading all of the books in my bed, which I shove into a corner at night and hope don’t poke me in the eye while I’m sleeping: The Ferguson Report: An Erasure by Nicole Sealey; I Am Still With You: A Reckoning With Silence, Inheritance, and History by Emmanuel Iduma; The Best American Essays 2022, edited by Alexander Chee; and Writing Hard Stories: Celebrated Memoirists Who Shaped Art From Trauma by Melanie Brooks. I’m also reading a precious advance copy of Redwood Court by DéLana R. A. Dameron. The richness of the characters and the discourse between the stories is exciting and fresh. There’s always an audiobook in rotation, and right now it’s Yellowface by Rebecca F. Kuang.

5. What was your strategy for organizing the poems in this collection?
The old standards of innocence and experience form the structure of the text. The speaker of the poems continues to interrogate the slippage between these concepts, as she navigates and reflects on the constraints of a life. In many conventional texts, the innocence of a character, especially a femme character, is not decided by what the character does but rather by what is done to her. This conditions the reader to accept that they are removed from the agency of their own innocence. I work to challenge that reading of innocence. That definition of innocence. This text is broken down so that innocence and experience are based on the choices made by the speaker. The speaker is very much aware of her own agency in the world of experience. To be clear, this is not a work of autobiography, but it is a text crafted from the perspective of my lived experiences.

It can be said that the first half of life is for reeling and the second half is dedicated to healing and revealing. The speaker switches between the present tense and the reflective flashback, because as the speaker accrues experience, every previous experience bears down on the present moment, expanding it. In other words, the past acts continuously on the present moment, so that the slippage between tenses forms the organic timeline and organising principle of the collection.

I also endeavor to frame the impact of music on poetics and vice versa. Musical groupings and instruments mark different sections of the text.

6. Would you recommend writers pursue an MFA?
I would recommend that writers engage with other writers. To the writer starting out: Find the best readers of your work, the folks who get you and don’t want to change your project, but who are also not afraid to ask questions. Gift someone else the privilege of your knowledge and experience. Holding space for others is the best education in empathy. Empathy can only improve the rigor of your work. There’s nothing more sacred than the poetry talks I have with a couple of close friends. One is from my MFA program and the other is from a writing conference I attended. Wherever you think you can find your peers, go there, and tend to those friendships. If you find someone in a local workshop who relates to your work and gives you helpful feedback, take an interest in their project and be generous. I only ever regret the times when I could have and should have been more generous. Those were my greatest lessons.

I am entirely grateful for my MFA experience, and I would do it again. However, I am not advocating for anyone to plunge themselves into debt for an MFA program. Don’t do that.

7. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Song of My Softening?
My affinity for ekphrasis. I enjoy art of every register: high and low. I am always moved by the gesture of love and hope contained within art that doesn’t lend itself to that reading. I was also surprised by the satisfaction of a full rhyme properly placed. Especially amongst my peers, the presence of a full rhyme felt lowbrow or out of place. Reclaiming and centering the full rhyme almost felt like a rebellious act.

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started Song of My Softening, what would you say?
No matter how bad it gets, don’t give up. All is not lost. Cultivate a ritual for retreat and return. Also, trust your instincts. Your instinct to wait to publish is right. You only get one debut. Most systems are created to exclude and/or exhaust you. Folks will try to divide you from your body-autonomy, your personal agency, and from your instinct. Don’t listen to them. You are the expert on what you feel, so you’re going to have to learn how to listen to yourself. This will literally save your life. All of your poems are waiting for you, and you’ll write them when you’re ready. You’re going to surprise yourself.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
We concentrate so much on writing process, but actually in my experience writing the book is the last stage of the process of cultivating attention and awareness and interrogating my own motivations to create art. For me this included meditation and therapy.

I was a fine arts minor in college, and reconnecting to my love of art and art history has been important to my writing process. Buying my little house plants and trying to take care of them as best as I can has contributed to the balance of this book project. Most of all, music. Music as a spiritual practice and as a physical practice has grounded me within this book. I immersed myself in the music of my youth, even if it was the music I didn’t care for at the time but existed in the zeitgeist while I was growing up. I’ve always depended on music to lift my spirits, to be my confidant and collaborator, and to understand me. It helps me unlock my inner consciousness.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?
When I was at the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference, Vievee Francis gave us an incredible writing prompt around understanding our personal ethos. In addition to stressing rigor, she emphasized the importance of care with respect to process. She said when writing about a difficult subject it’s important to create a way into the work as well as a way out of the work. She was speaking toward writing rituals, which allow a delineation between writing life and real life. She gave examples.

The trope of writers having to suffer for their art is something we internalise, even when we realise it’s an unhealthy trope. This advice reflects a generosity of process, which will find its way into the work. I try to turn this advice over whenever possible to anyone who might need it as much as I did.

Omotara James, author of Song of My Softening.  

Ten Questions for Margot Livesey

2.6.24

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Margot Livesey, whose new novel, The Road From Belhaven, is out today from Knopf. In this coming-of-age tale set in nineteenth-century Scotland, a clairvoyant girl named Lizzie lives on her grandparents’ farm, where she plies her family’s trade amid confusing visions of the future. As she attempts to influence events, Lizzie finds herself at a painful loss: cursed with the knowledge of what she either cannot change or cannot foresee. Disillusioned with rural life and the strictures of traditional femininity, Lizzie follows a charismatic young man to the city, where she finds herself overwhelmed by love and ultimately unable to escape the call of motherhood and her family’s homestead. In the Washington Post, Laurie Hertzel praises The Road From Belhaven: “Livesey’s piercing and eloquent novel manages to convey the wonderful mysteries that life offers along the way.” Margot Livesey is the author of a story collection, an essay collection, and ten novels, including The Boy in the Field (Harper Perennial, 2021) and Eva Moves the Furniture (Picador, 2001). A recipient of honors from the National Endowment for the Arts, the John Simon Guggenheim Memorial Foundation, and the Radcliffe Institute for Advanced Study at Harvard University, she is on the faculty of the Iowa Writers’ Workshop.

1. How long did it take you to write The Road From Belhaven?
I began the novel in March 2020, when it became clear that I would not be able to go back to Scotland for many months. I wrote the last words in 2023.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book?
I wanted to write a novel that was set in the 1880s but that wasn’t a “historical novel”; it just happens to be set in the past. Penelope Fitzgerald’s The Beginning of Spring was very inspiring.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
I have a room upstairs in our house in Cambridge, Massachusetts. It overlooks the neighbours’ garden, and I try to be at my desk first thing every morning. The computer I write on is never allowed to go online.

4. What are you reading right now?
Katherine Min’s posthumous second novel, The Fetishist, and Martyr!, Kaveh Akbar’s first novel.

5. Which author or authors have been influential for you, in your writing of this book in particular or as a writer in general?
Rereading Thomas Hardy’s work, especially Tess of the D’Urbervilles: A Pure Woman, was very helpful. Hardy is so persistently interested in mistakes as a determining force in the lives of his characters. Lewis Grassic Gibbon’s Sunset Song, which is set on a farm in the northeast of Scotland, was very influential.

6. Would you recommend writers pursue an MFA?
I have the good fortune to teach at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop where my students learn in six months what it took me six years to learn, writing between shifts as a waitress. But I would never say that pursuing an MFA is the only road to becoming a writer.

7. What is one thing that your agent or editor told you during the process of publishing this book that stuck with you?
My editor, the fabulous Jennifer Barth, told me to write a book only I could write.

8. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of The Road From Belhaven?
I changed my mind about the meaning of a crucial word. I can’t explain without giving away the plot.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
I had to go to the gym most days, and I had to do research into farm life in nineteenth-century Scotland. I also did research, if that’s the word, into the supernatural.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?
Tolerate your own mediocrity. Believe in the optimism of revision.

Margot Livesey, author of The Road From Belhaven.  

(Credit: Michael Lionstar)

Ten Questions for Diana Khoi Nguyen

1.30.24

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Diana Khoi Nguyen, whose second poetry collection, Root Fractures, is out today from Scribner. The mix of lineated verse and prose poems—many of which appear in sections staggered throughout the collection—alongside concrete poems creates a collage-like portrait of one Vietnamese American family’s formation, breakdown, and fraught survival in the United States in the wake of the Vietnam War. The poems shift tonally from expository to lyrical, weaving the speaker’s own impressions with overheard speech, bits of historical information, images, and other kinds of language—in both English and Vietnamese—capturing the fragmentary nature of contemporary life, particularly for those from diasporic identities and survivors of trauma and loss. Terrance Hayes praises Root Fractures: “This astonishing second collection renders poetry into an act of kintsugi, embellishing what is broken in a family’s legacy so that it can be held in a new light.” Diana Khoi Nguyen is the author of Ghost Of (Omnidawn, 2018), which received the 2019 Kate Tufts Discovery Award and a Colorado Book Award and was a finalist for the National Book Award and the Los Angeles Times Book Prize. A Kundiman fellow and member of the Vietnamese diasporic artist collective, She Who Has No Master(s), Nguyen teaches creative writing at Randolph College’s low-residency MFA program and is an assistant professor at the University of Pittsburgh.

1. How long did it take you to write Root Fractures?  
I think it happened over various intensive writing sessions, roughly thirty days each year between 2017 and 2021. It’s funny: In early 2021, I’d known that I had enough poems for a new book, but the thought terrified me; so I printed them out, stuck them in a translucent folder, then proceeded to travel with the unordered manuscript for over a year—while actively avoiding engagement with the manuscript. It wasn’t until I gave birth in June 2022—and moved back to the area where I was born and grew up (perhaps not unlike salmon returning home to spawn), left the infant with my parents, drove to my childhood public library (where I spent hundreds if not thousands of hours in my youth), and laid out the pages on a conference table—that I sculpted the book into being.

This long gestation period revealed to me, retrospectively, that I needed to take care of a human entity (and also conceive and spawn one first) before I could focus on the next book. I had never planned on becoming a parenting body and being.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book?  
A similar thing with the first book: Did I give fair treatment to the living (and deceased) members of my family without making concessions in my own truths? It’s so hard to balance family and one’s work, especially when we do not view shared history in the same way. I think the gestation period was longer than I had anticipated because I hadn’t yet figured out a curated experience that felt right with respect to family fairness.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
I write for fifteen-day periods, twice a year, with close friends across genres and disciplines. Initially it began as practice of writing thirty poems in thirty days, to put myself into a pressurized situation to write again after completing an MFA and working tiresome full-time office hours in the years post-MFA. Since then I’ve revised the intensives into more fruitful chunks—and the best part of these sessions are the people I invite to write/make alongside me. It’s so inspiring to witness others drafting and creating each night, all of us sharing vulnerable offerings, only to start again the next day.

4. What are you reading right now?  
Kairos by Jenny Erpenbeck, who is easily one of my favorite living writers. As with anything that is a favorite, I’m savoring each sentence, each page, going back to start again at the top of the page—as if to make the moment last a little longer—rather than ravenously devouring the book, which is how I normally read (and also physically eat, ha!). I’ve also just started Beautyland by Marie-Helene Bertino, who activates, delights, and stimulates my brain with each clause of her sentences—not to mention how the science-oriented elements of her novel are nourishing a deep thirst in me.

As for poetry, I’m also reading Paul Hlava Ceballos’s banana [ ], which feels urgent, innovative, and essential. And Claire Wahmanholm’s Meltwater, which keeps me rapt even though I’m reading it again for the fourth time—it taps into all my intersecting concerns and anxieties: parenthood, grief/loss, fear about climate change and the alarming signs our environments reflect back to us.

5. What was your strategy for organizing the poems in this collection?
A primarily intuitive one. The collection consists of many long series, which I didn’t want to stack back-to-back. So I knew I would break them all up—and I even broke up poems that weren’t sectioned—so that I had patches to work toward a quilt, or various threads to weave into a larger whole. From there I made decisions about how to enter the collection and how to close it out. Then: What were the movements? How many sections would there be, and how would those sections open and close, etcetera? The best part was figuring out what to cut/carve, since I had so many pages of potential pieces to include. I love seeing how much hair is on the floor after a haircut and, because I love metaphors, (I can’t remember who to credit for this one) to see a poem or book as an iceberg: So much lies underwater. As readers, we only see just a small percentage of the ice above water.

6. Would you recommend writers pursue an MFA?
Not necessarily. Only if they’d like to have the maybe-terminal degree. I say “maybe-terminal” since some consider creative writing PhDs to be more “terminal” than the MFA alone. And only if they need institutional structure—with its pros and cons—and attendant community and resources. Usually most writers do want all of these things. But it’s certainly not necessary to hone one’s craft as a writer. And! I also recommend that writers consider low-residency MFA models, which I didn’t know about when I applied for MFAs; I love the intensive mentorship that low-res models offer—that one-on-one attention and correspondence. It feels more helpful to me, as an introvert, than the sometimes impersonal (if not sometimes hostile or apathetic) workshops with semi-strangers. That said, I don’t regret my own MFA journey—but I wish I could have tried other ones too! Perhaps in the multiverse.

7. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Root Fractures?
How hungry I was to write prose in blocks! But that shouldn’t have been surprising, since the triptychs in the first book employed elements of writing in a text-box block—just with the interruption of the collaborating family archival images. Honestly, Jenny Erpenbeck’s Visitation inspired me to write long, winding sentences that surprised me with each clause and turn. What a gateway! And now I’m writing prose for whatever this new autobiographical prose project will turn out to be.

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started Root Fractures, what would you say?
This is pretty random: I’d remind myself to look up “root fractures” in a search engine and spend time with all those X-rays of damaged teeth! Of course that’s what root fractures are in other realms (chiefly dental)—I hadn’t realized until after the manuscript was well on its way to becoming a book. It wouldn’t have changed my experience of assembling and titling the book, but I wish I had incorporated that into the creation of it.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
Oh, so much video work! And listening to others in the Vietnamese diaspora—folx who have generously sat with me and shared their responses to my open questions. I made a point of trying to connect with folx of Vietnamese descent in my various travels for work so that I could listen to their narratives and experiences. I wanted more voices in my mind—to add to the ones I know/knew so well.

As for the video work, I had been engaging—and continue to engage—with family home videos, crafting short experimental documentaries, or video-poems, which sometimes have audio, text, or neither. Surprisingly, or not so, it was especially helpful to work with crafting multi-channel video pieces. (The learning curve for Adobe Premiere is so high! But I’m grateful I now have access to the program through an employer.) Something about learning to sequence through multiple video channels really transforms how I think about juxtaposition, overlap, and order in both poems and manuscripts.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?
It’s deceptively simple: Don’t stop writing, no matter what. Which is easier said than done. I have wanted to give up so many times—especially before I established my close inner community. I don’t even remember where I heard this advice—maybe from someone on a panel at a university somewhere—but it’s stayed with me. I share this advice with others. Never not write. Find a way to carve out space/time for this essential practice, which can be so excruciating at times (both the carving out of space and also the act of writing). And yet it does feel so good to have written, right?!

Diana Khoi Nguyen, author of Root Fractures.   (Credit: Karen Lue)

Ten Questions for Zachary Pace

1.23.24

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Zachary Pace, whose debut book, I Sing to Use the Waiting: A Collection of Essays About the Women Singers Who’ve Made Me Who I Am, is out today from Two Dollar Radio. In these intimate and thoughtful essays, Pace offers a personal queer history, an inquiry into human expressivity, and a meditation on the formative influence of popular culture. Beginning with an exploration of the author’s own “queer voice”—and the way social norms encode gender into certain vocal sounds—the collection considers nearly a dozen female performers and how they affected Pace’s worldview, self-conception, and artistic sensibility. Pace approaches his subjects with a mix of memoir, reportage, and critical theory, including Madonna’s engagement with Jewish Kabbalah, Rihanna’s personal and musical “multiplicity,” and even the Pocahontas character from the eponymous Disney film, whose song “Colors of the Wind” enthralled a ten-year-old Pace. Poet and literary critic Wayne Koestenbaum praises I Sing to Use the Waiting: “This impeccable book sends me back, with a renewed heart, to the songs Pace masterfully covers, with a delivery as splendid, as emotionally impressive, as the lauded originals.” Zachary Pace is a writer and editor who lives in New York City. Their writing has been published in BOMB, Bookforum, Boston Review, Literary Hub, the Los Angeles Review of Books, and elsewhere.

1. How long did it take you to write I Sing to Use the Waiting?
I started the first piece in 2016 and finished the last piece in 2023, then spent a year editing with the Two Dollar Radio team. Two weeks before the book went to the printer, I got a round of somewhat heavy edits that ended up bringing the whole thing home in a major way.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book?
I’ve been worried, and I’m worried now, about having revealed too much information about myself and the people in these essays. In the intimacy of the book, I feel very vulnerable.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
I take notes while walking and riding the subway. I e-mail notes to myself while I’m at work during the day, then I’ll transfer the notes to a Word document on my laptop, where I tinker at night. I have a desk in my apartment that’s meant for working on the computer, but I always end up sitting on the couch with my laptop perched on a pile of coffee-table books and my elbows propped on my knees.

4. What are you reading right now?
Why Mariah Carey Matters by Andrew Chan, On Michael Jackson by Margo Jefferson, The Krishnamurti Reader, and The Book of Life: Daily Meditations With J. Krishnamurti.

5. Which author or authors have been influential for you, in your writing of this book in particular or as a writer in general?
Too many to name in one place, but most crucially: Lucie Brock-Broido, Jorie Graham, Richard Siken, Carl Phillips, Maggie Nelson, Wayne Koestenbaum, Hilton Als, Cathy Park Hong, Greil Marcus, and Hanif Abdurraqib.

6. Would you recommend writers pursue an MFA?
I think it’s one good way to meet friends and teachers who will encourage and inspire you. Going to readings, taking some workshops online or in person, joining a book group—these are great ways too.

7. What is one thing that your agent or editor told you during the process of publishing this book that stuck with you?
Eric Obenauf of Two Dollar Radio gave me the first of a few rounds of revisions, and I’m going to include a comment from that Word document here—a comment that galvanized me during the whole yearlong editorial process: “Tie this in to the broader themes of this collection as a whole…to better understand this whitewashing of history, or how music managers try to cover a singer’s identity to better align with a public persona so that it fits within a straight, white, patriarchal view of how things should be in our society. And how this affects queer children struggling to understand their own identity within this framework.” Eric understood what the book was meant to be even better than I did at this point, and I kept returning to these words to remind myself while revising.

8. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of I Sing to Use the Waiting?
I was surprised by how much information I ultimately let go. I’m a completist, through and through, so in the earliest drafts I compiled every detail that felt remotely relevant and tried to keep all the information totally up-to-date. I’m still surprised by how many details that once struck me as interesting and important are no longer part of the book. At some point I felt more comfortable focusing on certain events without having to recreate an exhaustive history.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
Miles and miles of walking. Often when I walk away from the computer, I think of the words I was trying to find, and I have to rush back to my laptop or type them on my phone before I forget. I walk several miles a day and spend that time thinking about whatever I’m working on. And I listen to the musicians I’m writing about, while walking and otherwise, for hours and hours a day—obsessive, repetitive listening is both work and life-affirming pleasure for me.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?
It’s not exactly advice, but a game-changing bit of feedback resonates with me to this day. In my first year as an MFA student, a well-known poet visited to give a guest workshop, and I brought a poem that I was especially proud of to class. The poet didn’t like my poem at all. I realize now that it relied entirely on sound and wordplay and had nothing profound to say. The poet asked me, “What is the price of music?” This question led me to appreciate the value of not only using lyrical language but telling a meaningful story.

Zachary Pace, author of I Sing to Use the Waiting: A Collection of Essays About the Women Singers Who’ve Made Me Who I Am.   (Credit: Jared Buckhiester)

Ten Questions for Kimberly Blaeser

1.16.24

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Kimberly Blaeser, whose new poetry collection, Ancient Light, is out today from the University of Arizona Press. These haunting poems illuminate the nature of loss as it is experienced on multiple levels—personal, familial, cultural, historical—and the ways in which life manages to persist in spite of it. Mixing English and Anishinaabemowin, lyrics and visual poetry, the book also explores the paradoxical power of language. It can be “a salve,” as Blaeser puts it in the book’s opening poem, “Akawe, a prelude,” enabling people to name the dead or communicate pain. But it can also serve as tool of control, regulating the ways in which people express themselves. This is particularly true in the United States, where English was forced upon Indigenous populations. Ancient Light directly confronts the nation’s violent colonial legacy, asking readers to understand “our continent, draw 1491” and how it was “reshape[d] by discovery,     displacement,” as she writes in “Poem on Disappearance.” Yet the book retains hope for a more peaceful and open-hearted future, “an abundance we make / of the broken—when burst becomes seed,” Blaeser writes in “Mazínígwaaso: Florets.” The former poet laureate of Wisconsin and the founding director of In-Na-Po, Indigenous Nations Poets, Kimberly Blaeser is the author of several poetry collections, including Copper Yearning (Holy Cow! Press, 2019). A recipient of a Lifetime Achievement Award from the Native Writers’ Circle of the Americas, Blaeser is an Anishinaabe activist and environmentalist enrolled at White Earth Nation. She is a professor emerita at the University of Wisconsin in Milwaukee and a faculty member of the Institute of American Indian Arts’ MFA program in creative writing.

1. How long did it take you to write Ancient Light?  
I wrote some of the poems in Ancient Light as early as 2016 and had two books that came out since then—Copper Yearning in 2019 and Résister en Dansant in 2020—but the poems didn’t belong to those volumes. So it would be fair to say I have been working on the poems for seven years. The book was a finalist or semifinalist for a couple competitions, so I knew it was close. The experience of the pandemic and awareness of racial injustice heightened by the murder of George Floyd led me to sharpen the premise and movements of the book. The possibility of and need for healing, different pathways, and another way to be in the world grew more urgent both in our physical spaces and in the book as it moved toward its final version.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book?  
Ordering the poems to support the movements of the collection proved the most challenging. Generous early readers and the reviewers for the press all offered advice on reordering. Each idea seemed valuable, but none agreed with the others! As an exercise, I created section titles. This illuminated the bones of the collection. It led to some rearrangement, but I also added some poems and subtracted others. Ultimately I chose to remove the section titles, not wanting to impose a single map on the reader or even on the poems—since I hope the poems will manifest intuitive connections and prove themselves wiser than their transcriber. I did add a poetic prelude, which I view as a map of sorts.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
I often write in kayaks, on the ledge rock at our cabin in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness (BWCAW), in a hammock beneath an ancient oak on our property in Wisconsin, on decks here and there, and also at my desk in my home library. In recent years, I have been blessed to travel to writing residencies—most recently in Italy, where I wrote in the foothills of the Alps and in the mountains as well as in beautiful gardens overlooking Lake Como. All that to say, I often write outdoors, by hand, when it is daylight, with the “where” of my writing often determining the content. I frequently begin my day with coffee, my journal, my camera, and a book, each of which contributes to morning writing. On mornings at BWCAW, I often paddle out with coffee in a thermos to a favorite bay and settle in there. I try to work every day, even if I only produce a few notes or the skeleton of an idea. I have drafted many poems first in my journal. When I have longer writing sessions, I mine those jottings or drafts. This I do frequently at my desk at night when the house is quiet.

4. What are you reading right now?  
I have just begun Brendan Shay Basham’s novel Swim Home to the Vanished. Brendan is both a poet and a prose writer, so his fiction is lush and suggestive like poetry as well as narratively powerful. I am also reading, partly rereading, a collection of poetry by Algerian writer Samira Negrouche, The Olive Trees’ Jazz. Samira writes mainly in French, and this collection is translated by Marilyn Hacker. Even though we live continents apart, I relate to Samira’s embodiment of the tentacles and repercussions of colonization, her understanding of the indelible mark violence leaves on people as well as places, and I appreciate the spiritual allusiveness of the poems.

5. What was your strategy for organizing the poems in this collection?
After its prelude “map,” Ancient Light begins with poems depicting the conditions and consequences of colonization—a possessive mindset that leads to exploitation of resources, of Indigenous bodies, of language itself. It moves then to suggest a turn toward potential sources of healing. Poems embody specific instances of relatedness or of lives illuminated by “ancient light” in the many ways this may be cast or manifested: modes of being embedded in Anishinaabe language for instance, traditional Indigenous knowledge, or patterns of the land itself. Certain poems or particular scenes complicate the human factor, as the book includes both grief and many kinds of loss—some of it personal. Finally the collection gestures toward alternate understandings, ways of measuring, and a different scale of value. The spilled light of tradition remains viable as pathway and tool of survivance—“an abundance we make / of the broken—when burst becomes seed,” as one poem claims.

6. How did you arrive at the title Ancient Light for this collection? 
The title actually arose from a particular encounter, which later become a visual image, now a “picto-poem” in the book with that phrase in the title, “Waaban: ancient light enters.” While canoeing with my son, I made photos of a Great Blue Heron. We came under the spell of the immense bird as it lifted off or landed with great pomp, stalked and swallowed whole yellow-bellied fish, spread its wings and stretched its legs into forever as it flew backlit by sunset sky. When I later looked at the photos, and they seemed anemic compared to the experience itself, I realized we never only see what we see—we always see what we bring to the moment. I brought my understanding of the Anishinaabe Crane Clan and stories of bineshiinyag, or bird relatives, as messengers between Earth and sky. I ultimately created the picto-poem, in which woodland beadwork symbolically becomes the sky and pieces of poetic language wrap themselves around that other way of knowing. I began to think about the ways all our experience is suffused with these ancient understandings. Because visually in that moment the spilling light helped illuminate the internal and external experience, I thought about how long and far light sometimes travels before it reaches us and we apprehend it. From that ruminating, the title arrived, and I understood it as representative of more than that single experience.

7. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Ancient Light?
Although I have often written ekphrastic work, have been experimenting with the layers of text and image I call picto-poems, and work in concrete as well as lyric poetry, I was surprised at how readily these various creative approaches came together. I found they “play well” with one another. I have also been writing and continue to write slight poems, all entitled “The Way We Love Something Small.” I thought of them as a series of poems; but in assembling Ancient Light, I realized they are an aesthetic as much as a form.

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started Ancient Light, what would you say?
Mainly I would say, “Don’t hurry.” I really need to repeat that as a mantra. When I feel inspired by an idea or project, I tend to expect the path to be straightforward. It seldom is and certainly wasn’t in this instance.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
I am Anishinaabe, and I used quite a bit of my Indigenous language, Anishinaabemowin, in Ancient Light. Although I spent early years with grandparents for whom this was a first language, I am still a language learner. I once asked in a poem, “How can you conjugate after forty?” But because I understand the importance of the work of what I call #LanguageBack for the nonprofit I founded (Indigenous Nations Poets), I put in effort to move from “baby” Ojibwe. I incorporated the appropriate prefixes and suffixes that signal relationships, and I worked to carry the embedded language teachings into the poems (even when Anishinaabemowin might not be used itself).

Because, as I mentioned earlier, I often have both camera and pencil on nature adventures, I also upped the ante on my photo work. Photos often help inspire the poems and vice versa. Then I work through the process of bringing them together in diptychs or picto-poems. Even though only a handful of these ultimately made it into the collection, figuring out how to wed the visual and verbal involved my learning some technological razzle-dazzle.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?
I sometimes cling too closely to “sense.” When lamenting this in conversation with one of my writing friends, he suggested I trust my intuition and trust my reader to follow the leaps of that intuition. I remind myself of this advice often.

Kimberly Blaeser, author of Ancient Light  (Credit: John Fisher)

Ten Questions for Cynthia Zarin

1.9.24

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Cynthia Zarin, whose debut novel, Inverno, is out today from Farrar, Straus and Giroux. In this psychologically driven narrative, a woman named Caroline awaits a phone call from her beloved, a man named Alastair. Meanwhile the personal history of each and their passionate but difficult relationship unfolds over several decades. The passages move associatively, contemplating the changes that have taken place over the years, both in the larger world and in Caroline’s and Alastair’s singular and twined existences. Inverno is also a kind of ghost story, as present-day Caroline stands waiting for Alastair’s call in the same spot in Central Park he had roamed as a teenager. The book offers a moving meditation on space, time, and the strange crossings of paths and separations that occur over the course of a life. In the New York Times, Sigrid Nunez praises Inverno’s “elegance and incantatory prose…. The narrator has a riveting, lyrical voice and a deliberately digressive but expertly controlled style.” Cynthia Zarin is the author of five books of poetry, including Orbit (Knopf, 2017), as well as five books for children and two essay collections, including An Enlarged Heart: A Personal History (Anchor, 2013). She teaches at Yale University and lives in New York City.

1. How long did it take you to write Inverno
I began writing what would become Inverno about ten years ago. It started as a letter, and then, over a great while, it became a book.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book? 
I think finding out that it was, indeed, a book! And then, after that, to figure out the structure of the novel and how to chronicle Caroline’s experience in a way that a reader could move with her back and forth in time.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
I try to write in the morning but my schedule is peripatetic, which means that I find time when I can.

4. What are you reading right now? 
Right now I’m reading a marvelous, musical book by Alan Garner called Treacle Walker, about the friendship between a boy with a lazy eye and a rag-and-bone man. Also reading The Order of Time by the Italian physicist, Carlo Rovelli, given to me by a student who knows these questions [about physics] interest me.

5. Which author or authors have been influential for you, in your writing of this book in particular or as a writer in general?  
That would be a very long list. I spent almost all of my childhood and adolescence simply reading, and I am sure that almost everything I’ve read has influenced my work. For Inverno in particular, Hans Christian Anderson, Ibsen, Faulkner, Montale—the list goes on. I am admirer of Natalia Ginzburg and Elizabeth Hardwick. But the list is infinite.

6. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Inverno?
That it was a book, after all! And that many people seem to find their own experiences in Caroline’s predicament.

7. What is one thing your agent or editor told you during the process of publishing this book that stuck with you?
I think that, simply, my agent thought it was a novel: During the time these pages were taking shape, we drew a picture of the structure of the book on a napkin in a London restaurant.

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started Inverno, what would you say?
It is a mistake to think you know what you are doing.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
A portion of the book, if not all of it, occurs when Caroline is waiting for a phone call in Central Park, in the snow. I learned a good deal about the history of the telephone while writing the book, which is really a window into the history of communication.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received? 
Start with what interests you, and keep going. 

Cynthia Zarin, author of Inverno.   (Credit: Sara Barrett)

Ten Questions for Erika Howsare

1.2.24

This week’s Ten Questions features Erika Howsare, whose debut nonfiction book, The Age of Deer: Trouble and Kinship With Our Wild Neighbors, is out now from Catapult. In this insightful mix of history, folklore, reportage, and personal narrative, Howsare considers the lives of deer and their relationship to humans. “Deer speak to our twin American obsessions with death and its denial,” she writes in her introduction, priming the reader for a nuanced exploration of creatures that she says limn the border between flesh and spirit, nature and civilization. As game, deer have long been killed for sustenance or sport. But they also evoke the numinous and are central to various cultural mythologies that venerate them as psychopomps or heavenly messengers. Howsare explores her own encounters with the animals, as a child living in a community of deer hunters outside Pittsburgh and during recent adulthood as a homesteader in rural Virginia; she takes the reader along on her travels to view cave art and observe folk rituals in which deer are central. “They were wild, a word that comes from willed, as in self-willed: passing their own time on earth,” she writes, confronting the fundamental aliveness that people and deer share. Publishers Weekly praises The Age of Deer: “The prose is elegant…. Readers will be enthralled.” Erika Howsare is the author of the poetry collections How Is Travel a Folded Form? (Saddle Road Press, 2018) and, with Kate Schapira, FILL: A Collection (Trembling Pillow Press, 2016). She holds an MFA from Brown University, and her writing has appeared in the Brooklyn Rail, the Los Angeles Review of Books, the Rumpus, and elsewhere. 

1. How long did it take you to write The Age of Deer?
This book feels like it arose from a mysterious place; I don’t remember a singular moment when the idea came to me, and I’ve realized that in some ways its roots go back a long way into my life and family history. But in terms of its actual manifestation: I began to put ideas together in 2019 or so and had a proposal drafted by 2020, including several chapters. In February 2021 Catapult Books offered the book a home, and I committed to finishing the manuscript within eighteen months. After I turned it in, it became clear that I would need to make some massive cuts—and revise, of course—and that process took several months in itself. So altogether about four years, although there were some slower periods in the beginning while it was gestating, and again near the end, when it was with my editors.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book?
I’ve practiced hybrid writing for a long time—literary blendings of poetry and prose—but this book is a different kind of hybrid: It’s definitely prose, but it combines journalistic reporting, researched material about history and science, and cultural studies, along with a bit of memoir. Some of those modes are a lot more familiar to me than others, and I had to push through some insecurity at times about tackling the less comfortable subjects. While deer would seem to be a very defined topic, they really contain multitudes, and managing the vastness of the material, making it into a collage that felt coherent, was the major (and very pleasurable) challenge.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
I almost always write at home, and in the span of writing this book I graduated from working on my bed or couch to having my own tiny, perfect office: major upgrade. I work best in the morning but that preference always needs to be balanced with the realities of homeschooling two kids, ongoing house and homesteading projects, etcetera. Fortunately, for this book, there was always something needing to be done that wasn’t actual composition—planning, correspondence, etcetera—so if I wasn’t feeling inspired or only had thirty minutes, I could make at least a little progress almost every day. Near my deadline I escaped for a weekend at a rented cottage and worked like mad to polish up the chapters. 

4. What are you reading right now?
I just finished Terry Tempest Williams’s When Women Were Birds: Fifty-four Variations on Voice and started Amit Chaudhuri’s Sojourn. Also on deck are Olivia Laing’s Funny Weather: Art in an Emergency, Anne Carson’s Decreation, Miranda Mellis’s The Revisionist, and the latest Brooklyn Rail. I recently loved Joanna Pocock’s Surrender: The Call of the American West and Christina Sharpe’s Ordinary Notes.

5. Which author or authors have been influential for you, in your writing of this book in particular or as a writer in general?
I was very lucky to study with Thalia Field in grad school; during her course on deep ecology was the moment when I thought, “Oh, these are my questions, the ones I’ll be working with for the rest of my life.” Her book Personhood (as in the personhood of animals) certainly influenced The Age of Deer. Rebecca Solnit, John McPhee, Joan Didion, Merrill Gilfillan, and Cole Swensen.

6. Would you recommend writers pursue an MFA?
All I can say is that I’m extremely grateful I had the experience of pursuing an MFA that did not result in debt.

7. What is one thing that your agent or editor told you during the process of publishing this book that stuck with you?
All these folks have been very helpful, but one of the most key pieces of advice came from my editor in the UK, Clare Bullock, who read some early drafts and gently told me to stop writing as though the book would be read by a stern professor. This was so perceptive. In poetry I am, if anything, overconfident. But I realized that in tackling this nonfiction project I had some anxiety about getting it right, and some part of me was back in school worrying about my grades.

8. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of The Age of Deer?
As I said, the origins of the book are obscure to me. I thought I had chosen to do it because it was an interesting topic that would let me ask all these questions and make all these points. By the time I finished I actually felt that the topic had chosen me. Writing the book has led me toward certain ways of being and certain relationships to the world that I now realize I have needed for a long time. Physically and spiritually, it has opened doors of perception. Since deer have often played the role of messenger or guide in world mythologies, this has a pretty eerie resonance.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
There was definitely a ton of research, of both the reading kind (books, scientific articles, news stories) and the experiential kind (I took a number of trips and reported on things like hunting, fawn rehab, and roadkill compost systems). I always had an eye out for deer in stories and art and, of course, real life. Running and yoga and being with my people keep me anchored. I also kept writing poetry throughout the project and took a great course through Orion magazine, taught by Alison Hawthorn Deming, that allowed me to reflect on the writing process more broadly, as did a companion project: making a podcast miniseries called If You See a Deer.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?
When I was in college and showed a few early poems to my dad, he told me, very simply, to keep going.

Erika Howsare, author of The Age of Deer: Trouble and Kinship With our Wild Neighbors.   (Credit: Meredith Coe)

Ten Writers on Writing Advice: 2023

12.26.23

For the last six years Poets & Writers Magazine has published Ten Questions, a weekly series that interviews authors of new works of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. The idea is to celebrate the publication of their books while sharing insights about their professional journeys, offering the magazine’s readers both inspiration and practical tools to apply to their own craft and careers. Authors reveal useful, surprising, and sometimes touching details about their writing habits, artistic influences, experience working with agents and editors, and more about their path to publishing everything from debut books to the latest title in an already expansive oeuvre. As 2023 draws to a close, we share some of our favorite responses this year to the question that speaks directly to our desire for some guidance through the often-dark labyrinth of the literary life: What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?  

“To write your story because no one else can write it. Writers approach the same person or event or era of historical significance through their own unique lens. When we lean into where our hearts guide us, the words on the page reflect our style. It is important to understand craft rules and to read widely, because we see how others follow, and break, those rules. But ultimately our work should reflect our own vision and our own voice.” —Jamila Minnicks, Moon Rise Over New Jessup

“‘Risk clarity.’ —Vievee Francis” —Gabrielle Bates, author of Judas Goat

“The late poet Robert Creeley once turned to me—in light of some self-deprecating remark I had made about my most recent book and projects—and told me, ‘Be serious!’ In a world that seems to care very little about what writers get up to, I have done my best to take that to heart.” —Laird Hunt, author of The Wide Terraqueous World

“As I write in the book, frustrated after receiving a C-minus in Nikki Giovanni’s advanced poetry class in college, I scheduled an appointment with her during her office hours. She told me, ‘Kwame, I can teach you how to write poetry, but I cannot teach you how to be interesting.’ While nineteen-year-old me thought those were pretty harsh words, it turns out that I have spent my entire writerly life walking around as an eager and engaged participant so I’d have something worth writing about.” —Kwame Alexander, author of Why Fathers Cry at Night: A Memoir in Love Poems, Recipes, Letters, and Remembrances

“All rules of writing are there to be broken. Otherwise, if we just simply follow all the rules, it’s not art: It’s ChatGPT, or artificial intelligence (AI). The paradox is that while we’re still learning to write, we do have to learn the rules. Only then can we become good enough to break them and form our own rules. I wonder if that’s what would differentiate human writers from AI.” —Nathan Go, author of Forgiving Imelda Marcos

“In Beyond the Writers’ Workshop: New Ways to Write Creative Nonfiction, Carol Bly writes, ‘Literature has low enough standards. But we can avoid writing the worst literature if we make ourselves ask ourselves, every two or three sentences we write, “Is that what I really think?’’”  —Stacy Jane Grover, author of Tar Hollow Trans

“Read more than you write.” —Robyn Schiff, author of Information Desk: An Epic

“I think a lot about something Kimberly King Parsons and Chelsea Bieker taught in their class called ‘Rejection, Revision, and Renewal,’ especially as I move into promoting the collection. I even wrote it on a note card and taped it to my desk: ‘Keep your head down and shut out the noise, because nothing beats a good writing day.’” —Megan Kamalei Kakimoto, author of Every Drop Is a Man’s Nightmare

“Have fun. Make friends.” —Curtis Chin, author of Everything I Learned, I Learned in a Chinese Restaurant

“Marry rich! (I didn’t take that advice.) The second-best piece of advice was to start something new when I’m in a rut. We have to have a little fun, too, if we want to stay in love with what we do. After The Hurricane Book is out, you best believe I’ll be working on some sci-fi erotica for a bit.” — Claudia Acevedo-Quiñones, author of The Hurricane Book: A Lyric History

Clockwise from upper left: Jamila Minnicks, Gabrielle Bates, Laird Hunt, Kwame Alexander, Nathan Go, Stacy Jane Grover, Robyn Schiff, Megan Kamalei Kakimoto, Curtis Chin, Claudia Acevedo-Quiñones. (Credit: Minnicks: Samia Minnicks; Bates: Liesa Cole; Hunt: Eva Sikelianos Hunt; Alexander: Portia Wiggins; Go: Crest Contrata; Grover: Elizabeth Keith; Schiff: Nicole Craine; Kakimoto: Van Wishingrad; Chin: Michelle Li, Studio Plum Photography)

Ten Writers on the Books They Are Reading: 2023

12.19.23

During 2023, Poets & Writers Magazine’s weekly Ten Questions series interviewed fifty writers about the path to publishing their new books of fiction, poetry, and creative nonfiction. We asked them about their writing habits, the challenges they encountered while completing their manuscripts, surprises they faced along the way, and more. In this week’s installment of Ten Questions we share ten responses writers offered this year to one of our favorite questions: What are you reading right now? If you have a little extra time this holiday season—and we hope you do—may these writers’ reading lists inspire your own: Head to your local bookstore, library, or favorite online retailer to pick up a few books to see you through these last days of the year.

1.The Biography of X by Catherine Lacey…. It’s wildly ambitious and thrilling on the sentence level.” —Maggie Millner, author of Couplets

2. “I’m reading Mott Street by Ava Chin. Chin traces the history of her family, going back decades, from coast to coast. It’s a personal history and offers insight about American history through the lens of her family.” —Victor LaValle, author of Lone Women

3. “I’m reading the novel Roses, in the Mouth of a Lion by Bushra Rehman, which I knew would be an emotional and lyrical tour-de-force.” —Chaitali Sen, author of A New Race of Men From Heaven

4. “Rereading Susanne K. Langer’s Problems of Art: Ten Philosophical Lectures (well, I’m always picking the book up), my husband’s Constellation Route, and Garrett Hongo’s The Perfect Sound: A Memoir in Stereo. I just started Deena Mohamed’s graphic novel (I love graphic novels), Shubeik Lubeik, and just finished Peter Orner’s Still No Word From You: Notes in the Margin and Kathleen Collins’ Whatever Happened to Interracial Love. I’m in the middle of Mark Whitaker’s Saying It Loud: 1966—the Year Black Power Challenged the Civil Rights Movement. I read several books at once because my attention is constantly shifting and I want to see how one text connects, or doesn’t, to another. I’m moving in and out of my colleagues’ texts; I am determined to read all of their books—and that is a lot of reading. On my desks and tables are perhaps more than twenty five books. Like any writer! Monica Youn’s From From. Clint Smith. Kyle Dargan. And on and on. And I am on pins and needles waiting to read Dee Matthews’s Bread and Circus.” —Vievee Frances, author of The Shared World

5. “Blake Butler’s memoir, Molly, out this fall. It’s bleak and beautiful. Also the writings of painter William N. Copley, Percival Everett’s Dr. No, and Nell Dunn’s Talking to Women.” —Emma Cline, author of Guest

6. “I have exceedingly broad reading interests and some rules around how I read. I tend to decompress after writing a book of poems by reading work outside of poetry for a short while. But we are in the midst of such a rich publishing year, I couldn’t resist! I just read Vievee Francis’s The Shared World and Charif Shanahan’s Trace Evidence—both marvelous. My ancestral research has led to reading, and rereading, historical slave narratives and accounts, including: The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano, Or Gustavus Vassa, The African, Written by HimselfThe History of Mary PrinceCelia, A Slave Trial; and a volume of collected works titled Slave Testimony: Two Centuries of Letters, Speeches, Interviews, and Autobiographies edited by John W. Blassingame. I usually read something different at night than during the day. Recently I have been reading chapters of How to Be Authentic: Simone de Beauvoir and the Quest for Fulfillment by Skye C. Cleary, Todorov’s Mikhail Bakhtin: The Dialogical Principle, Jay Murphy’s Artaud’s Metamorphosis: From Hieroglyphs to Bodies Without Organs, and Susan A. Glenn’s Female Spectacle: The Theatrical Roots of Modern Feminism.” —Airea D. Matthews, author of Bread and Circus

7. “I seem to be perpetually rereading The Transit of Venus by Shirley Hazzard. I’m also rereading Angels by Denis Johnson as well as three books for a seminar I’m teaching this fall: King LearThe Age of Innocence, and Song of Solomon. I just picked up Francisco by Alison Mills Newman and To the North by Elizabeth Bowen.” —Jamel Brinkley, author of Witness

8. “I’m reading The Other Slavery: The Uncovered Story of Indian Enslavement in America by Andrés Reséndez.” —Myriam Gurba, author of Creep: Accusations and Confessions

9. “I’ve just recently pivoted to read the finalists for the National Book Award—in various genres—whose books I hadn’t yet read. But I am also reading Touching the Art by Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore, Greenland by David Santos Donaldson, and some advance copies of forthcoming books: The Great Divide by Cristina Henríquez and The Long Run: A Creative Inquiry by Stacey D’Erasmo, about artistic stamina, among other things.” —Justin Torres, author of Blackouts

10.The Pole, the new novel by J. M. Coetzee.” —Sigrid Nunez, author of The Vulnerables

Clockwise from upper left: Maggie Millner, Victor LaValle, Chaitali Sen, Vievee Francis, Emma Cline, Sigrid Nunez, Justin Torres, Myriam Gurba, Jamel Brinkley, and Airea D. Matthews. (Credit: Millner: Sarah Wagner Miller; LaValle: Teddy Wolff; Sen; Paige Wilks; Francis: Matthew Olzmann; Cline: DV DeVincentis; Nunez: Marion Ettlinger Higher; Gurba: Geoff Cordner; Brinkley: Daniele Molajoli;  Matthews: Ryan Collerd)

Ten Questions for Jennifer Savran Kelly

12.12.23

This week’s Ten Questions features Jennifer Savran Kelly, whose debut novel, Endpapers, is out now in paperback from Algonquin. In this literary mystery, Dawn, a book conservator at a New York City museum in the early aughts, finds herself in the midst of a life crisis, feeling perplexed about her gender, romantic relationship, and artistic career. Running out of time to prepare the work she is expected to show in an upcoming gallery exhibition, Dawn finds something that offers a clue to all three of her problems: a love letter written on one side of the cover of a 1950s lesbian novel, which had been torn off from the original book and stashed behind the endpapers of another. Compelled to find the letter writer, Dawn confronts a queer past that is even more oppressive than the present. This new historical knowledge inspires Dawn to take artistic action with a project challenging popular queer narratives in literature. Publishers Weekly praises Endpapers, calling it “richly imagined…. [I]t’s Dawn’s evolution as an artist and a person that gives the novel its beating heart. Readers will find lots to love.” Jennifer Savran Kelly is a bookbinder and production editor at Cornell University Press. A winner of a grant from the Barbara Deming Memorial Foundation, their work has appeared in Black Warrior Review, Hobart, Potomac Review, and elsewhere.

1. How long did it take you to write Endpapers
I had a vision for the story in 2014, but when I sat down at my computer, all that came out was one very long, winding sentence. I thought it was terrible, so I closed the document and didn’t open it again until two years later, when Trump was running for president and it looked like he might actually win. Suddenly, because the main themes of the book were gender fluidity and Judaism, I felt a greater sense of urgency to tell the story. I finished writing it in 2019, but after many more revisions with my agent and editor, I wrote the actual last word sometime in 2022.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book? 
I wanted to tell a story about different instances in history, both recent and further back, of oppression of the LGBTQ+ community and other marginalized groups. But I was afraid I would end up writing a treatise instead of a novel. As I researched the Holocaust, the Lavender Scare, and post-9/11 New York City, I paid careful attention to personal accounts of what it was like during those eras—and not only about events—so that I would be able to create characters who felt alive on the page, with personal motivations and desires. As interested as I am in these histories, I didn’t want to simply report on them. I don’t mean to diminish the important role of historians; as a fiction writer, however, I wanted to create a world in which readers could envision themselves. I hope I was able to achieve that to some extent!

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
I have a small, antique desk next to a glass door in the corner of my living room. I wish I could say I write there, but more often I write cozied up on my couch, usually with one or both of my cats snuggled nearby. I work full time and have a teenage kid, so I do almost all my writing in the early hours of the morning before anyone else in my house wakes up and before my workday begins. Occasionally I find time to write on weekends, or I get away for weekend retreats when I need to make more progress on something.

4. What are you reading right now?   
I have the honor of reading an advance reader’s copy of the book Cactus Country: A Boyhood Memoir by Zoë Bossiere, forthcoming from Abrams Press. I can’t wait until everyone gets the chance to read it! I’m also listening to an audiobook version of Jane Eyre, which somehow I’ve never read. I’m so happy I’ve finally made my way to it; the narrator is Anna Bentinck.

5. Which author or authors have been influential for you, in your writing of this book in particular or as a writer in general?
In general, Marilynne Robinson, Jorge Luis Borges, and Miriam Toews. I first read Robinson’s Housekeeping in college, and everything about it—from the prose to the story—just floored me. If I’d dared to think of myself as a writer back then, that book would have inspired me to write a novel much earlier. Toews was a later, accidental find. I was taken by the cover of All My Puny Sorrows on a bookstore shelf, and I’m glad I trusted my instincts. It’s a great story, but I’m also really impressed with Toews’s craft. I never imagined I could laugh my way through a novel about someone’s sister wanting to commit suicide, but Toews finds many moments of humor in the grief.

While I wrote Endpapers, I reread James Baldwin’s Giovanni’s Room and discovered Alexander Chee’s Edinburgh. Though they’re very different books, the beautiful writing and the passion in both inspired me greatly. I also reread portions of Female Masculinity by Jack Halberstam, which I’d read in college. It was the first book that made me feel like I could begin to understand my feelings about my gender.

6. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Endpapers?
Until I found a publishing home for Endpapers, a main subplot focused on the Holocaust. The editors at Algonquin liked the story, but they thought it would serve the novel better if I replaced the Holocaust storyline with one from a less-written-about time. My first reaction was resistance. I’d already done a lot of revising, and it meant changing about a third of the book. But their reasoning made sense to me. A subplot about a Holocaust survivor can’t help but overshadow a main plot about someone trying to come to terms with their gender in the early 2000s.

A brief internet search brought my attention to the Lavender Scare, which I hadn’t known much about. During the McCarthy era, the government sowed a moral panic about homosexuality, resulting in thousands of government employees losing their jobs. The tactics used to discover people’s sexuality were kept secret and trials were held in private. People who were accused of being homosexual or even associating with homosexuals were denied access to information about their own cases. When the Lavender Scare finally ended, after decades, many of the government files were destroyed.

In my research I also discovered that the invention of the queer pulp novel had overlapped with the Lavender Scare, allowing people in the LGBTQ+ community to both see themselves in literature for the first time and to find one another. Ultimately this allowed some groups to organize. Within twenty-four hours of learning about these two things, I couldn’t wait to revise Endpapers. The new setting also gave me an opportunity to tie the subplot deeper into the main plot, by drawing a meaningful bookbinding connection between the two characters.

7. What is one thing that your agent or editor told you during the process of publishing this book that stuck with you?
The first time I spoke with my agent, they said one of the things they liked best about Endpapers was that Dawn, the main character, is messy and human and not a model of queer perfection. I wrote Dawn as someone who’s weathered her fair share of difficulty and who has anxiety, but I have a lot of empathy for her, and it surprised me to learn along the way that some readers think she’s a real jerk. Although I can certainly see their point, I struggled because I didn’t want to sanitize her for the sake of making a likeable character, yet I wanted readers to sympathize with her, at least to some degree. My agent’s feedback gave me the courage to move ahead with a character who doesn’t depend on having a consistently kind demeanor to demonstrate that queer people—and all people everywhere—deserve dignity.

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started Endpapers, what would you say?
Believe in the process. Have patience and keep an open mind. Look for the agents and editors who share your vision for the work and trust them.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
I did a fair amount of research—first on the Holocaust, then the Lavender Scare and queer pulp fiction. I also had to remind myself of the popular culture and headlines from 2003; it’s amazing how much has changed in twenty years, especially the technology.

Less tangibly, I had to do a lot of self-reflection because, like Dawn, I didn’t have language like “nonbinary” or “genderqueer” when I began writing the book. I’m pansexual, and I’ve pretty much always questioned my own gender and played around with androgyny, but I never knew what to call that, so I wasn’t confident I had a right to be telling this story. It forced me to face a lot of thoughts and feelings I’d tried to put aside many years ago.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received? 
There have been two, and I can’t choose between them! One is for long-form writing: Keep going, and don’t look back until you get to the end. Make notes all you want, but don’t revise until you complete the first draft. I’m sure this doesn’t work for everyone, but it works for me—although I cheat from time to time when inspiration calls for it or when I know a revision will actually help me move forward. The second is to find a way to make your main character do the one thing they’re most afraid of or that goes against everything they’ve ever thought they would do.

Jennifer Savran Kelly, author of Endpapers.   (Credit: Darcy Rose)

Ten Questions for Melissa Rivero

12.5.23

Today’s installment of Ten Questions features Melissa Rivero, whose new novel, Flores and Miss Paula, is out today from Ecco. Three years after the death of patriarch Martín, his widow, Paula, and their adult daughter, Flores, are living together in a New York City apartment, a cramped space that magnifies their clashing personalities and old resentments. But their disputes are more a function of generational and cultural divides than real animosity: Paula, a Peruvian immigrant, wants her daughter to marry and settle down, while Flores is equally flummoxed by her mother’s approach to the opposite sex. Financial insecurity ratchets up the tension as Paula’s retail job does not offer much opportunity and Flores’s student loans have her working long hours and considering unorthodox methods for paying off her debt. Meanwhile Flores begins to question how well she knew her parents when she comes across a note from Paula to Martín that implies her mother might have been hiding secrets from him. The women must find a way to unite, however, when their landlord kicks them out of their apartment—a shared challenge that will force the duo to come to terms with each another, their shared past, and uncertain futures. Publishers Weekly praises Flores and Miss Paula: “It all hangs together nicely, setting the stage for a surprisingly moving conclusion. This is a treat.” Melissa Rivero is the author of The Affairs of the Falcóns (Ecco, 2019). Winner of the 2019 New American Voices Award and a 2020 International Latino Book Award, she is a graduate of New York University and Brooklyn Law School, where she was an editor of the Brooklyn Law Review. She lives in Brooklyn, New York, with her family.       

1. How long did it take you to write Flores and Miss Paula
About four years. It started as a short story when I was in Kweli’s Art of the Short Story Workshop, back in late 2017. I quickly realized it was not a short story. I wrote the bulk of the manuscript during COVID-19 quarantine and finished it in the fall of 2021.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book? 
I found it challenging to write about Martín, the father. My dad had cancer, and for years I did my best to avoid revisiting his illness. Then the pandemic hit. I was home, in a small apartment in Brooklyn, helping my kids with school on Zoom while simultaneously working a very intense full-time job. I didn’t see my mother or any of my family for months. Friends here in New York and family in Peru died. A lot of things came up for me. Writing kept me grounded, but it also reopened some wounds, as it often does. 

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
It depends on what’s happening in my life. When I had a full-time job, I wrote on the subway and on the weekends. I edited the day’s work at night, once the kids were asleep. During quarantine, I wrote for thirty minutes a day—between breakfast and the start of the kids’ school day online. Now I write every weekday for about one to two hours. I can’t really go for longer stretches than that. Sometimes I write on weekends, but I try to save those days for reading, spiritual work, and long walks.

4. What are you reading right now?   
I’m reading The Essential June Jordan and listening to the novel Nuestra parte de noche (Our Share of Night) by Mariana Enríquez. I’m also a comic book fan and just finished Dark X-Men, #4.

5. Which author or authors have been influential for you, in your writing of this book in particular or as a writer in general?
So many. But generally Cristina Garcia, Isabel Allende, and Gabriel García Márquez. Hernan Diaz blows my mind too. I love poetry and flip through a collection daily. I usually reach for Ada Limón, Natalie Diaz, or Patricia Smith’s work. And Jane Austen. I revisit her work regularly.

6. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Flores and Miss Paula?
Paula surprised me! When I first started writing this book, I thought Paula would be just one of many characters in a Flores-centered novel, but she had other plans. I kept hearing this woman commenting on Flores and her life. She whispered to me like one of my tías sitting next to me on the sofa at a house party. Always with something to say! I had to give her more space on the page.

7. What is one thing that your agent or editor told you during the process of publishing this book that stuck with you?
My agent, Julia Kardon, reminded me that I can and will write another book, regardless of how this one does. When you publish a book, you inevitably worry about how it will be received, if it will do “well”—whatever that means to you, your publisher, etcetera. I appreciated that kind of support from her because the truth is I still have a bit of imposter syndrome, and publishing in general is a trip.

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started Flores and Miss Paula, what would you say?
Try to have fun! Even when the world seems like it’s falling apart and you’re feeling down, go back to the work. You’ll find joy there, or find the parts of you that you need to see and acknowledge. Both are important.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
I interviewed several people, including folks with similar backgrounds and jobs as the characters in the novel. I also kept my job, even though people were quitting left and right during the pandemic. I’m not sure I could’ve finished the novel if I didn’t have a steady paycheck—so much of the world felt uncertain at the time. In the end, though, I was burnt out. But I promised myself that if I sold this book I would quit the day job, and I did. I might have to go back to a full-time job, but at least now I have a better sense of what kind of setup would work for me at this point in my life.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received? 
“Butt in chair.” It’s what writer M. Evelina Galang told me once. The only way you’re going to write something is by actually writing. I have back issues, so I alternate between my butt in the chair and standing. But the point is that I get to my desk and write.

 

Melissa Rivero, author of Flores and Miss Paula.   (Credit: Bartosz Potocki)

Ten Questions for James W. Jennings

11.28.23

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features James W. Jennings, whose novel Wings of Red is out now from Soft Skull Press. In this autofictional tale, a substitute teacher, writer, and artist named June Papers finds himself homeless in “New City,” a version of New York City. Despite his “half-a-million-dollar education” and immense talent, socioeconomic circumstances—including a felony record that frustrates his ability to find steady work—have left him with “no real next move except walking and wishing.” Readers follow the loquacious June as he navigates New City’s streets and the characters he encounters there. Some of those characters are students and faculty at the schools where he continues to teach on a substitute basis, the truth of his dire circumstances largely invisible. All the while, June is recording his journey, jotting down his observations and reflections, offering a running, metafictional commentary that at times evokes Beat narratives like On the Road. “Living is quite the adventure, the moon’s whipping around us, we’re ripping around the sun, and we hardly feel a thing,” June writes early in the novel as he cruises through New City’s subway. June’s voyage, however, is no madcap cross-country trip but rather an exercise in survival, one that exposes the flimsiness of American ideals like meritocracy, the value of higher education, and bootstraps individualism. Kirkus praises Wings of Red: “Jennings’ distinct style can be jarring at first, but the reader will quickly sink into his rhythm and appreciate the lively nature of his present-tense verbiage and his quick syntax.” The author of the novel Strays, James W. Jennings holds an MFA from Brooklyn College in New York City and works as a high school English teacher in Oak Bluffs, Massachusetts.

1. How long did it take you to write Wings of Red
The core of Wings took a little less than a year to write. I’d been training to write a book a year since I was seventeen or eighteen, and Wings was my real go at it. Most of Wings was written in one long, maniacal block of time. I did not know I’d spend thirteen years molding and sculpting it.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book? 
I’ve been thinking about this question a lot lately. I have different responses. At first I thought the most difficult part about writing Wings was living through the life I had to live while writing it. This much is true and expressed in the work itself, but the more I feel through it now, and think about those last few edits, the more I’m made aware that the writing itself was also difficult. I struggled with the urge to tame my voice in order to appease America-at-large as the publication date approached, and it felt pretty nasty. There’s nothing worse to me than that feeling you have when you know you’re being fake. I try to avoid that at all costs. Writing is like running to me; I enjoy neither, really, but I need to do both every day to feel healthy and know where I stand.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
I write every day. Religiously. My literature isn’t too far from my journaling, stylistically, so I’m always on. I wake up, pray, write my dreams down, go running, run errands, write, create, eat, blah, blah, blah. Repeat.

4. What are you reading right now? 
I am not reading. I’m busy running and writing and trying to be nice to people while folks around me seem to be losing their minds; 2023 has been rough. To be honest, I haven’t found many books lately which speak truth to light the way Wings—or even Strays, my first novel—does for me. As arrogant as it may sound, I’d one-hundred-percent rather reread my own work. Or The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. I always reread The Alchemist.

5. Which author or authors have been influential for you, in your writing of this book in particular or as a writer in general?
I love Toni Morrison. Ousmane Sembène, the Senegalese filmmaker, inspired me with his courage and collaborative spirit. Bob Marley. I was born the day following his death, on Mother’s Day in 1981. Lynne Tillman wriiites. Alex Garland, the English novelist and filmmaker, inspired me because he was so young and successful, and I had similar ambitions. Initially I thought he was kind of old, being published at twenty-seven. The Sun Also Rises left quite an impact on me. The Biblical character Solomon and Ecclesiastes. I love Paulo Coelho. I love Amiri Baraka for writing Blues People (now known as Black Music). I got to interview his son Mayor Ras J. Baraka of Newark, New Jersey, and he’s just as dope as his father. I’m inspired by anyone who’s putting pen to page these days. It takes a lot of courage to care enough about what you think and feel to put it down permanently and watch it have to stand the test of time.

6. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Wings of Red?
The whole experience still feels otherworldly. I grew so used to writing Wings that Wings being published is perhaps the biggest surprise. It’s hard to remember what was surprising before it was published. Oh, I have it. What was surprising while writing Wings was how much I worried about other people’s opinions and how liberating it was to feel free to be me. The writing when I was in between leases and scraping for every penny felt oddly euphoric and grounding at the same time.

7. Would you recommend writers pursue an MFA?
If it’s free, sure. Why not? If not, tens of thousands of dollars in loans for a fine arts degree in a capitalistic society is not a humane recommendation. Whenever I come across a writer at that stage, I try to gauge if they can’t not write. If they’re obsessed, like most of us writers, it doesn’t matter either way. Otherwise I give them grace and space and hope they have a kid in time to sidetrack them from putting another half-hearted work of literature into the world.

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started Wings of Red, what would you say?
I would say, “Everything you’re ashamed of now will become your superpower in the future. Experience is your inheritance. You’re one of the richest people in the world. Everything you’re embarrassed by now will become a gem of honor once you see how powerful truth really is. You are royalty. Learn to love your story. You’re the living dream of your ancestors.”

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
I created a nonprofit, 49th Hour Workshop, to publish Wings. I invested thousands of dollars into Wings of Red merchandise (including ethically made clothing, postcards, stickers, shades with little wings on them, and other things). I created worlds and ecosystems for Wings to exist well before I was finished with the first draft; then I had to pivot, knowing it wasn’t time for the book yet and had to find another way to execute the novel. I knew Wings had the potential to change the world because every idea that came from trying to create a safe and nurturing environment for it ended up being somewhat successful. With Wings I was initially a decade too early, but I learned invaluable lessons while working on it. And I still have a lot of the Wings merchandise—which I have a lot of fun giving away.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received? 
Ecclesiastes. All of Ecclesiastes is great advice—jaded but true. Also, one day in workshop at the conference organized by the journal Callaloo, Percival Everett told us that we were treating writing like karate or kung fu, and warned us against sticking to so many rules: “Writing is a street fight,” he said. You do what you have to do, basically.

 

James W. Jennings, author of Wings of Red.   (Credit: Rose Margetson)

Ten Questions for Kimberly Grey

11.21.23

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Kimberly Grey, whose debut essay collection, A Mother Is an Intellectual Thing, will be published on December 5 by Persea Books. In this lyrical exploration of motherhood, the parent-child relationship, and language, Grey blends memoir and critical theory to tell a personal story and investigate its meanings for the self and within the larger culture. The narrative moves back and forth in time, from the narrator’s life in the present to consider experiences from childhood through the recent past, particularly involving the author’s troubled interactions with her nuclear family. A chronicle of grief filtered through the mind of an academic and poet, the book charts an intellectual’s attempts to assuage the trauma of loss by considering what great thinkers—from Roland Barthes to C. D. Wright—have said on that and other proximal subjects. The book also functions as a metacommentary on the efficacy of writing and verbal communication, particularly in the face of obliterating sorrow: “It’s taken me thirty years to understand the rules of my mother, ” Grey writes, deploying grammar as a metaphor to understand interpersonal dynamics. “Mostly unspoken. Mostly unfollowable: be my mirror, don’t be my mirror. You are not wanted here, but you are not to leave. Verb contradictions. It’s why I so desire to understand mother as a verb.” Kimberly Grey is the author of the poetry collections Systems for the Future of Feeling (2020) and The Opposite of Light (2016), both published by Persea books. She is the recipient of Stanford University’s Wallace Stegner Fellowship, a teaching lectureship from Stanford, and a Civitella Ranieri Fellowship. Her work has appeared in A Public Space, Kenyon Review, Tin House, and other journals. She is currently a visiting professor of poetry at Franklin and Marshall College in Lancaster, Pennsylvania.

1. How long did it take you to write A Mother Is an Intellectual Thing?  
I became estranged from my entire family in August 2015. About six months later, in early 2016, I began writing the initial sections of the book. I was too traumatized during those early months to write anything, but that entire first year was just about creating little snippets of writing. I was a fellow at Civitella Ranieri in Italy during fall 2016, and that is when the book began in earnest. I wrote the title on my bulletin board in my studio so that I would begin recognizing it as a book and I’d pass by it every morning when I went to make my tea and toast. It became like an echo that felt more like a real sound every day. By spring 2021 the book was fully formed, though I tweaked it a bit until I had no choice but to turn in the final version to my editor. So all in all, it took about five years to complete.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book?  
I was conditioned from an early age to never speak out against anyone in my family, to keep family secrets, to never criticize my mother or hold her accountable for anything. This was a kind of implicit, insidious grooming that started in early childhood, so the idea of writing the truth of how I was treated by my mother was terrifying, almost to the point of paralysis. I had to continually give myself permission to write about my true, lived experiences with abuse and scapegoating and how traumatizing and life-altering it has been. But I do think some small fragments of fear never went away, and so the book does employ intellectualization as a sort of protective mask. That made things a little less challenging. Or at least allowed space for the book to happen.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
I write in my home office mostly. I’m not really a coffee-shop writer, and I tend to not apply for residencies much, as I prefer my own familiar space. I need complete silence to really concentrate on language and form. It takes time to get into that headspace, so I don’t write as often as other writers. I try to make a point to set aside three hours a week for writing, sometimes Sunday mornings. But if I don’t feel like writing during that time, I’ll read or do something else. I’m very much a write-when-it-comes kind of writer. Which often means slower production. But I have no interest in being prolific. I’ve gone months without writing anything. I’ve also written twenty poems in one month. It’s all just dependent on the outside factors and forces of teaching and life.

4. What are you reading right now?  
I’m currently reading Elaine Scarry’s Dreaming by the Book. It’s this interesting amalgamation of literary criticism, philosophy, and cognitive psychology that explores how writers create art through the act of mental composition. She asks, “By what miracle is a writer able to incite us to bring forth mental images that resemble in their quality not our own daydreaming but our own (much more freely practiced) perceptual acts?” I’m really interested in her assertion that “our freely practiced imaginative acts bear less resemblance to our freely practiced perceptual acts than to our constrained imaginative acts occurring under authorial direction.” The book is teaching me something about perceptual agency that aligns itself with hybrid-genre work.

5. Which author or authors have been influential for you, in your writing of this book in particular or as a writer in general?  
Probably most central to all my work is Anne Carson. She is a true hybridist, creating books that are artifacts, art-objects, and amalgamations of poetry, art, opera, translation, image, etcetera. I like how many of her books aren’t even classifiable, employing so many different disciplines and modalities that the book asserts its own categorization. For me, meaning is multiplied by the sheer multitude of approaches and disciplines. Other writers that have greatly informed this book and my work in general include Renee Gladman, Roland Barthes, Etel Adnan, and Maggie Nelson.

6. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of A Mother Is an Intellectual Thing
I was surprised at how hybrid the book became. I started off truly wanting to write a more narrative book of essays. But the more research I did into trauma theory, the more I realized that writing about trauma requires an entirely different approach to narrative and progress. The idea of any kind of continuity or story advancement felt impossible while in the throes of severe post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). When one is traumatized they are literally stuck, so much so that many trauma therapies work on “unfreezing” stuck memories from the brain using bilateral stimulation (sometimes through eye movements, sometimes through hand buzzers). So the book became this exercise in a different kind of progress, a progression of the mind trying to process and understand trauma. Because of this I found myself moving among prose, poetry, and image; each became its own experimental improvisation toward understanding, toward eventual meaning.

7. What is the earliest memory that you associate with the book?
I read some very early essays in this book to my friend, the wonderful poet Spencer Reece. We were both living at Civitella and walked down the backside of the castle into Umbertide to have a coffee in the center of town. We sat across from each other on these sweet, little sofas, and I read aloud to him in this public space, loud enough that other people could hear me. This was a sort of induction into the work one day becoming public. Afterward we went to this little church in the square, and Spencer, an ordained priest, held my hand and said a prayer for me to overcome my pain. That’s when I knew, for sure, I’d finish the book. No matter what complications or challenges in writing came, I had to write it.

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started A Mother Is an Intellectual Thing, what would you say? 
This is impossible for me to answer because this is a book I never thought I would have to write. I could never have imagined I’d be exiled and dislocated from my entire family. It was something completely unfathomable to me. I also think there is no “earlier me” that I could possibly access or imagine anymore. Trauma makes before-and-after versions of us, whether we like it or not. For me, my life feels like it has been split into two, and I no longer have access to my before-life or who I was before this estrangement. So the only way to answer this question is to access the me that I was immediately after the estrangement, those first six months when I couldn’t write anything. If I’m being completely honest, I think that I was hoping that this wasn’t real, that my family would want me back and there wouldn’t be a story to write. That my trauma would be corrected by them. That I would—in some magical way—be told I was actually a loved and valued daughter, sister, aunt. The book only came once I realized that was never going to happen, no matter how hard I wished it would. So I would say to that person: You are going to write the book, and it won’t feel like a relief. It won’t cure your pain. It won’t make the world alright or take away your suffering. But it will be the first time you’ve really had a voice. The first time you let yourself write something that feels necessary. And that means something.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
I wrote this book while completing my PhD, and my entrance into theoretical research—including trauma, narrative, and psychoanalytic theory—were central to the book’s making. Melding research with memoir and poetry was a new challenge, but it added a sense of veracity, even authenticity to the writing. I feel like the polyvocal conversations I have with other writers, philosophers, artists, and theorists helped to authenticate my own experiences. I also feel like I became a smarter and more well-rounded creative writer by broadening my knowledge of theory and literary criticism.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received? 
My first poetry professor, Stephen Dunn, told me that I had to learn to love lines and sentences as much as ideas. I don’t think I fully understood what he meant back then, but now I know he was instructing me to fall in love with the tension between the line and the grammatical sentence; how the unit of the line itself manifests as a unit of meaning, independent of the sentence but married to it as well: two distinct manifestations of meaning. When I was at Stanford University, the poet Eavan Boland once told me, “If you ignore your autobiography, you will never become an authentic poet.” At the time I did not believe her. I was even angered by her comment. I only realize now that she was granting me permission to write about my life and my family—something I had been conditioned since childhood not to do. I prided myself on my “fictional constructions” and asserted that I came from the Wallace Stevens school of thought, regarding poetry as “the supreme fiction.” But that’s because I did not yet have permission to write about my life. I didn’t think I could. She gave me that, and I am forever indebted to her.

Correction: An earlier version of Ten Questions incorrectly stated that Kimberly Grey’s essay collection was published on November 21. The book will be published on December 5.
 

Kimberly Grey, author of A Mother Is an Intellectual Thing.  

Ten Questions for Subhaga Crystal Bacon

11.14.23

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Subhaga Crystal Bacon, whose new poetry collection, Transitory, is out today from BOA Editions. In this searching consideration of gender that bridges the personal and political, lyric and docupoetics, Bacon elegizes forty-six trans and gender-nonconforming people who were murdered in the United States and Puerto Rico in 2020. The elegies—whose titles contain the name, age, and death date of each life—memorialize those lost and bear witness to the mounting toll of violence against people whose gender falls outside the normative binary. Bacon, who uses she/they pronouns, explores their own coming of age in the years after the 1969 Stonewall Uprising opened the door to greater openness for queer people and increased activism demanding social inclusion and equal rights. Without drawing an equivalence between the lyric “I” and the lives mourned in Transitory, Bacon nonetheless explores parallels, including experiences of discrimination and violence the speaker encounters at work as a teacher and on other fronts. Aware of the problematics in Transitory’s monumental project, Bacon incorporates metacommentary and reflection about “the need to name this, the brutality of tallying the dead,” as she puts it in “Why I’m Writing About the Murders of Trans & Gender Nonconforming People in the Year of COVID.” Diane Seuss praises Transitory, particularly its use of poetic form: “The forms provide elegance. Dignity. The details, affinity…. I could feel each loss with profundity.” Subhaga Crystal Bacon is the author of Blue Hunger (Methow Press, 2020) and Elegy With a Glass of Whiskey (BOA Editions, 2004). They live on the eastern slopes of the North Cascade mountains in Twisp, Washington.

1. How long did it take you to write Transitory?
I wrote the first poem in early July 2020 during a workshop about writing poems of protest in form. That first poem was an acrostic for the word justice, repeated twice to accommodate the twenty-one transgender people murdered since the start of the year. I knew once I’d finished that catalog that I’d have to write a poem for each of those who were murdered that year. I finished the bulk of the manuscript in December then began fleshing it out with some personal poems to provide context as to why I had written the collection.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book? 
Tracking the reports of these murders was extremely painful. I checked the Human Rights Campaign website a couple times a week. Some weeks there’d be nothing and in others a record would appear of a death that had happened earlier in the year. Or the death of a teenager, like Brayla Stone, who was only seventeen. Then I’d spend days reading everything I could find online, taking notes and thinking about the poem’s form, living with grief and loss. There were some very low days for me, when I’d be holed up in my study working and emerge at the end of the day really weighed down by what preciousness had been stolen from families and friends.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
I’ve tended to alternate between my study and our kitchen table. My partner is a painter and spends most of her day in her studio, so it’s really best for me to work in my own studio space. I recently did some rearranging of books and sort of “fluffed up” the space so it’s more inviting again. It’s a nice room, and it’s good to be able to close the door and carry on if my partner comes in to eat during the day, keeping our shared space communal rather than expecting her to tiptoe around if I’m at my computer.

I retired from college teaching last June, and I love having the freedom to write every day if I want, apart from the month of April, when in the last couple of years I’ve written a poem a day. I work in an intuitive way. I have a very interior life and am frequently investigating myself, my thoughts and feelings, my memories and impressions, so I’m grateful to have the freedom to follow those impulses and see where they lead. We live on beautiful, spacious, open land, on about thirty acres in north central Washington that bump up against undeveloped land. We take turns walking our labradoodle, Lola, out there, and I often write on my phone during our walks. If I’m not writing, I’m revising or submitting new work. So I’m writing in some way most days.

4. What are you reading right now? 
I’m just back from the Lit Youngstown Fall Literary Festival in Ohio, where I was on a panel with Jennifer Martelli, Jessica Cuello, and Stacy Gnall on poetry of witness. I was lucky enough to snag a copy of Jessica’s first book, Pricking. It’s an enthralling collection about medieval French history and the persecution of Cathars [a sect of Christianity], Jeanne d’Arc, and “witches,” so it feels timely and deeply connected to anti-trans violence and state-sponsored persecution. She’s one of my favorite poets.

5. What was your strategy for organizing the poems in this collection?
The book mostly organized itself as I arranged the poems chronologically in order of the deaths. The more challenging work was integrating the poems about my own queer journey and experiences with homophobia and threats of violence, my history as a queer person who’s been blessed to live to elderhood. I have a wonderful group of writing friends from my MFA cohort at Warren Wilson College, and they helped me to place those poems. The book starts with a long poem I wrote in August 2020, when there were no deaths reported. It’s a poem that situates me as the “watcher” and gives some context for what that was like. I scattered the personal poems every so many pages to provide a kind of relief from the otherwise unrelenting horror of the murders.

6. How did you arrive at the title Transitory for this collection? 
The word transitory came to me early on to resonate with transness and with all the things trans can mean as a prefix. Life is transitory— but more so for trans people, particularly people of color, for whom the life expectancy is thirty-five years. The original title was Transitory: A Catalog of Gleaned Sketches of Transgender and Gender Nonconforming People Murdered in 2020. It’s unwieldy but I wanted something that would point to how little information there is about these lost lives. In the end my writing group suggested just Transitory, to let it be more evocative and less literal. They were right of course. And what Sandy Knight did with that word on the cover, conjuring both the words trans and story, is brilliant!

7. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Transitory?
You know, I recently read an interview with the poet Joshua Jennifer Espinoza in the anthology Subject to Change: Trans Poetry & Conversation, in which she says, “Investigating your own gender—whether you are cis or trans or anything else—allows you to experience the world in a new way, allows you to be more sensitive to the oppression faced by those whose gender is not legible within this system.” As a queer-identified person of a certain age, I came late to investigating gender identity. It was surprising to me how little I both understood and was comfortable with my own gender. Once people started talking about this more and identifying themselves and their pronouns, I went through a shift from queer and cis, to queer and nonbinary, to queer and “anything else,” something that feels quietly trans-masculine. The final poem in the collection started out titled “Cis/Sister” but is now titled “This/Sister.” I finally have the language and freedom to know myself in this way, as my true nature. It’s a deeply personal knowing that shows itself only shyly. I wish I’d remembered to edit my bio in the book to reflect my pronouns correctly as she/they.

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started Transitory, what would you say?
It’s okay for you to reveal more of yourself in your poetry! There’s a poem in the collection titled “I Have Room for You in Me: A Litany,” and it’s addressed as much to myself as to others.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
My true work is spiritual awakening into my true and total nature. The tradition in which I teach and practice, Trillium Awakening, is a tantric path, which means that we accept everything as it is. It’s not a transcendent path of up and out but an embodied path that accommodates and welcomes the down. Writing this book took me into the down in a big way, living briefly the lives and dying the deaths of those I elegized. Without my spiritual capacity I don’t know if I’d have had the stamina to do it, to keep tracking the deaths and bringing them into the light—to the limited extent I was able to.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?
My early teacher, Larry Levis, told me that I scared myself and backed off of going where the poem wanted to go. He was right! I recently read a piece in Poetry by Kiki Petrosino that was good advice on this count, to enter “the field of language dressed as a pilgrim, not a tractor…to witness, to encounter, to love those poems onto the page. Love; this is the work.”

Subhaga Crystal Bacon, author of Transitory.   (Credit: AKR Photography)

Ten Questions for Sigrid Nunez

11.7.23

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Sigrid Nunez, whose new novel, The Vulnerables, is out today from Riverhead Books. In this delightfully meandering narrative that reads like a long letter from a brilliant and gossipy friend, Nunez explores the surreal experience of living through the early days of the pandemic in New York City. The narrator, an author, moves into the apartment of another writer whose parrot needs care while that writer is stuck with her in-laws in California. Meanwhile the narrator offers her own apartment to a different acquaintance in need of a place to stay. Fond of macaws, the narrator is thrilled to care for the bird in the author’s swanky home—until she finds she must share the space with a surprise, human tenant. Like Nunez’s two most recent novels, The Friend (2018) and What Are You Going Through (2020), both also published by Riverhead, The Vulnerables is less about what happens than what the narrator thinks about it, the many memories and ideas sparked in the mind as it confronts the unpredictable events and personalities that chance throws in its field of perception. Some of the most engaging parts of the book are the narrator’s recollections of bygone experiences; seemingly disconnected from the pandemic “plot,” these reveries become moving—and often amusing—meditations on childhood, friendship, romantic love, and human vulnerability in a chaotic and violent world: “I want to know why I feel as though I have been mourning all my life,” says the narrator. A particular treat for the writer-reader, the novel is full of literary allusions—from Charles Baudelaire to Sylvia Plath to Colm Tóibín—and musings on the writing life. Kirkus praises The Vulnerables: “Sharp—and surprisingly tender.” Sigrid Nunez has published nine novels and Sempre Susan: A Memoir of Susan Sontag (Atlas, 2011). A winner of the National Book Award for The Friend and many other honors, she teaches at Hunter College in New York City.

1. How long did it take you to write The Vulnerables?
About two and a half years.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book?
With writing any book, the challenge is always the same: how to find the right words in the right order to express what I mean to say as precisely and artfully as possible. But in this case there was another challenge: how to write a novel in a world that has come to be defined by continuous disaster.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
I usually write at home. I try to write every day, preferably in the morning. But when that’s not possible, I try to write at whatever time of day I can.

4. What are you reading right now?
The Pole, the new novel by J. M. Coetzee.

5. Which author or authors have been influential for you, in your writing of this book in particular or as a writer in general?
That would be an endless list. Like most writers I read a lot, and I read like a writer. This means that, in one way or another, just about anything I read is likely to influence whatever I might be working on. If I’m reading something very good, I can expect to find at least one thing that the writer has done well that I’ll be able to put to my own use.

6. Would you recommend writers pursue an MFA?
That depends on the writer. If someone wants not only to write but to teach writing, an MFA is important, given that many schools won’t even consider a job applicant who does not have an MFA.

7. What is one thing that your agent or editor told you during the process of publishing this book that stuck with you?
My agent, who was the first person to read the manuscript, assured me that, despite the book’s often dark, sad subject matter, most readers would find it funny and hopeful. Which is turning out to be true.

8. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of The Vulnerables?
Possibly that it wasn’t all as hard to write as I had feared it would be.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
One of the novel’s minor characters is a mini macaw named Eureka. I didn’t know a lot about that breed, or about parrots in general, so I had to do some research.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?
Never assume the reader is not as intelligent as you are. That will stop you from being too explicit, and it will spare your reader the irritation of being told what they already know or what they can imagine or deduce for themselves.

 

Sigrid Nunez, author of The Vulnerables.   (Credit: Marion Ettlinger Higher)

Ten Questions for Jim Redmond

10.31.23

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Jim Redmond, whose poetry collection Because You Previously Liked or Played, is out today from Deep Vellum. In lineated verse and prose poems, Redmond digs into the troubled psyche of a nation in thrall to digital culture. The poems chart the transformation of language into tech-company jargon, relationships into social-media contacts, and politics into zero-sum propaganda campaigns. In a voice that moves from deadpan irony to melancholy and the shades between, Redmond attempts to unwind the twisted logic of the Trump administration, conspiracy theorists, internet trolls, and all manner of toxic personalities poisoning the well of human connection. “I did not look away,” says the web-scrolling speaker of Redmond’s “Feed.” How to interpret such a statement raises one of the animating questions of the collection: In this age of instant information and online “torture porn,” as Redmond puts it, how do we differentiate between bearing witness and voyeurism, between innocent bystanding and complacency? Jim Redmond is the author of the full-length poetry collection, Get Back to Work (2021). His poems have appeared in Blackbird, Hayden’s Ferry Review, Pleiades, Redivider, and elsewhere. He holds an MFA in creative writing from the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor and a PhD in creative writing from the University of North Texas.  

1. How long did it take you to write Because You Previously Liked or Played?   
Well, in a sense, the book encapsulates something of my whole poetic life span. A few of these poems were written way back in 2008, or maybe 2007. Then there are approximately a dozen others that I’ve written in the last year or so. The majority I wrote while finishing my PhD at the University of North Texas, but there’s a good number of poems from my time in Ann Arbor and just after, in Austin, Texas.  

I think all the way back to my first poetry workshop at Western Michigan University, when my professor, Gary McDowell, handed us a packet of poems he’d cobbled together from poets he was reading at the time. This was way back when people could still locate the department photocopier. And reading those poems was like, wow—this is a poem? A poem can do that? That packet of poems became a little makeshift bible of sorts, and I was born again and again. Some of the poems in this book, fifteen years later, are disciples of that moment.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book?   
One of the difficulties for me was determining the shape and the scope of the book. It’s gone through so many iterations that I reached several points where uncertainty and self-doubt became more of a guiding principle than did a clear vision or center of gravity for the book. Perhaps that’s not the healthiest relationship to one’s work, but it’s not altogether unproductive either.  

The book could have been over and done with many times, as I suppose any book can be. My own redirection in artistic taste and my confrontation with the possibilities and limitations of poetry, its place and power in the public sphere, played a part, but so did the so-called pressures of the marketplace. I don’t think I ever intentionally tried to write toward whatever I perceived as the trends at any given moment, but several years of manuscript rejection certainly does give one pause. A certain unspoken social pressure begins to incubate, something more nebulous and all-consuming than the direct feedback we receive from known entities like friends or colleagues or fellow workshoppers. 

The poems did become more political and also more skittery, roaming, with a denser philosophical surface. So the challenge was deciding where a book ends and another begins. What if the heart says one thing, and the market another? But what if both remain silent? Does a fault line or clear fracture in one’s poetic life dictate that thin difference separating two book jackets on the shelf? Catalysts come and go. Things cool and harden into place before turning molten once again.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
There were times when I’ve had a writing routine. It was easier in the college days, of course. But even while on the “job,” there were times when I’d devote my hour or two a day to the practice of poetry: the process in which I would recollect and then wrestle with some idea or epiphany. Or a beautiful line comes to you, and you say, “Let’s see where this goes.” So then you push a couple of words around the page for a couple of hours. And I did arrive at some good poems because I’d exercised the right muscles, because I was ready to give shape to whatever luminous little moment I’d stumbled upon.  

But I always, always find some way to fall out of the routine. Some writers, given that daily gift of the muse or a work ethic, wonder what life would be like without the process of writing. How could one live? Well, I’m here to tell you that life does go on. And that it’s ok to have your own relationship to writing and poetry, whatever that might look like for you.  

For some the daily writing routine is necessary, a vital part of the living process. For others perhaps it becomes too much of a job; it becomes a transactional input and output. And if the output isn’t outputting, then what? Is that it? I never want to lose my love for what a poem can do. This is something I have to be mindful of; I have to be open and let poetry give life outside the frame of professionalization.

4. What are you reading right now?
Well, there’s always some book open to its middle somewhere, or I’m a quarter of the way into this text, or have the first page of that text splayed out on the couch, the desk, the dresser. I like to start something theory-based, a little literary criticism. I like to let the excitement of the new idea take over for a couple of pages; then I usually move on before considering its plausibility, argumentation, evidence, and finer points.  

I’m in Iowa now, and there was just a huge book sale put on by Planned Parenthood at the Iowa State Fairgrounds. On the last day of the sale, the poetry section was still looking pretty ripe. I picked up a half dozen or so poetry collections from the 1980s and 1990s and a critical compilation on Wallace Stevens.

5. What was your strategy for organizing the poems in this collection?
At first I wanted to start with some of the poems that were more representative of a child’s perspective—the early indicators or antecedents of the political problems that were to come later in the book put forth on the personal level. And then I thought the second section would have a larger social reach, addressing the weight of shared history, the “we” where we’ve found ourselves—and lost our humanity. Then I guess a third section was supposed to be some return to the personal once again, with whatever gain of perspective. 

Ultimately the book ended with the childhood poems, the flowers of evil just about to bud before the close. It reminds me of what A. Van Jordan said about his second book, M-A-C-N-O-L-I-A; he ended up leading the collection with the speaker MacNolia’s big spelling-bee win instead of leading up to it. His logic was to give some of the outcomes first. 

If the book starts with the end of Trump’s presidency, then we might have some sense of finality already baked into the star chart. Or some sense of relief. Then we can start asking, “How did we get here? How could these things happen?” From there some perhaps uncomfortable answers developed through the course of the book are given a clearer frame, a needed foreground.

6. How did you arrive at the title Because You Previously Liked or Played for this collection?   
I wanted the title to touch upon some kind of moral implication, a finger ready to point. But at whom? And for what? What precisely are the parameters of the problem, and what is the source or the cause? I wanted to capture some of the confusion surrounding the whole process of meaning-making in our Web 2.0 world. More specifically I wanted to incorporate something of the function of contemporary, web-based consumer culture. The way that we are continuously fed information in an increasingly targeted fashion that requires little reflection, that reinforces our confirmation bias.   

We might be a mere function of the machine at this point, but we’re still culpable, aren’t we? Within the consumer model, the rational is replaced by the emotional appeal. But what is at first emotionally striking becomes mere habit through repetition; atrocities and outrage turn into the banal. So how do we break out of that? Can poetry help us see something in a new, and suddenly clear, fashion? The book’s title speaks to some of that banality. It’s an accusation, but it’s wrapped in the verbiage of corporate nomenclature or customer-relations speak. 

7. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Because You Previously Liked or Played? 
I was surprised by the book’s resiliency as an organic life-form. It’s ability to take up different directions, forms, redactions, and redundancies. It made it past the X-Acto knife, the blow torch, the specter of T. S. Eliot’s pen, the tiny teeth of one thousand termites, all of those rejections from publishers—all are a part of it now.

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started Because You Previously Liked or Played, what would you say?  
Don’t worry about the book having to be any one thing. Write toward what you want to discover. Don’t be too protective or closed off to suggestions from anyone at any point.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
I had to lean into my inner political junkie. I didn’t just read “news” articles, listen to talk radio, and watch the various cable news offerings of the day, but I also spelunked through message boards, comments sections, tweets. I tried to think about the differences among traditional media and “independent” journalism and Web 2.0 offerings in terms of the messaging and the medium—and how something interesting could be done with all that through poetry.  

In a sense the work came down to discourse communities, getting a sense of how different forms of communication take shape according to who is participating and in what format. The language they use to mark themselves, their interests, the world. I went into some disturbing directions with this, including using the language as a means of interrogating some of the psychology addressed in the book: alt-right circles, men’s rights, Gamergate-like online communities.    

The hope is that the book is ultimately a kind of critique of toxic masculinity. But sometimes even touching any of this subject matter can be so dark, uncomfortable, hopeless that you’re left wondering: What is the line between trying to dissect or discredit something and simply amplifying or falling prey to the poison? Poetry lets us dwell in these difficult spaces; it refuses the easy answers, enacts a pressure chamber, and, maybe, if done well, that pressure placed on our humanity somehow affords it a new, resilient shine.   

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?
Don’t play it safe; keep taking risks. It’s perhaps some of the first advice we receive as writers, but often we fall into a routine and set style and so perhaps do end up playing it too safe. I guess the tension point is between experimentation and obsession. Many writers, myself included, end up writing about the same thing over and over. We keep chasing that perfect poem, or there’s some question we can never fully answer, something that keeps haunting us. There’s something admirable and beautiful about that, certainly, but perhaps there’s some balance to be struck. 

 

Jim Redmond, author of Because You Previously Liked or Played.   (Credit: Iqra Cheema)

Ten Questions for Claudia Acevedo-Quiñones

10.24.23

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Claudia Acevedo-Quiñones, whose debut, The Hurricane Book: A Lyric History, is out today from Rose Metal Press. In this hybrid collection of essays, poetry, documents, and other text, Acevedo-Quiñones weaves personal narrative with the history of Puerto Rico, told through the lens of six hurricanes that have rocked the island over the last century. The book investigates the colonizing power of the United States and its effect on Puerto Ricans both on the island and in the diaspora, including the author’s own family. Mixing Spanish and English with attention to the poetic and psychological dimensions of language, Acevedo-Quiñones considers how traumatic events can reverberate through generations—on the grand scale of culture and on the smaller scale of intimate relations among parents, children, and extended kin. Jaquira Díaz, author of the memoir Ordinary Girls (Algonquin Books, 2019), calls The Hurricane Book “a multilayered, powerful book…a gift.” The author of the chapbook Bedroom Pop (Dancing Girl Press, 2021), Claudia Acevedo-Quiñones holds an MFA in creative writing and literature from Stony Brook University, where she taught poetry to undergraduate students. Her poems and fiction have appeared in the Brooklyn RailRadar Poetry, Wildness, and other publications. Originally from Puerto Rico, she lives in Brooklyn.

1. How long did it take you to write The Hurricane Book
I started thinking about it a decade ago, but most of the writing was completed over three years. When I sent the first draft to Rose Metal Press in 2020, I had been working on it for a year. The press decided to publish it on the condition that I expand and edit it significantly, so I did that between 2021 and 2023. Glad I did.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book? 
It’s difficult to choose one thing! Most of it was challenging. I felt out of my depth in every way. I share an apartment with three roommates, so dealing with this subject matter for years in a little bedroom did a number on my mental health. I’m very mistrustful of my own memories. And I was writing about a country I left half a lifetime ago. There was this struggle between my need to show everything and my fear of it. I wasn’t working in my preferred genre. I was writing this hybrid lyric thing that was hard to fall into a rhythm with at first. But form is content and all that! I’m envious of writers for whom writing comes easily. It’s one of the most difficult things in the world for me. I can confidently say that the easiest thing about writing the book was working with the sections that dealt with irrefutable historical facts, however disturbing. It was truth I could count on when I doubted myself in other threads.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
I often work multiple jobs and move apartments every couple of years, so the former impacts how, when, and where I write. If I could write in a sensory-deprivation chamber or in a tiny house by a creek every day between 7:00 AM and 10:00 AM, I would. I’m hypersensitive to all kinds of stimuli and lose my nerve exponentially as the day progresses, so I’m partial to writing as soon as I wake up—in bed on a legal pad—before most people I know wake up. There are periods in which I do this daily, and those are the times I feel most sane.

4. What are you reading right now? 
I just read Yvette Siegert’s translation of Alejandra Pizarnik’s Diana’s Tree, and I am starting to read Brutalities: A Love Story by Margo Steines. I’m attracted to stories about exile, from our bodies or known places. I’m interested in seeing how some abandonments return us to ourselves and how others boomerang. One of the things I’m looking forward to the most after my book is released is reading with impunity! I haven’t had much time to do so with the book and a full-time job.

5. Which author or authors have been influential for you, in your writing of this book in particular or as a writer in general?
I wasn’t actively thinking about their influence on my writing as I worked on the book, but I reached for Puerto Rican authors I grew up reading (Julia de Burgos, Luis Palés Matos, Mayra Santos, René Marqués, Rafael Acevedo) and wove them into the text because they were such an important part of my education. Authors who’ve impacted me significantly as a writer are Alejandra Pizarnik, Melissa Febos, Mary Karr, Lydia Davis, Claire-Louise Bennett, Elizabeth Bishop, Carmen Maria Machado, Ruth Stone, Adrienne Rich, and Louise Glück. This list is all over the place! But they’re always in my head.

6. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of The Hurricane Book?
I didn’t show my family the manuscript before it was released, but there are a couple of close family members I reached out to about some sad, revealing content (in general terms). I didn’t want them to be too surprised if they read it. Their response was unexpectedly gracious, considering the subject matter. They basically said, “It’s your truth!” I’d been agonizing about it. But I now think people who know me understand that this was made with care.

7. Would you recommend writers pursue an MFA?
Only if the MFA program offers financial aid, health insurance, and/or a flexible schedule. I got a full ride and still had to work two jobs. I don’t know how single parents or caregivers do it. Yes, I learned a lot from authors I love and respect, but my MFA experience was good because of my peers. We were active in each other’s lives and gave each other consistent and constructive feedback. We had a magical bubble out in Southampton, New York, for those two years, and I’ll always be grateful for it. Those people are still my best friends. But writers don’t need to enroll in an MFA to find that community and structure. If you have/can get the money, go for it. But if you don’t, find a writing group, go to free readings and talk to the person you’re standing next to. If there are no writing groups where you live, start one. If there are no reading series, go to your local bar or coffee shop and ask if you can plan one. Put up flyers. Because there are writers looking for you, too.

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you wrote The Hurricane Book, what would you say?
I’d tell her to worry less about the “why” of it. There’s a reason why you didn’t let it go, even if it’s still not clear. Get it done; do your best. Stop punishing yourself for not coming to any grand conclusions.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?  
There was a ton of research involved: I looked through ancestry and census documents to try to fill in the gaps in the family sections; sourced clips, photos, satellite images, and weather maps from newspaper archives, the Library of Congress, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, the National Weather Service, and other government agencies; went through medical and academic articles for the sections on eugenics and post-hurricane response/relief. Thankfully I received a grant that helped me pay a fact-checker. I also had to have deeply uncomfortable conversations with my mother about our shared mental-health history.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received? 
Marry rich! (I didn’t take that advice.) The second-best piece of advice was to start something new when I’m in a rut. We have to have a little fun, too, if we want to stay in love with what we do. After The Hurricane Book is out, you best believe I’ll be working on some sci-fi erotica for a bit.

Claudia Acevedo-Quiñones, author of The Hurricane Book: A Lyric History.  

Ten Questions for Curtis Chin

10.17.23

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Curtis Chin, whose memoir, Everything I Learned, I Learned in a Chinese Restaurant, is out today from Little, Brown. In this engaging and insightful debut, Chin looks back on his early life and young adulthood in the 1970s and 1980s as the Chinese American son of restaurateurs in Detroit. Opened by Chin’s great-grandfather in 1940, Chung’s Cantonese Cuisine fed generations of Motor City diners: “It was one of the rare places in the segregated city where everyone felt welcome.” For Chin, the restaurant is more than a place of employment, where he and his family and their staff worked up to eighty hours a week: It serves as a second home, school, and social sphere, a microcosm in which the trials and tribulations of the outside world play out in distilled form or, at times, in stark opposition. In scenes at Chung’s, as well as in his bustling house, in classrooms, and elsewhere, Chin charts his personal evolution in a Detroit marked by racial and economic tensions and within a large and loving, if frenetic, family that extends beyond blood ties to welcome friends and even a family of Vietnamese refugees. Chin grapples with being “a gay Asian kid trying to juggle multiple identities,” his call to art and literature—“poetry saved me,” he writes—and other milestones in “a well-led, and well-fed, life.” Kirkus praises Everything I Learned, I Learned in a Chinese Restaurant: “Chin is a born storyteller with an easy manner, and this memoir should earn him many readers.” A cofounder of the Asian American Writers’ Workshop in New York City, Curtis Chin served as the nonprofit’s first executive director. He wrote for network television and now writes and produces social-justice documentaries; his films have screened in more than a dozen countries. He has received awards from ABC/Disney Television, the New York Foundation for the Arts, the National Endowment for the Arts, and other institutions.

1. How long did it take you to write Everything I Learned, I Learned in a Chinese Restaurant?
I started writing a memoir about ten years ago, but those early drafts had a different focus and tone. While the setting and title stayed the same, it centered on my younger childhood. The stories were funnier: about my mean grandma who would boil our pets for dinner or my grandpa who ran the Chinese mafia. After COVID, the murder of George Floyd, and the rise in the reporting of anti-Asian hate crimes, I decided to get a little more serious. I shifted the age range to include stories about high school and college—when I was grappling with my racial identity at a predominantly white school—as well my coming out process and my shift from being a Republican (aka the Asian Alex P. Keaton) to being a political independent.  

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book? 
After deciding to write about my teen years and early twenties, I had to be more introspective about the challenges I was facing. My original goal in writing this memoir was not necessarily to delve into these heavier subjects, but in the end I think they make for a more satisfying story. I also think it makes the book more relevant to what’s going on in the country these days.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
I don’t have a set routine for writing. I really just go with the flow. As long as I am thinking and engaging with people, I feel like I am supporting my creative journey.

4. What are you reading right now?
As one of the cofounders of the Asian American Writers’ Workshop, I have a lot of friends who write. That’s a good thing and a bad thing. Right now I am catching up on the to-be-read pile from these friends, many of whom have come out with books in the past two years.

5. Which author or authors have been influential for you, in your writing of this book in particular or as a writer in general?
Well, my writer friends are obviously influential for a variety of reasons, but for writers who I don’t personally know, I would have to say Frank O’Hara and Li Young Lee. My first genre was poetry, so they gave me the foundation of language. In terms of writing this memoir, I read a lot of coming-of-age books like Tara Westover’s Educated; J. R. Moehringer’s The Tender Bar; Saeed Jones’s How We Fight For Our Lives; Phuc Tran’s Sigh Gone: A Misfit’s Memoir of Great Books, Punk Rock, and the Fight to Fit In; and more.

6. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Everything I Learned, I Learned in a Chinese Restaurant?
This may sound strange, but I was surprised by how much food played a role in the book. As a kid, I was the worst cook in our restaurant. Everyone else in my family was a master chef, so I was sort of banned from the kitchen. Instead I grew up working the dining room and interfacing with our customers, which is probably why I am such a social person. But the kitchen played a bigger role than I thought.

7. What is one thing that your agent or editor told you during the process of publishing this book that stuck with you?
“Stay calm.” That stuck with me, though I don’t know if that means I adhered to it. 

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started Everything I Learned, I Learned in a Chinese Restaurant what would you say?
I might have started the book earlier, when my dad was still alive. In writing the book I talked to my mom several times a week, just to confirm details and dates. It would have been nice to also get my dad’s perspective on some of these past incidents. In some ways, that’s why my mom features a little more prominently in the book than my dad.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
My day job is making social-justice documentaries, so I spent a lot of time filming, editing, and then promoting my films. Since I was on the road so much, the book was a great project to work on in the hotel room.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received? 
Have fun. Make friends.

Curtis Chin, author of Everything I Learned, I Learned in a Chinese Restaurant.   (Credit: Michelle Li, Studio Plum Photography)

Ten Questions for Justin Torres

10.10.23

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Justin Torres, whose new book, Blackouts, is out today from Farrar, Straus and Giroux. In this matryoshka doll of a novel, a young man visits an older man from his past who, now on his deathbed, wishes to bequeath a trove of documents to him. The primary text he offers, Sex Variants: A Study of Homosexual Patterns, is a real book published in 1941 that collects narratives of queer men and women. Along with other archival images and records, pages from Sex Variants punctuate the novel, their sentences strategically struck through with black ink in the manner of erasure poetry. Indeed, the spare, leftover language functions as verse, essentially rewriting the psychology book by centering queer subjectivity while raising questions about the nature of institutional “knowledge” and the harm it can cause, particularly to marginalized populations. Meanwhile the two men tell each other stories, filling each other in on their shared and separate histories—a process that is particularly confounding for the younger man, who suffers memory lapses, or blackouts, which he hopes his companion may be able to help him better understand. Alexander Chee praises the novel: “Blackouts gives me what I read fiction for, what I read for at all―the sense of a brilliant mind creating a puzzle in the air in front of me, all intelligence and surprises.” Justin Torres is the author of We the Animals (Mariner Books, 2012), which won the Virginia Commonwealth University Cabell First Novelist Award, was translated into fifteen languages, and was adapted into a feature film. His writing has appeared in the NewYorkerHarper’sGrantaTin House, the Washington Post, and elsewhere. He teaches at the University of California in Los Angeles.

1. How long did it take you to write Blackouts
That’s a tough question to answer. It’s been over a decade since my last book, We the Animals, came out. I like to think everything I was reading, pondering, dreaming, and writing in that decade has found its way into Blackouts. Mostly I was stretching to become a different kind of writer, and that took time.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book? 
The structure. The image permissions. Allowing myself other, more metaphorical kinds of permission. The exposure. I could go on. It’s a challenging book.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
I don’t have any sacred ritual. My boyfriend and I were in a long-term, long-distance relationship, so when the teaching term ended, I would head to Oxford, England, and spend most of my summer there. Summer generally allows me to get more done. That’s also where I spent the Covid lockdown, and it was in those quiet, strange days that I finally finished the book.

4. What are you reading right now?   
I’ve just recently pivoted to read the finalists for the National Book Award—in various genres—whose books I hadn’t yet read. But I am also reading Touching the Art by Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore, Greenland by David Santos Donaldson, and some advance copies of forthcoming books: The Great Divide by Cristina Henríquez and The Long Run: A Creative Inquiry by Stacey D’Erasmo, about artistic stamina, among other things.

5. Which author or authors have been influential for you, in your writing of this book in particular or as a writer in general?
Blackouts is, in many ways, a book about reading—in the straightforward literary sense of that word; in the sense of reading people, situations, images, history; and in the queer sense of reading (and being read). The book directly references a number of texts and writers: Manuel Puig, Jaime Manrique, Jan and Zhenya Gay, Toni Cade Bambara, Juan Rulfo, Kathleen Collins, Heather Love, Patricia Gherovici, Jesús Colón, Jean Genet, Tennessee Williams, Emma Goldman, and many, many more.

6. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Blackouts?
Finishing the book. There were so many days (most days?) when I didn’t think I would, or could.

7. What is one thing that your agent or editor told you during the process of publishing this book that stuck with you?
My editor, Jenna Johnson, was so involved in all matters spiritual and practical, I really don’t know where to begin. She’s on every page. We would have these long phone conversations when I felt I was truly lost in the woods, and she would describe to me what I was up to, what the pages were doing, and what else they might do. She was my editor for We the Animals, and we’ve become incredibly close over the years we’ve worked together—I mean, it must be something like fifteen years at this point! I could go on forever about how fortunate I feel to have her by my side; it’s one of the most important relationships in my life, no hyperbole. The only pressure I ever felt from her was to be honest to the vision I had for the book, not to concern myself with anything els­e—the possible reception, for example, or how long I was taking to finish, or whether or not I’d be able to include images or use colored ink, and on and on. Her constant refrain was, “Just do what you feel you need to do. Let me worry about the rest.” And so I did. I’m still probably allowing her to worry about much too much!

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started Blackouts, what would you say?
I don’t know, this particular kind of question never makes much sense to me. My past self would not accept advice from my future self. We know us too well to trust one another.

But I know what my friends would say: Please don’t neurotically trash talk your own book to everyone you meet.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
Reading. Researching. Reading more widely and more broadly. Seeking out people—like my man, my friends, mentors—who are smarter than me and generous enough to share what they’ve learned of the world. Rereading.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received? 
Believe it or not: Slow down.

Justin Torres, author of Blackouts.  

Ten Questions for Shannon Sanders

10.3.23

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Shannon Sanders, whose debut story collection is out today from Graywolf Press. These linked tales unfurl a panoramic narrative of a family and their social circle from the 1960s to the early twenty-first century. In a mix of third- and first-person narration, these tautly controlled stories delve into the nuances of interpersonal relations among family, friends, romantic partners, colleagues, and acquaintances. An assemblage of characters—from children to older adults—receive careful attention as Sanders explores how the past informs the present in the way people respond to the situations into which they are thrown and the people with whom they are forced to contend. Personalities gel or clash, people who seemed familiar turn out to have unknown dimensions, and individuals find new vistas within their own inner landscapes. Publishers Weekly praises the “exquisite emotional acuity” of Company. “This is a winner.” Shannon Sanders received the 2020 PEN/Robert J. Dau Short Story Prize for Emerging Writers, and her fiction has appeared in One Story, Electric Literature, Joyland, TriQuarterly, and elsewhere. She lives in Maryland with her family.

1. How long did it take you to write Company
Each individual story took anywhere from one day to two weeks to write, but the collection as a whole took about six years. I wrote the first few stories very quickly between 2015 and 2017, then slowed down when I started having children. I added a few more stories in 2020 before taking the book on submission. After Graywolf acquired the book, my editor urged me to add one last story, which I drafted in 2022. Not exactly a linear process, but an exciting one!

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book?
The writing itself was, almost without exception, a total pleasure. What was extremely challenging was finding time to write! During the time I spent drafting the book, polishing it with my agent, and then taking it out on submission, I had three babies—including twins—and a global pandemic entered the equation. For more than a year, I was working a full-time job without childcare while trying to complete the book. I often thought I would never finish. But I did!

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
In a perfect world I would write at nighttime in a quiet part of my house while my kids are asleep and knock out a consistent word count each day, or most days. Sometimes I’m actually able to pull that off. Tracking my daily progress helps, as does motivating myself with small incremental rewards.

Mostly, though, what I can manage is to spend most of the week thinking about the work: mentally outlining, visualizing scenes, shuffling around the pieces in my brain. Then, with some support from my husband, I step away from home for a few hours on the weekend to get the ideas out on paper. I’ve found that with three little kids and all the household chaos that comes with them, the change of scenery is really important. It helps me fight the temptation to spend my writing time doing laundry.

4. What are you reading right now? 
Zadie Smith’s The Fraud. Everything she’s ever published I’ve consumed as soon as I can get my hands on it. I also just finished Tessa Hadley’s story collection After the Funeral and Other Stories, which was excellent, as all her stories are.

5. Which author or authors have been influential for you, in your writing of this book in particular or as a writer in general?
Like so many people I was raised on the work of Toni Morrison. Not just her novels but her literary criticism, her work on race, and the lore about her writing in the morning before her children woke up. As I mentioned above, I’ve been greatly inspired by Zadie Smith. And I also owe a major debt to several contemporary Black writers whose story collections came before mine: Danielle Evans (who has been a favorite writer of mine since her first book), Deesha Philyaw, Nafissa Thompson-Spires, Jamel Brinkley, Nana Kwame Adjei-Brenyah, and others.

6. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Company?
I knew intuitively that the stories were linked from the time I started writing them, but it was still a fun process to discover the connections among the characters and their circumstances as I worked on them. The book’s editor, Yuka Igarashi, raised some wonderful questions during the process, which generated ideas about how I could further develop the history of the family at the center of most of the stories. Eventually pieces started coming together on their own. It surprised me that it got easier as I went along!

7. What is the earliest memory that you associate with the book?
When I was a teenager I overheard a friend of my parents talking about an acquaintance whose adult sons had paid her a surprise visit from out of town to express their collective disapproval of her new boyfriend. I remember being shocked by that story—that the sons had taken the time to drive across state lines to interfere with an adult woman’s romantic life. That anecdote became the premise of “The Good, Good Men.”

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started Company, what would you say?
I wish there were a way to bottle the confidence and perspective that come from a few years of sending work out and amassing rejections. If there were, I’d be tempted to pass it out to lots of new writers, including my earlier self. But actually I think that entire process—submission, rejection, lather, rinse, repeat—is an incredibly valuable part of the journey to completing and publishing a project. Learning not to take rejection too personally or seriously was one of the best things that happened to me during the process of writing this book. It helped me learn to keep my focus where it mattered. So instead of handing her that magic bottle, I think I’d tell my earlier self: Don’t worry. This won’t be linear, and it won’t be quick, but you will learn from it.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
Does my day job count? I’m an attorney, and I work for a financial regulator. My day job requires lots of noncreative writing, which I find really helpful for keeping my muscles limber. The better my thoughts sync up with my typing fingers, the easier it is to get ideas out on paper.

I’m also an avid knitter. I highly recommend knitting to anyone with restless hands! If I’m stuck trying to work out a tricky plot point or dialogue sequence, I pick up my needles and it seems to unlock something.

This particular book didn’t take too much research. I felt that I knew the characters deeply after years of thinking about these stories, many of which were inspired by anecdotes I’ve heard from loved ones. But occasionally I had to reach out to an older relative to ask questions about family history, and that was always fascinating.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received? 
Worry less about the writer’s life, whatever that is, and more about the writing. Less energy toward beret-shopping, more toward doing whatever it takes to get your words onto paper.

Shannon Sanders, author of Company  (Credit: David Choy)

Ten Questions for Isle McElroy

9.26.23

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Isle McElroy, whose new novel, People Collide, is out today from HarperVia. In this surreal tale, a man named Eli finds that his consciousness has somehow been transferred to the body of his wife, Elizabeth. The couple had been living in Bulgaria, where Elizabeth was sent to teach through an elite fellowship program administered by the U.S. government. Living as his wife awakens Eli to the fact that perhaps he did not know Elizabeth as well as he thought he did, and he comes to see both her—and himself—in a new light during this strange interlude: “I occupied a space where neither she nor I seemed to exist, free from the expectations of our personalities,” McElroy writes in Eli’s voice. But where is Elizabeth? When a credit card transaction in Paris alerts Eli to her possible whereabouts, he embarks on an international mission to find his wife, presumably living in his skin. Along the way he must prepare for a future in which this body-swap remains permanent and for the changes that will ensue in his marriage and other relationships. Publishers Weekly calls People Collide “engrossing…. It’s an impressive twist on the familiar trope of marital ennui.” Isle McElroy is a nonbinary author based in New York. Their first novel, The Atmospherians, was named an editor’s choice by the New York Times and a book of the year by Esquire, Electric Literature, Debutiful, and other outlets.

1. How long did it take you to write People Collide
I had the idea for the book in 2015, but I didn’t begin writing it until late 2020. After all those years thinking about the novel, the draft came out fairly quickly, in only a couple of months. I don’t think I’ll ever write a novel draft as quickly as I wrote this one.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book? 
Keeping track of when to use male and female pronouns for Eli-as-Elizabeth, and when to intentionally blur those lines, was difficult on a technical level. In revision I had to make a lot of decisions and changes about how he referred to himself, but it was exciting to consider how his self-understanding changed throughout the book.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
I normally write at my desk in my apartment. I’ve been living here for about three years, and I wrote most of People Collide at my current desk, gazing out the same window. I prefer to start writing early in the morning, before the sun comes up, normally for only a few hours. Though I used to write every day, I’ve settled into a five-day schedule, to preserve the weekend mornings for sleep and time with loved ones.

4. What are you reading right now? 
I’m finally reading Annie Ernaux! I’m in the middle of The Years and loving it.

5. Which author or authors have been influential for you, in your writing of this book in particular or as a writer in general?
For this book, Katie Kitamura’s A Separation was a huge influence. And I love everything that she’s published. Catherine Lacey has been a major figure for my work overall, as have writers like Helen DeWitt, Renee Gladman, and Donald Barthelme. Something about the joy and bounce of their sentences really appeals to me, on both an aesthetic and intellectual level, and I try to bring that to my prose.

6. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of People Collide?
I was surprised by the process of physically writing the book. Though I wrote a lot of my first novel by hand, much of it was drafted on my laptop. But I wrote the entire first draft of People Collide across four composition notebooks, and I was able to discover a process for writing I hadn’t done before—writing on the right side of the notebook, leaving the left page blank for notes. I feel like I stumbled on a process I’ll use for a long time.

7. What is the earliest memory that you associate with the book?
I began the book at a cabin in Maine I had rented with two writer friends. One day we all split off to write, and I took a desk looking out at the woods. My current bedroom at home did not have a window, and for the first time in months I felt like I could write freely and toward something. I wrote the entire first chapter of People Collide in one sitting, often looking up into the woods. I attribute this book to that window!

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started People Collide, what would you say?
I wouldn’t tell them anything! I started writing this novel because I was supposed to be working on a memoir project I found impossible. I began People Collide to avoid writing that more difficult book. This took a ton of pressure off the writing process. I don’t want to even insinuate to my earlier you that they might stumble into a novel.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
I think that I needed to spend a lot of time on my bike. I love biking in Brooklyn, and though it doesn’t look anything like writing, biking has become a perfect way to both decompress and leave the house after a long day of writing. I don’t remember having many ideas on my bike, but it frequently served as a transition outside of the writing space to a more public space, off to see friends. It served as a kind of bridge between my social life and my writing life, insulating the latter.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received? 
Celebrate the small victories! There is too much grief and disappointment in a writing career to overlook any single moment for joy. Grab drinks with friends when you publish a story. Buy yourself flowers to commemorate a great review. Text your partner the best sentence you wrote that day. Nothing is too small.

Isle McElroy, author of People Collide.   (Credit: Jih-E Peng)

Ten Questions for Cintia Santana

9.19.23

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Cintia Santana, whose debut poetry collection, The Disordered Alphabet, is out now from Four Way Books. This engaging and surprising book interrogates language in quite literal terms, with epistolary poems addressed to specific letters of the Roman alphabet. In free verse and more experimental forms, these poems whirl down and across the page, accumulating meaning through sonic play and free association. Densely packed and ecstatic, the lines at times call to mind the spring-loaded articulations of nineteenth century Anglican poet Gerard Manley Hopkins, particularly when read aloud: “Held / heart / holed / whole. / Harpooned. / Heart on / but hard. / Hell / in a hand. / With harps. // Hark! I said / Hear me,” Santana writes in “[H].” The letter poems are interspersed with self-portraits, elegies, and other meditations all in conversation with the collection’s overarching inquiry into the nature and efficacy of verbal expression. Ross Gay praises the collection: “The Disordered Alphabet tussles with diction, wrangles with syntax, struggles with the sentence and the line in a kind of linguistic unmaking that somehow becomes a beautiful, unsettling song.” Santana teaches fiction and poetry workshops in Spanish as well as literary translation courses at Stanford University. Her work has appeared in the Kenyon ReviewNarrativePleiades, the Threepenny Review, and elsewhere. Her work has been supported by CantoMundo and the Djerassi Resident Artists Program.

1. How long did it take you to write The Disordered Alphabet?  
Somewhere between five and fifteen years. The idea to write a letter addressed to each letter of the Roman alphabet came to me in the spring of 2013, and I was sending out the manuscript by 2018. But the oldest poem in the book is an abecedarian about mushrooms that I wrote in 2007. And the newest is a complete rewrite of my poem to the letter M undertaken in 2022, long after I had turned in the “final” version of the manuscript.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book?  
Revisiting the grief that preceded the writing of the poems. That was hard but also necessary. Like many writers, I process the world most deeply through words. For me, giving language to something, finding a name for it, enacts a kind of metabolic process.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
It depends on the season. The reading and writing I do during the academic year is primarily in support of my teaching. I generate most of my poems in the summer, at the workshops offered by Kenyon Review, Napa Valley Writers, and the Community of Writers. It turns out that I write well under overnight pressure. During the school year I revise and send out work I’ve written in the summer. But in some ways I’m always writing. I carry a notebook in which I write down images, ideas, scraps of language, phrases, even solitary words. As I tell my students, poetry is everywhere—you just have to pay attention.

4. What are you reading right now?  
I’m currently rereading a couple of things. Hugh Raffles’s poetic and encyclopedic The Book of Unconformities: Speculations on Lost Time, a book that came to my attention early in the pandemic, thanks to a beautifully written New York Times review by Parul Sehgal. I’m also rereading Translation Zone, winner of the 2022 Marsh Hawk Press Poetry Prize. It’s a first book by a friend, Brian Cochran. His poems are these acts of emotional and linguistic magic. I’ve been his fan for a long time, and over the last few years his work has reached a level such that I’m always asking myself after reading a poem, “How did he get there?” I also just returned from CDMX, where I did some catching up on contemporary Mexican poetry—recent works by Sara Uribe, Tedi López Mills, Eva Castañeda, and Elisa Díaz Castelo.

5. What was your strategy for organizing the poems in this collection?
As you might imagine, titling my collection The Disordered Alphabet was of no help. I knew there was an emotional arc to the process of grief, but I also knew it wasn’t linear. I felt the first two sections needed to begin with the speaker’s various losses and a subsequent grief that could not easily be named nor voiced. The third and last section revealed itself more slowly; poems that reflect a wider view of lived experience, of the stunning beauty of the world that persists, that insists even, under the eaves of loss. Or is sharpened precisely because of loss.

Ordering the poems within those sections was harder. I had heard a good rule of thumb was to order poems in such a way that each one could be entered into more deeply as a result of the ones that preceded it. At a CantoMundo retreat, Andrés Cerpa gave me the best general advice that I think I’ve received: to read all the poems out loud, even record them, and listen with an ear for tone.

Eventually I covered my living room floor with all my poems and moved them around a bit every day or two. Standing over them one day, I realized that, of course, there was no one best order. Many compelling orders exist. I think that holds true for most manuscripts.   

6. How did you arrive at the title The Disordered Alphabet for this collection? 
It could be said that the title goes back to my childhood. I mostly grew up in California, but Spanish is my first language. A short while before I was to enter kindergarten, when I knew no English whatsoever, my parents sat me down in front of the TV to watch Sesame Street. They felt that I could learn some English in this way, including my ABCs. My father helped me practice because I would need to recite them soon for a teacher to decide if I was ready for kindergarten or not. No pressure for a five-year-old, right?

When the day of truth arrived, I started off quite confidently—before faltering somewhere around M or N. At that moment stumbling over the very atoms of language felt highly consequential. Somehow, nonetheless, I was allowed to begin an illustrious kindergarten career. Fast forward to reading a lot of Borges.

7. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of The Disordered Alphabet?
The day the letter R wrote me a letter! In the spring of 2013, I was grieving two losses that had occurred very close in time. I was angry. I wanted to take “God” to task. So one day I wrote a poem, a letter to the letter A that began, “You are the Alpha and the asshole. The ass of the assassin. Yet I await you in the artic, anorak and all. Astound me. Anchor my ache and astound me now.” Like I said, I was angry. And I also felt in need of some kind of mercy. The A poem that’s in the book has no trace of this first draft, but that’s how I began to write my letters to the alphabet. I was trying to make sense of life’s “grammar,” a grammar filled with oddities and exceptions, that had become increasingly difficult to parse.

Epistolary writing felt like a fitting form, as it also implies someone distant or absent. In the U.S., grief is a party of one. It’s an experience that feels particularly invisible, silent, and silenced. So how can we—how do we— give voice to our grief? With whom do we speak of it? How can the unspeakable be spoken, be given form? The Chilean poet Vicente Huidobro says, “the poet is a small god.” In The Disordered Alphabet I think of the letters that the speaker addresses as major gods, divine and indeterminate. Much like language or a divine power, the Roman letters are insufficient—to be implored yet remaining distant. The epistolary form allowed me to voice questions about grief while telling it slant.

As I was finishing the manuscript, I decided the first iteration of my R poem needed a complete rewrite. And that’s when R started to write me a letter. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised, but it was really something. Suddenly I was thrown into a different vantage point: What would a god-letter have to say back to the grieving speaker?

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started The Disordered Alphabet, what would you say?
Don’t be afraid of silence. Silence, which manifests at times as writer’s block, scares me. There’s a poem, “Mr. Vastness and Mr. School Answer My Letter,” in which I found my way to the line, “be not deceived, Sister of Lazarus, / by silence, spring of speech.” It’s easy for me to forget that silence is often a time of great gestation. It’s important to observe it—by which I mean not only noting it but also honoring it by giving it the space to be. It’s the urge to fill it, rather than the silence itself, that often proves excruciating.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
I did a fair bit of research on the atomic bomb and the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. My husband, Hideo, is—conveniently—a physicist, and I would sometimes ask him, “Can I say this? Is this counterfactual in some way?”

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?
As an undergraduate I was enrolled in a fiction workshop in which we read Ted Solotaroff’s essay “Writing in the Cold: The First Ten Years.” Solotaroff had discovered many young, gifted writers during his time as editor of the New American Review. But ten years later he saw that half of those promising writers had all but disappeared. Solotaroff determined that talent wasn’t the deciding factor. Instead he saw persistence as the defining difference—persistence despite the many hurdles (including economic) the work of writing entails. Solotaroff states, “For the gifted writer, durability seems to be directly connected to how one deals effectively with uncertainty, rejection, and disappointment, from within as well as from without. . . .” With that in mind, I promised myself that I would still be writing—no matter what—ten years out. Life has brought many interruptions, many distractions, and the writing years have hardly been even, but I have continued to write. Some years that’s meant little more than scratching down things in a notebook with little or no “finished” anything. But I’ve kept my promise to myself: I have continued to write ten years out—and then some.

Cintia Santana, author of The Disordered Alphabet.   (Credit: Rewa Bush)

Ten Questions for Heather Lanier

9.12.23

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Heather Lanier, whose debut poetry collection is out today from Monkfish Book Publishing. These contemplative lyrics interrogate the meaning of faith, attempting to square traditional Christian doctrine with the complex realities of contemporary life. At heart a quest for spiritual enlightenment, the collection blends reflection with wry humor and irony to unpack the contradictions of religious dogma and the speaker’s conflicted feelings. “Mary, did they wag their fingers no / at unpasteurized milk? Did you have to count / your protein for too little and your tuna / for too much, fretting mercury might metalize / the haloed brain of the divine?” the pregnant speaker wonders in “The Messiah Could Have Gotten Listeria.” Motherhood is a major theme of the book, which tracks the transformation of the female body and mind during gestation, childbirth, and the subsequent years of attempting to balance family, work, friendship, and life’s daily difficulties and rites of passage. Kirkus praises Psalms of Unknowing, calling it “a powerful poetic reckoning with motherhood and religion.” Heather Lanier’s essays and poems have appeared in the Atlantic, Salon, Time, and elsewhere. The author of the memoir Raising a Rare Girl (Penguin Press, July 2020), she is an assistant professor of creative writing at Rowan University in New Jersey.

1. How long did it take you to write Psalms of Unknowing
In some ways, forever. I wrote the oldest poem in the book eighteen years ago. But most of the poems were written in the last decade, maybe even the last five years. (Meanwhile, I was also writing nonfiction.) I spent about a year thinking about how the poems would become a book.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book?  
Putting it all together. I had almost two decades’ worth of poetry. I’ve assembled chapbooks before, and the chapbook length holds a single theme well. But full-length books often need multiple thematic strands interwoven. You want a book of poetry to create surprise, but not discord. You want variation without jarring interruption. And you want a conversation. It’s tricky. I tried a lot of different groupings of poems. But once I found a central throughline, feminist spiritual seeking, everything fell into place. All the other themes—pregnancy, grief, motherhood, political rage, religious questioning, etcetera—were filtered through that lens.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
It depends on the season. I shift my goals based on what’s possible. My ideal is to write five days a week, two hours a day, in the morning after my husband and I get the kids to school. That’s possible during certain periods of the semester, and not at all during the summer. When the semester gets super busy, I aim to just open a Word document (or the writing app Scrivener) every weekday and sit with it for at least thirty minutes. The summer is chaos. I have to get creative. Regardless of the season, I almost always write at home—at my desk, on a couch, or at the dining table.

4. What are you reading right now? 
A friend recommended Willpower: Rediscovering the Greatest Human Strength by Roy F. Baumeister and Denis O’Hare, so I’m reading that. Fascinating stuff. (I wrote a little bit about it here.) I just finished my friend James Crews’s lovely book, Kindness Will Save the World: Stories of Compassion and Connection, and on deck I’ve got Camille T. Dungy’s Soil: The Story of a Black Mother’s Garden and Carolyn Hays’s Letter to My Transgender Daughter: A Girlhood.

5. What was your strategy for organizing the poems in this collection?
I mentioned that I used feminist spiritual seeking as a throughline. So the opening poem, “Pumping Milk,” sets that up, with the figure of a half-naked woman getting ready to pump milk at the office and asking questions about what it means to be human. After that the book is arranged in four sections. I didn’t want any of the sections to feel too monolithic (as in, And now the Pregnancy Poems!). Each section contains at least two threads that are a bit contradictory so that the contrasting notes speak to each other to create a third thing. For instance, the first section focuses on pregnancy and grief. By pairing poems about carrying life with poems about losing it, the first section creates a larger conversation about the risks we take in living and loving. Each of the book’s sections is subtitled with a feminist renaming of the parts of the Holy Trinity in the Christian prayer: “In the Name of the Mother…”, “And the Child…”, “And the Holy Unknowing…”, and “Amen.” So the entire book is structured around a (probably heretical) prayer that nudges female and nonbinary language into Christian tradition.

6. How did you arrive at the title Psalms of Unknowing for this collection?
The phrase “psalms of unknowing” appears in a poem called “Free Bible in Your Own Language.” I had been walking on a university mall when I spotted a booth with that phrase on a sign. And I was feeling snarky and amused by it. Like many people, I’ve felt plenty alienated by the language of the Bible, so I started riffing on what kind of language “my Bible” would contain. Curse words, 1980s pop music, and, ultimately, an ease with unknowing. That phrase, “psalms of unknowing,” pushes back against fundamentalism and makes space for a spirituality that emerges from doubt, uncertainty, and openness.

The title also echoes a book called The Cloud of Unknowing, an anonymously written text that is foundational to the contemplative Christian movement, which emphasizes receptivity to the divine. While my book is filled with lots of things—rage and silliness and sorrow—it’s guided by the spiritual practice of receptivity.

7. Would you recommend writers pursue an MFA?
I would! Especially if you want concentrated time to study your craft. But I’m not a fan of going into debt for one. I encourage people to aim for fully funded programs, or low-residency programs where you can keep your job. I had an amazing time at Ohio State University writing for three years, teaching college students, and living on my $1,200-a-month stipend. But that was when you could rent an apartment in Columbus, Ohio, for $400 a month. (Also, my apartment had raccoons in the pantry—so, you know, tradeoffs.) With the expensive housing market, I know it’s harder to avoid loans for living expenses. But universities should be supporting their grad students with tuition waivers and fair stipends.

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started Psalms of Unknowing, what would you say?
I’d say, “Just keep going.” I guess what I mean by that is: Just keep listening to the work, one poem at a time. I’d also say, “Don’t fear motherhood. It will be the best thing for your writing.”

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
I took a class on how to assemble a poetry collection, with Nancy Reddy at Blue Stoop. My graduate degree did a great job of helping me write individual poems, but we didn’t spend much time in courses learning how to shape a collection. I needed help. Nancy was great.

I also had to deconstruct my fundamentalist upbringing, spend a decade rejecting Christianity, relearn it through a Buddhist lens, and spend another decade practicing contemplative meditation. And there was that whole getting-pregnant-with-two-children-and-giving-birth-to-them thing. But more specifically, I spent a week at a monastery on a silent retreat, meditating with a group of people. That’s where the final poems in the book come from.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?
Isak Dinison’s quote—as passed down by my mentor, Lee Martin—the last word of which I technically misremembered. Here is my version: “Write a little every day, without hope or fear.”

 

Heather Lanier, author of Psalms of Uknowing.   (Credit: Justin Lanier)

Ten Questions for Myriam Gurba

9.5.23

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Myriam Gurba, whose new book, Creep: Accusations and Confessions, is out today from Avid Reader Press. In these trenchant essays, Gurba weaves memoir with cultural and intersectional-feminist critique to consider the many forces of violence bearing down on women, particularly queer women of color. With an unflinching gaze, Gurba considers the “creeps” among us and the ways in which their transgressions and crimes affect individuals and the collective imagination. Gurba finds the dark thread linking all manner of bad actors, both real and apocryphal: domestic abusers, serial killers, the monsters of folk tales, and literary icons, among others. Included in the collection is Gurba’s viral takedown of the novel American Dirt (Flatiron Books, 2020)—“Pendeja, You Ain’t Steinbeck: My Bronca With Fake-Ass Social Justice Literature”—in which she lambasts the author for exploiting the suffering of Mexican migrants and the publishing industry for investing in culturally appropriative books. Publishers Weekly praises Creep: “Full of lean prose and biting commentary, this is as emotionally heavy as it is hard to put down.” Myriam Gurba is the author of the true-crime memoir Mean (Coffee House Press, 2017), the story collection Painting Their Portraits in Winter (Manic D Press, 2017), and Dahlia Season (Manic D Press, 2017), which includes stories and a novella. Her essays and criticism have appeared in the Paris ReviewTime, and 4Columns.

1. How long did it take you to write Creep?  
It took me about ten years to write the book. While Creep is structurally different from my memoir, MeanCreep is Mean’s prequel and sequel. In many ways, Creep is also a book-length response to a question I’m often asked and one that never fails to irk me: Is writing about sexual violence cathartic?

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book?  
Remembering and aestheticizing my experiences of domestic violence were the most challenging aspects of writing Creep. Revisiting that period of my life was psychologically, physically, and spiritually painful. I don’t recommend it: 0 out of 5 stars. 

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
I write at home and prefer mornings. I wrote part of Creep in bed while I was recovering from COVID-19. That felt very Frida Kahlo. I write according to an irregular schedule, so it’s hard for me to measure how frequently I write. I tend to binge-write. Sometimes I’ll sequester myself in cheap motels in rural towns and spend days writing, occasionally emerging in search of food, coffee, and other mind-altering substances. 

4. What are you reading right now?
I’m reading The Other Slavery: The Uncovered Story of Indian Enslavement in America by Andrés Reséndez.

5. Which author or authors have been influential for you, in your writing of this book in particular or as a writer in general? 
Tatiana de la tierra has been immensely influential. She was a brilliant, radical, beautiful, and fat friend who wrote poetry, fiction, and essays. She was also an editor, publisher, activist, librarian, pornographer, and all around magical dyke. She never shied away from using humor, and encountering the comedy in her work gave me permission to experiment with humor in my prose.

6. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Creep
The strong presence of my ancestors took me by surprise. I hadn’t anticipated that they would play such a central role in so many of the essays, but they elbowed their way in and asserted themselves. Their presence makes Creep an intergenerational family memoir and history. 

7. What is the earliest memory that you associate with the book? 
In Creep I describe a school field trip that I took to an egg farm. My classmates and I were greeted by the unmistakable stench of chicken shit. Rural California often smells like turds.  

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started Creep, what would you say?
I would strongly advise myself not to date the guy I wrote the title essay about. 

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
I had to heal from domestic violence. Culinary therapy helped with that. Following recipes and working with my hands soothes me. I baked a lot of pies, brewed my own corn beer, and made mountains of tortillas.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?
Write while fully caffeinated.

Myriam Gurba, author of Creep: Accusations and Confessons  (Credit: Geoff Cordner)

Ten Questions for Megan Kamalei Kakimoto

8.29.23

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Megan Kamalei Kakimoto, whose story collection, Every Drop Is a Man’s Nightmare, is out today from Bloomsbury. This haunting debut confronts the physical and mythological terrain of Hawai’i, deconstructing its status as a tropical dreamscape to reveal a thornier topography shaped by the politics of colonial conquest and its aftermath. Female characters of mixed native Hawaiian and Japanese descent are at the forefront of these stories, walking the tightrope between the expectations of mainstream American culture and the specific norms and taboos of their heritage and family dynamics. The opening tale recalls Jamaica Kincaid’s famous “Girl” in its overwhelming list of directives and guilt-inducing questions from mother to daughter: “After everything that has happened to us, don’t you want to make your father so proud?” The pains of adolescence, love, sex, grief, nature, the supernatural, and metacommentary on the writing life all find their way into these narratives, equal parts sensual and cerebral. Publishers Weekly praises the book: “Marked by a wry sense of humor and an unerring touch for the surreal, Kakimoto’s stories add up to a powerful exploration of gender, class, race, colonialism, and domestic violence. This eloquent outing marks Kakimoto as a writer to watch.” Megan Kamalei Kakimoto is a Japanese and Kānaka Maoli (native Hawaiian) writer. Her fiction has been published in Granta, Conjunctions, Joyland, and elsewhere. She has been a finalist for the Keene Prize for Literature and has received support from the Rona Jaffe Foundation and the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference. She received her MFA from the Michener Center for Writers at the University of Texas in Austin, where she was a fiction fellow. She lives in Honolulu.

1. How long did it take you to write Every Drop Is a Man’s Nightmare?
I wrote the stories in Every Drop Is a Man’s Nightmare over the course of four years, though the oldest story, “Temporary Dwellers,” dates to 2016. I like to think the version that emerged out of revising the collection as a whole is vastly different from its first-draft iteration, though perhaps I’m too close to the project to see this objectively.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book? 
By far the biggest challenge of seeing Every Drop Is a Man’s Nightmare through to completion was pushing past the brick wall of my fears and anxieties over how these stories would be received. In the contemporary publishing landscape, there are so few native Hawaiian writers being published, so I felt an enormous responsibility to do right by not only my fellow Kānaka writers but also the Hawaiian community as a whole. The characters in Every Drop are inextricable from their Hawaiian roots, with Hawaiian mythology and superstitions permeating every story in the collection. I felt deeply overwhelmed thinking about how this book needed to speak for a particular Hawaiian experience, which is absurd, since there’s no such thing as a monolithic “Hawaiian” experience. Yet this is a consequence of writing on the periphery of a marginalized experience—it’s very hard to unburden ourselves of the expectations we imagine our communities have for us, simply because there are so few of our voices being championed in the first place.

So writing past the fear, or maybe into the fear, of an imagined readership and its criticism was a challenge I wrestled with throughout the writing, editing, and now publication process. I imagine it’s something I’ll encounter for a while longer, or at least until we see more Kānaka writers platformed and supported in the publishing industry.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
I’m most content when I’m writing every morning—the last three years of my MFA had afforded me this gift of time. Now that I’ve graduated and am balancing a work schedule, I still try to carve out a consistent writing routine, waking at 6:30 AM to get in a couple hours of work, then reading and revising in the late afternoons. Consistency works for me; I feel grounded, fulfilled, and at peace when I can return to a project morning after morning. I also love the romantic ideal of writing in coffee shops, though, to save money, I’ve mostly been writing at my home desk.

4. What are you reading right now?
I’m an avid rereader and am trying to make some headway with my novel in progress, so I’ve been rereading a lot of books I admired on the first read and hope to be in conversation with. These include Territory of Light by Yūko Tsushima, Motherhood by Sheila Heti, Savage Tongues by Azareen Van der Vliet Oloomi, The Need by Helen Phillips, Intimacies by Katie Kitamura, The Incendiaries by R. O. Kwon, The Quick and the Dead by Joy Williams, and America Was Hard to Find by Kathleen Alcott. An eclectic range, I know, which I imagine (and hope) will feed into a very strange book.

5. Which author or authors have been influential for you, in your writing of this book in particular or as a writer in general?
This book would not have been possible without the works of Kiana Davenport, T Kira Māhealani Madden, and Kristiana Kahakauwila forging a path for Kānaka Maoli writers. On the sentence level, I’m always studying work by Toni Morrison, Joy Williams, Lorrie Moore, and Amy Hempel; they make me strive to become a better writer.

I try to keep a stack of books on my desk whenever I’m working on a new project. For the collection, I kept close Autobiography of Red by Anne Carson, Jesus’ Son by Denis Johnson, The Dark Dark by Samantha Hunt, Tender by Sofia Samatar, Milk Blood Heat by Dantiel W. Moniz, Sabrina & Corina by Kali Fajardo-Anstine, Stranger Things Happen by Kelly Link, Black Light by Kimberly King Parsons, and a handful of others.  

6. Would you recommend writers pursue an MFA?
I think if you’re clear in your intentions of what you hope to get out of an MFA, it’s worth pursuing, though by no means do I believe it to be an author’s singular path to success. For me, I was burned out working a PR job that drained all my creative energy, and I longed for a literary community in which to immerse myself. All signs pointed toward an MFA, so long as I wasn’t going into debt for it. Pursuing the MFA at the Michener Center for Writers proved to be one of the most significant and meaningful creative experiences of my life.

7. What is one thing that your agent or editor told you during the process of publishing this book that stuck with you?
Both my agent, Iwalani Kim, as well as my editor, Callie Garnett, were invaluable partners in ushering this collection into the world. Their constant reassurances about my small questions and concerns, though it shouldn’t have surprised me, really put so much of my anxiety at ease throughout the often nebulous path of publishing.  

8. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Every Drop Is a Man’s Nightmare?
Moments of surprise were by far the most delightful when writing these stories, particularly when a character would do something unexpected or outlandish, something at which I would otherwise cower or maybe resist. I think that’s so much of the pleasure of writing for me, the opportunity to be fearless on the page. I’m a people pleaser by nature, which doesn’t afford a lot of room for fearlessness.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
To manage the aforementioned anxiety of writing this book, I ran constantly. I signed up for the Honolulu Marathon to give myself a goal to work toward that had nothing to do with world-building or sentence-making. Then I got injured. I took to rhythmic cycling classes, which were easier on my knees and on which I continue to lean while navigating the anxieties of bringing a book into the world.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?   
I think a lot about something Kimberly King Parsons and Chelsea Bieker taught in their class called “Rejection, Revision, and Renewal,” especially as I move into promoting the collection. I even wrote it on a note card and taped it to my desk: “Keep your head down and shut out the noise, because nothing beats a good writing day.”   

 

Megan Kamalei Kakimoto, author of Every Drop Is a Man’s Nightmare  (Credit: Van Wishingrad)

Ten Questions for Edgar Kunz

8.22.23

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Edgar Kunz, whose new poetry collection, Fixer, is out today from Ecco. At the heart of this touching group of narrative lyrics, a young man grapples with the legacy of a troubled father. In the long title poem that forms the backbone of the collection, the speaker breaks into his deceased father’s apartment, attempting to make sense of the troubled man’s life through the objects he’s left behind: “Your coat. The cash in your pockets. / The cellophane from a fresh pack. // Zippo with a carving of a whale, / proud ship in the distance.” On either side of this monumental event, the speaker finds himself navigating his own troubles and struggling to exceed the limitations of class, gender, and family history. The collection opens after the speaker has abandoned a lover and fears that this transgression has fulfilled a pattern of toxic masculinity that deserves punishment: “I wanted / to be revealed by some visible sign // a welt to ride the ledge of my cheek,” Kunz writes in “Day Moon.” But the speaker is too self-aware to fall into mere repetition compulsion, and the collection offers a window into a psyche awakening to the power of will against destiny. Attention to beauty, to love, and to art demolishes the fear and shame that cover our better natures: “Where they pry // the rotten timber away, / the brick is a brighter / shade of red beneath,” Kunz writes, narrating a neighbor’s home renovation project in “New Year.” Edgar Kunz is the author of Tap Out (Ecco, 2019). He has received support from the National Endowment for the Arts, MacDowell, and the Wallace Stegner Fellowship at Stanford University. His poems have appeared in the Atlantic, the New Yorker, Poetry, and elsewhere. He lives in Baltimore and teaches at Goucher College. 

1. How long did it take you to write Fixer?  
After my first poetry collection, Tap Out, I struggled to write—a few flashes here and there, but mostly the poems were terrible! I wrote almost nothing worth saving for more than a year. Looking back, it’s obvious why: I was avoiding my subject. Just before Tap Out hit the shelves, my dad died. He was an addict in free fall, and I’d been grieving him a long time. But then he’d actually gone and died, and with him went the potential for reconciliation. I went home and buried him and cleaned out his apartment with my brothers and went back to my life. It took time to find the courage—and the required distance—to write about it. And one day I wrote a little poem about breaking into his apartment, and then another one about where I think I might have been when he died, and another one about the last time my brother saw him. I couldn’t stop. I wrote the middle section of the book, a long poem called “Fixer,” then filled in around it with love poems, weird-job poems, and poems about artificial intelligence, urban gardening, and trying to find a good therapist. I wrote most of the book in a month.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book?  
I struggle to write well when I know the subject of the poem going in. Once the book started to show itself, it became clear it needed a bit of narrative clarity here, a bit more elaboration there. There were holes I needed to fill, threads I needed to develop. That was hard for me. The poems often felt didactic, corny. The book ended up being quite short—about seventy pages—because I cut every poem that felt willed or predictable.
 
3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
I have very little discipline. Even when writing is going well, I’ll go weeks and weeks without writing a word. I have very little discipline: Barf. What I mean is, my process has, so far, been inconsistent. Bursts followed by fallow periods. I’m trying to get better about accepting that. I used to believe it was about clocking in and hammering out your drafts. I mean, it’s important to take the work seriously, but don’t trap yourself into false models of production and worth. Reading is writing is something people say, but also dinner with friends is writing. Going on long walks is writing. Laying down is writing. You can go long periods without setting down a word and still be gathering the necessary materials, storing up energy. 

4. What are you reading right now?
I’m halfway through Eula Biss’s Having and Being Had, and it’s fantastic; I’m a huge fan. I’m rereading Victoria Chang’s The Trees Witness Everything—brilliant. Books out this year I’ve read and loved include Megan Fernandes’s I Do Everything I’m Told, Alina Pleskova’s Toska, Maggie Millner’s Couplets, and Thea Brown’s Loner Forensics. Will Schutt’s translation of Fabio Pusterla’s Brief Homage to Pluto and Other Poems is excellent too.

I’m also reading The Lord of the Rings with a group of friends. We’re all trying to read the trilogy at the same pace; I think we’re set to finish in October. Our pal Danny is a de facto Tolkien scholar, and he very kindly fields our questions about wraiths and wizards and the durability of hobbits. Super fun.

5. What was your strategy for organizing the poems in this collection?
I didn’t know I was working on a book until I wrote the middle poem, a series of eighteen-line sections exploring the period after my dad died. Once that was done, I had to sort out a middle and an end. I had a couple of poems on hand I liked, including “Day Moon” and “Night Heron,” the two earliest poems to make it into the book, and I knew I wanted to write more about work and labor, falling in love, building a life in a new city. Soon I had two hinge poems that led into and out of the long middle sequence, “Squatters,” which ends with the mother calling to tell the speaker about his dad’s death, and “Tuning,” an aftermath poem that follows a section featuring a piano tuner. After that, it was a matter of writing drafts and grouping them by intuition into first-section poems and third-section poems. Eventually, after much shuffling, an order revealed itself, and I stuck with it.

6. Would you recommend writers pursue an MFA?
Sure. The MFA gives you time to write, a boost to your sense of yourself as a writer (important!), and a group of smart people who also care about writing and who hopefully want to help each other get better. Graduating with a book manuscript would be great, but the real goal, I think, is simply to improve and to lay the groundwork for a writing life. If you can find one friend in your program whom you trust and who can commit to exchanging work with you regularly after the MFA, you’re golden. And don’t go into debt for it if you can help it. If you can quit your job and move to a new city, I’d only apply to full-residency programs that offer full tuition remission and pay you enough to live on. If you can afford it and/or can’t move, low-residency programs can be a good option. Ask about scholarships.

7. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Fixer?
I’m surprised by how rangy the poems ended up being. They’re funny and weird and hopeful and tragic. I’m proud of my first book, but it’s not exactly a barrel of laughs. I think I pulled off something more tonally complex in Fixer. It’s truer to the texture of my life. 

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started Fixer, what would you say?
Read more. Drink water. Call your friends. Spend less time worrying about not writing and more time doing things that bring you joy. 

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
In the years between publishing book one and starting book two, I took on a series of escalating home-improvement projects. I don’t know if I had to do them to complete the book, but I wasn’t writing, and I still had the urge to make, fix, take apart, and rebuild. I refinished the hardwood floors in our living room, constructed a series of fences around the yard, got a speaker system for free off Craigslist and repaired it by soldering new capacitors to the board. I’m in the process of replacing all the doors in my house with old solid wood doors with cut glass knobs. Fitting things together in the physical world is so satisfying. I get tired of poetry. The drafting and drafting to get a poem even a little bit right, then undoing it the next day and starting over. I live behind a Subway, and one day one of the guys who works there came out and slapped the fence I built and said, “Nice fence.” I was so happy.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?
Louise Glück was my teacher during my Stegner fellowship, and she told me once that my poems “tend to achieve a premature polish.” In other words, I can make a poem seem, at first glance, finished—taut, lively, convincing. But often, in early drafts at least, I haven’t yet done the thinking and feeling the poem requires. It was a brutal assessment, but true—and useful. I’m learning to let my drafts be messier for longer, to linger in the exploration and discovery phase.

Edgar Kunz, author of Fixer.   (Credit: Ariana Mygatt)

Ten Questions for Robyn Schiff

8.15.23

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Robyn Schiff, whose new book, Information Desk: An Epic, is out today from Penguin Poets. In this book-length lyric, Schiff chronicles her experiences working in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City during the 1990s. A study of memory as much as of art, the verse meanders through the Met’s prodigious collections and exhibitions, narrates encounters with the public at the eponymous desk, navigates relationships with museum staff members, and explores the more current reality from which the speaker gazes back in wonder at her time inside this vast repository of human craft and creativity. Schiff orchestrates an engaging drama of consciousness that lures the reader down each page, capturing the mind’s quicksilver leaps from past to present and back again as it pings in Proustian fashion from sensory trigger to anecdote to meditation on history, science, and a panorama of other subjects treated with a mix of vulnerability and wit. Robyn Schiff is the author of three previous poetry collections: Worth (University of Iowa Press, 2002), Revolver (University of Iowa Press, 2008), and A Woman of Property (Penguin Poets, 2016), which was a finalist for the Los Angeles Times Book Prize. The recipient of the 2023 Joseph Brodsky Rome Prize, she is a professor at the University of Chicago and a coediter of Canarium Books.

1. How long did it take you to write Information Desk?  
It took me about twenty years not to write it, and then another six to sit down and do it.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book?  
Limiting and defining the scope. Information Desk takes place at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which holds over a million objects created over a span of about five thousand years. The poem derives its energy wandering the corridors there and encountering works of art. Deciding which objects to attend to was an exciting challenge.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
When I’m really writing, deep in a poem, I do so seated at my desk—as often as I can for as many hours in a row as possible, at multiple intervals around the clock. But I’m much more often not writing. I’ve never been interested in writing every day, and sometimes years have passed between poems. I value these pauses as much as I value intense periods of creativity, and in a long life in poetry, these phases have come to balance out.

4. What are you reading right now?  
I was reading Henry James’s novel Roderick Hudson but had to return it to the library in a different country before I finished it, so I picked up Elizabeth Bowen’s The Heat of the Day. As soon as I finish that I’ll return to Roderick, a new copy of which has just arrived. For poetry, I’m reading Lynn Xu’s And Those Ashen Heaps That Cantilevered Vase of Moonlight. For nonfiction, I’m reading Black Bodies, White Gold by Anna Arabindan-Kesson.

5. What was your strategy for organizing the poems in this collection?
Information Desk: An Epic is a book-length poem in three parts divided by three invocations to wasps.

6. How did you know when the book was finished?
I’m not sure it is finished. In the course of the poem, on page 113, I ask myself how to exit the museum where the poem takes place. Ultimately I finished the poem shortly after that point because I close the museum after a workday there and lock the door; but I wonder if there might be a volume two? Ask me again in a few years.

7. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Information Desk?
There isn’t one single surprise that stands out but a confluence of unexpected factors: I didn’t imagine that I would relocate homes as often as I did during the composition (I worked in six different houses), anticipate a pandemic, or expect a profound social and political reckoning and its backlash. It was a surprise to find these present-tense situations shaping the poem.

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started Information Desk, what would you say?
There’s a pandemic coming: Go visit your parents, and then make time for a big trip to the Met—it’s going to abruptly close.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
I had to look closely, remember, grieve, research, and redirect.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?
Read more than you write.

Robyn Schiff, author of Information Desk: An Epic.   (Credit: Nicole Craine)

Ten Questions for Alise Alousi

8.8.23

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Alise Alousi, whose debut poetry collection, What to Count, is out today from Wayne State University Press. In these thoughtful free-verse lyrics, prose poems, and forms like the ghazal, the personal and political are interwoven, with explorations of family life and friendship standing alongside interrogations of national histories and mythologies. “Deadline,” for example, considers the Confederate anthem “Dixie” as an example of a white man’s appropriation of African American culture, linking it to other forms of political and interpersonal violence. The sharpness of “Deadline” contrasts with softer verse that paints touching portraits of beloved places and people, as in “Sister,” which recalls a childhood incident with the eponymous sibling whom the speaker realizes is “still tough, unnamable to this day.” Set by turns in Iraq and Michigan, the poems explore the meaning of home and the psychic dissonance that can arise from diasporic identity: “Where do things happen when they happen on a train,” the speaker of the collection’s title poem wonders. Kazim Ali praises What to Count: “This is not poetry at any distance, but one feels inside a life, across the table from the poet, hearing news from a friend. There are an array of formal approaches here, as well as Alousi’s commitment to her community and the care she has for it.” Alise Alousi is a 2019 Kresge Literary Arts Fellow and has received awards from the Knight Foundation, Mesa Refuge, and other organizations. Her work has been widely anthologized, including in Inclined to Speak: An Anthology of Contemporary Arab American Poetry (University of Arkansas Press, 2008). She works at InsideOut Literary Arts and has been an active part of the literary arts community in Detroit for many years.

1. How long did it take you to write What to Count
The majority of the book came together over the last few years, but there are poems that I included that were written much earlier. I really want to say a lifetime, so let’s go with that!

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book? 
The times when I had to put it aside. There were periods when work and family and life took over my days, in ways good and hard, and where I did not have a consistent connection to my own writing. My friend Dunya Mikhail once described poetry like a friend in a café waiting for her. Well, my friend Poetry was waiting there for me for a while; I am a happier, better person when I get to see her every day.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
I write five to six days a week, early in the morning before work and before anyone else is awake in my house. When I feel a poem begin to take shape, I steal time throughout the day and evening to look at it and make small edits. Like anything growing into itself, I love when a poem is getting there, when I can’t stop coming back to it.

4. What are you reading right now? 
I am reading Noor Hindi’s Dear God. Dear Bones. Dear Yellow. I am teaching a brilliant group of teen writers at the Arab American National Museum in Dearborn, Michigan, and this week we had a great conversation about Hindi’s poem “The World’s Loneliest Whale Sings the Loudest Song.” So much to admire. Other books I have adored are the chapbook Flower Boi by Detroit writer MARS. It’s a work of genius, and I can’t wait to see what is next for them. My favorite novel of late was definitely Kelsey Ronan’s Chevy in the Hole. And in nonfiction I recently finished Animal Joy by Nuar Alsadir. I want to go back and reread the beginning. Always a good sign!

5. What was your strategy for organizing the poems in this collection?
I think a first book, especially one that comes together over a longer period, can be harder to organize, and that was the case with What to Count. In having someone review an early version of the manuscript, the one piece of advice they had was to divide the book into sections. Once I figured out the three sections and that they could loosely thread the poems into one manuscript, that helped quite a bit.

6. How did you arrive at the title What to Count for this collection? 
The title comes from a much older poem in the book that I wrote during the economic sanctions against Iraq. I was involved in a Detroit area antisanctions group, and the poem speaks to trying to get people to pay attention to the staggering loss of life that took place as a result of items like medicine and equipment not being let into the country. The number of daily deaths grew while most of the world ignored what was happening, and that was deeply angering for me and for people who were paying attention. The last time I traveled to Iraq was during that period, and so the poem also holds that memory for me. The title also encompasses the way we move through life, especially as artists and creatives. I like that the title can be read as both heavy and childlike. The repetitive counting of things has been something I have done since I was a child, so there’s the whisper of that voice too.

7. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of What to Count?
I always appreciate the surprise of a poem coming together. Seeing the process of the manuscript coming together felt similar and was a surprise and kind of an epiphany. The other thing that has surprised me is how excited I am to work on the next manuscript. Whether that takes shape as a chapbook initially or a full-length manuscript, it feels like it will be a different process and book than the first one.

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started What to Count, what would you say?
Embrace your successes when they happen for you. Especially as women, we can have moments of regret or shame around periods when we are less productive or when things aren’t happening as quickly. And then when the success comes, we can psyche ourselves out of owning it fully. I have experienced some of that, and I am working hard to plant myself in this moment. It helps to be surrounded by people who share in your happiness, which has definitely been the case for me. I am surrounded by the best community of writers in Detroit, truly. My husband and daughter have also cheered me on and supported me every step of the way.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?  
I am not a fast writer or editor, so I was fortunate to be at Mesa Refuge for a residency for two weeks during the final editing, and that was really beneficial. I also was invested in the cover design for my book. I knew I wanted the work of a Detroit woman artist. When I saw the final design with the work of Megan Heeres’s I saw the moon and the moon saw me, it made my heart sing. The moon comes up quite a bit in the book, as do circles and eyes, so there were many connection points. I also worked with artist and poet Koss on a book trailer, which I love. Thinking about the visuals was a fun part of the process for me.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?
I would say the best advice is always, Do the thing, as my colleague Peter Markus once said to me. You gotta just plant yourself in the chair and write. The advice I would give is: Find someone who is a good reader of your work. I met mine, Jen Garfield, at Martha’s Vineyard Institute of Creative Writing, years ago. We don’t live in the same part of the country and have never been in the same room together since, but we have maintained a regular practice of writing together, sending each other work for feedback, talking about where we are submitting work, etcetera. If someone gets your voice, who you are on the page, that’s the best gift in the world. Find yourself a partner whose advice you truly trust.

Alise Alousi, author of What to Count.  

Ten Questions for Jamel Brinkley

8.1.23

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Jamel Brinkley, whose new story collection, Witness, is out today from Farrar, Straus and Giroux. This moving group of tales explores the experience and ethics of being an observer or bystander—in the drama of one’s own life, the lives of others, and unfolding history. Characters grapple with the choice to respond or act and face the consequences, good or bad, that lie on either side of that decision. Other times action seems an impossibility in the face of overwhelming events, as in the devastating “Comfort,” which follows the grief-stricken sister of a man who has been murdered by a New York City police officer as she struggles to move beyond her rage and sorrow. Kindness is a form of volition in these stories, providing moments of grace that often go unseen or unacknowledged but nonetheless hold the world together. Kirkus praises Witness: “Brinkley’s stories carry a rich veneer worthy of such exemplars of the form as Chekhov, Eudora Welty, Alice Munro, and James Alan McPherson. … After just two collections, Brinkley may already be a grand master of the short story.” Jamel Brinkley is the author of A Lucky Man (Graywolf Press, 2018), which won the Ernest J. Gaines Award for Literary Excellence and was a finalist for the National Book Award, the John Leonard Prize, and the Hurston/Wright Legacy Award. His work has appeared in the Paris ReviewA Public SpacePloughshares, and The Best American Short Stories. He was raised in the Bronx and Brooklyn and currently teaches at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop.

How long did it take you to write Witness?
Thanks to a fellowship at Stanford, it took me a little over four years, including revisions and edits, although the oldest story, “Arrows,” was first drafted back in 2013. The newest story, “That Particular Sunday,” snuck into the collection in early 2022, during the editorial process with Farrar, Straus and Giroux.  

What was the most challenging thing about writing the book? 
The collection gathers characters who, in many cases, fail to perceive or fail to act. One challenge was to find ways around their perceptual limitations and deliver stories that were still vivid, sharp, true, and full of feeling. Another challenge was to make sure that any passive tendencies on the part of the characters didn’t cause the stories themselves to become inert.  

Where, when, and how often do you write?
I tend to write at home, at my desk, and I hope to write for two to three hours in the morning at least four or five days a week. This summer I’ve been putting in some afternoon sessions as well. That frequency is only possible when I’m not teaching during the academic year, however.

What are you reading right now?
I seem to be perpetually rereading The Transit of Venus by Shirley Hazzard. I’m also rereading Angels by Denis Johnson as well as three books for a seminar I’m teaching this fall: King Lear, The Age of Innocence, and Song of Solomon. I just picked up Francisco by Alison Mills Newman and To the North by Elizabeth Bowen.

Which author or authors have been influential for you, in your writing of this book in particular or as a writer in general?
For Witness, James Baldwin and Gina Berriault were crucial, as were Mavis Gallant and William Trevor. More generally, I also think a lot about Edward P. Jones and my teachers Yiyun Li, Marilynne Robinson, Lan Samantha Chang, and Charles D’Ambrosio.

Would you recommend writers pursue an MFA?
It depends. You certainly don’t need one to be a writer. Pursuing an MFA was the right move for me personally, and I had a positive experience. There are no perfect MFA programs, and if you sift through all the lazy nonsense out there, you’ll find some specific and valid critiques of them. But a good program that is the right match for you can supply time, an engaging community, a little bit of money, and a credential that perhaps can be useful. I wouldn’t recommend the experience to egoists. If you assume you are superior to other writers, are offended by the idea of being critiqued, or get a kick out of poisoning atmospheres, do not pursue!  

What is one thing that your agent or editor told you during the process of publishing this book that stuck with you?
Simply having consistent sources of intelligent encouragement, which both my agent and editor are, has been invaluable.

What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Witness?
One of the pleasures of writing short stories for me is the surprise of an ending. The moment when I realize how and where a story is going to land—when I hear that sound, its click of completion—is so delightful and sometimes chilling. In the process of writing a collection, I get to have that experience over and over again.

What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
I had to do research on various topics, such as deed theft, and on various kinds of workers: people who drive delivery trucks, who work in hotels or in flower shops, who stage homes that are being sold, and so on. The research was interesting and pleasurable.

What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?   
I’ve gotten lots of good advice, but one piece I’ll mention is to embrace the problems that emerge as you’re writing. I think of these problems as puzzles that invite the response of the writer’s unique creativity and as portals that will eventually lead you to the work’s depth and complexity. 

Jamel Brinkley, author of Witness.   (Credit: Daniele Molajoli)

Ten Questions for JoAnna Novak

7.25.23

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features JoAnna Novak, whose memoir, Contradiction Days: An Artist on the Verge of Motherhood, is out today from Catapult. In this mix of personal narrative and meditation on the painter Agnes Martin, Novak reckons with the transformation of her body and mind during pregnancy and what it means to be a female artist. As Novak finds herself overwhelmed by her changing physical state and lack of creative motivation, mental health problems come bubbling to the surface. When an attempt to seek medical advice results in her doctor admonishing her, she finds herself sinking into despair. Yet her engagement with Martin—particularly the painter’s struggle to make art while living with schizophrenia—opens a channel for Novak to find equilibrium and new inspiration. Seeking both communion with Martin and a new perspective, she travels to Martin’s longtime home in New Mexico and shuts herself off from the world for several weeks of introspection and writing. Kirkus praises Contradiction Days, saying “the story pulses with honesty and vulnerability, spiraling to a satisfying ending.” JoAnna Novak’s story collection, Meaningful Work (Fiction Collective 2, 2021), won the Ronald Sukenick Innovative Fiction Contest. She is the author of three books of poetry, most recently New Life (Black Lawrence Press, 2021), and a novel, I Must Have You (Skyhorse, 2017). Her work has appeared in the New York Times, the New Yorker, the Paris Review, and other publications.

1. How long did it take you to write Contradiction Days
I wrote the first draft in seventeen days. The subsequent drafts were rewrites. I wrote the first revision in four months. I wrote the second revision in six months. I wrote the third revision in seven months. I wrote the fourth revision in twenty-one days. This began in July 2019 and concluded in March 2022.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book? 
At first, writing with some degree of authority or confidence about Agnes Martin: putting that unspeakable connection—aesthetic, biographical, psychical—into words. Once I got over that hurdle, sitting with the person I’d been as the protagonist of the memoir and offering her compassion became the greater challenge.
                                               
3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
In a notebook, on the computer, or on my typewriter, a mint-green Hermes Media 3. At my desk, at the kitchen table, on the Amtrak, on benches in galleries, in museum bathrooms, at the library, once every few years at a bar having a glass of wine on an empty stomach, in hotel rooms.  

I go through phases of writing first thing in the morning—4:00 AM until 7:00 AM, maybe. And when I’m on a deadline, I’ll write until two or three in the morning. (Last night I pressed send on something at 2:25 AM.) In a perfect world, I’d write all day, with lots of wheel-spinning in the morning that gives way to a hyper-focused afternoon that invites some after-dinner work. This is very infrequently achievable because I have an almost-four-year-old!

4. What are you reading right now? 
Abbe Rivaux’s biography of Mother St. John Fontbonne. Caroline Knapp’s Pack of Two: The Intricate Bond Between People and Dogs. Henry Hoke’s Open Throat.

5. Which author or authors have been influential for you, in your writing of this book in particular or as a writer in general?
Agnes Martin’s writing was critical to my writing of this book, not only for its role in the plot but for its lessons in firmness, warmth, and clarity. I read most of John Berger as I wrote the third draft. The poems of Yi Sang. Annie Dillard, Anne Lamott, and Natalie Goldberg. Stephen Batchelor. Shunryū Suzuki.

6. Would you recommend writers pursue an MFA?
Yes, if it’s paid for. Or, if it costs money: Don’t compromise your daily survival.

7. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Contradiction Days?
How about two things? While I was working on the final rewrite, I interviewed a number of women who’d known Agnes Martin. Her friends, her colleagues, artists like Ann Martin and Lizzie Borden and Pat Steir. Their generosity astonished me. And then there’s a moment in the memoir when the narrator watches old interviews with Agnes, sees her and hears her voice in a very intimate viewing situation. The potency of that experience still shocks me.

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started Contradiction Days, what would you say?
You have time.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
Definitely research. I started reading about Agnes a couple of months before I wrote the first draft in Taos, New Mexico, and I continued for the next three years. Conducting interviews. Taking art history courses. Looking at as much art as I could. Also: having a baby, becoming a mother, and witnessing my priorities shift.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?
It’s not a neat pull quote, but my first fiction-writing professor, Barbara Tannert-Smith, was always trying to get me to work in scenes. She told me to think of scenes as boxes. Discrete boxes, with their own contents—characters, action, setting, etcetera. That analogy has only become more helpful as I’ve continued writing. The containment of a scene can be a powerful source of tension and driver of plot. And it helps me stay grounded and forward-moving, especially when I’m working in flashback or deep interiority. Thank you, Barbara! I wrote the first draft of Contradiction Days in text boxes of 6 x 6 inches.

JoAnna Novak, author of Contradiction Days: An Artist on the Verge of Motherhood.   (Credit: Falyn Huang)

Ten Questions for Caleb Azumah Nelson

7.18.23

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Caleb Azumah Nelson, whose new novel, Small Worlds, is out today from Grove Press. In this coming-of-age narrative, Stephen, the son of Ghanian immigrants in London, struggles to balance his creative ambitions with filial duty. Stephen’s love of music and dancing—“the one thing that can solve most of our problems,” Nelson writes—was ingrained in the boisterous church he grew up attending with his parents. Despite the familial origin of his passion, Stephen’s parents nonetheless wish their son a more conventional life as they seek to build a prosperous future in Britain. Despite efforts to acquiesce to his parents’ wishes, however, Stephen finds himself drawn to the music scene in ways that feel affirming and life-altering. In London and during visits to Accra, Ghana, the protagonist contends with his heritage and how to integrate his authentic self with his ancestry. Publishers Weekly praises Small Worlds: “Nelson’s assured writing captures the pulse of a dance party, the heat of a family’s bond, and the depth of spiritual fervor to conjure a story­ as infectious as a new favorite song.” A National Book Foundation 5 Under 35 honoree, Caleb Azumah Nelson is the author of Open Water (Grove Press, 2021), which won the Costa First Novel Award and was named a best book of the year by Literary Hub, the Millions, Time, and other publications.

1. How long did it take you to write Small Worlds?  
I wrote the novel over the course of a year or so. The first draft took three nonconsecutive months; I was writing while on tour for Open Water. The remainder was the editing process, which really cemented the shape of the book. 

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book?  
Time was the biggest challenge this time ‘round! I tend to write in quite intense periods and love the rhythm of consistency, but I found myself squeezing writing in this time ‘round.  

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
When I’m working on a novel, I write Monday to Saturday. I’m up early, usually at 5:30 AM, and then I’ll exercise, grab some breakfast, and get to my writing/photography studio. I’ll be at the desk from 7:00 AM until midday, then the rest of the day is mine; I’ll usually go for a long walk or to a gallery to unwind the mind.

4. What are you reading right now?  
I’m rereading Land of Milk and Honey by C Pam Zhang, which is the best thing I’ve read all year.

5. Which author or authors have been influential for you, in your writing of this book in particular or as a writer in general? 
This novel was heavily influenced by Toni Morrison; Jazz was the last novel I read before I started writing. I’m always reading poetry as I’m writing fiction. This time ‘round Langston Hughes, Raymond Antrobus, June Jordan, and Sarah Lasoye were poets I was reading closely as I was writing. 

6. What trait do you most value in your editor or agent?
I’m so grateful for both my editors and my agents, who are encouraging of my wandering mind and curiosities. But I’m most grateful for our editing process, in which they are less prescriptive and always asking questions for me to ask myself.

7. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Small Worlds?
I’m always trying to leave room in my writing for surprise. I don’t plan a huge amount, instead relying on the understanding of the emotions I’m trying to express. But I didn’t anticipate writing a novel about fathers and sons and the ways in which our family histories can haunt us.

8. What is the earliest memory that you associate with the book?
In the meeting I had with my editor in the process of selling my first novel, she asked if there was anything else I wanted to write. I described a novel about faith, family, and community, which also continued to explore how expression—specifically music—could act as a site of freedom for Black people, and that’s where Small Worlds started. There was also a short story I wrote a few years back, which is where the characters in this book first appeared; it was useful to spend time with them in this way and was the beginning of understanding the voice necessary for the novel. 

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
I took a research trip back to Ghana, where I’m from, during the course of writing. It was the first time I had been back in sixteen years. As I was writing the novel it was feeling more and more necessary to make the trip. I wanted to feel the texture of the place, to feel the heat, to see the light. I took all my cameras out there with me, and the images I made ended up being really fundamental to finishing up the novel. 

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?  
My agent told me the first time we met that a lot of writing is fictionalising memory; I write this in all of my notebooks.

Caleb Azumah Nelson, author of Small Worlds.   (Credit: Stuart Ruel)

Ten Questions for Sarah Rose Etter

7.11.23

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Sarah Rose Etter, whose new novel, Ripe, is out today from Scribner. In this surreal tale, Cassie, a depressed marketing writer at a Silicon Valley tech company, struggles to make it through days of cold hyperproductivity surrounded by coworkers she calls “Believers,” who are too obsessed with ascending the corporate ladder to notice the homeless population and pollution of San Francisco that preoccupy Cassie. Literally trailed by a black hole from her early childhood, in which she absorbed the capitalist logic of her father and abusive mother, Cassie is entrenched in a battle between her “true self” and “false self” when she suspects she is pregnant. With her boss bearing down on her and the air newly dangerous with wildfire smoke and a contagious virus, she must decide what she really wants from life and how to come to terms with the black hole that has remained her constant companion. Publishers Weekly praises Ripe: “A scathing look at corporate greed and its many dire consequences, this is deeply felt and cathartic.” Sarah Rose Etter is the author of The Book of X (Two Dollar Radio, 2019), winner of the Shirley Jackson Award, and the story collection Tongue Party (Caketrain, 2011). She lives in Los Angeles.

1. How long did it take you to write Ripe?
Ripe took about five years to write. I started the book in 2018, just the first twenty-five pages or so. Then I set it aside while I was touring for my first novel, The Book of X. I returned to the project shortly after my father died suddenly of a heart attack. We went into lockdown a few months after he died, and I just found myself in isolation with this grief. My father had always joked about me writing this book, and I didn’t know what else to do with what I was feeling other than write the book he wanted. The first draft took about six months. The next three and a half or four years were really spent in edits, going back and forth with my agent and then my editor at Scribner. That really helped get the book solid on the plot level and on the line level. Editing is always the longest part of the process for me.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book? 
There were really two challenges—one emotional, one technical. Emotionally, I had to crack open my heart and allow myself to really examine my relationship to capitalism, my father, my other relationships, and love. I had to let the ugliness happen on the page. It’s really important for writers to be able to look at the weak, vulnerable, ugly, messy parts of a character. That also requires the author to examine some of their own weak, vulnerable, ugly, messy parts. That part of writing is always very intimate for me.

On a technical level, the black hole [in the book] was a huge challenge because it’s this phenomenon that we barely understand at all in the real world. So making that translate into a presence in a novel took tons of research and many, many edits. The black hole behaved differently throughout several drafts, and it took a long time to land on it being this ominous presence. Then it was a lot of work to simplify all of the research about black holes so the reader could understand the magnitude of it, both in reality and in Cassie’s life.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
When I’m working on a first draft, I’m usually writing pretty manically. Typically, I’ll write for one hour a night after work during the week, then 9:00 AM to 5:00 PM on Saturdays and Sundays. That’s my schedule for five or six months until I get the first draft out. I need to spend as much time as possible in that section of my brain before it moves on to something else.

I have a desk in the corner of my apartment that I use for my full-time job and my drafting of books. One thing that helps me separate the full-time job from novel writing is music. I have a playlist for each novel, so I’ll listen to the same songs on repeat as I’m writing. I’m sure it would drive some people insane, but it really helps me tunnel back into the world of the book very quickly.

But, you know, how often I write depends on where I am in the process. Right now, since I’m in the promotion cycle, it’s less about writing and more about talking about writing. After this is over, I’ll go back into my little hole and hopefully write another draft.

4. What are you reading right now? 
Well, there is the sophisticated answer that will impress everyone and then there’s the actual truth. I read a lot, so I don’t mind sharing both. Sophisticated Answer: I’m reading a few books that I’m blurbing, one of which is The Cleaner by Brandi Wells, which I really, really loved. It reminds me of Eileen by Ottessa Moshfegh in a great way. I also just finished Death Valley by Melissa Broder, and I always love being in her head. I also got completely obsessed with Poor Things by Alasdair Gray, the novel the new Yorgos Lanthimos movie is based on. I believe that’s being released in the U.S. soon, and it’s so weird and innovative and great.

Actual Truth: I’ve just recently gotten into horror and mystery books, which is funny because I think most people who’ve ever read my work would think I was already interested in those. I just finished reading Let the Right One In by John Ajvide Lindqvist, and it’s fantastic—so well done. It also feels a bit ahead of its time. About a third of the way through the book, the vampire changes gender, and the pronouns change. I’ve also been reading a lot of the books that are adapted into TV shows and movies, so The Shining Girls, The Exorcist, the Tana French books. I’ve just been examining how these books come alive on the screen because I’m a nerd.

5. Which author or authors have been influential for you, in your writing of this book in particular or as a writer in general?
Sylvia Plath is obviously right up at the top. I remember in eighth grade, the teacher put “metaphors” up on the projector and asked the class, “What do you think this poem is about?” and I knew immediately that Plath was pregnant, intuitively. And I was hooked on her after that.

Before I write every book, I pull together a stack of five or six books that I want to be in conversation with. For Ripe, it was The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath; Play It As It Lays by Joan Didion; Why the Child is Cooking in the Polenta by Aglaja Veteranyi, translated by Vincent Kling; The Copenhagen Trilogy by Tove Ditlevsen, and Problems by Jade Sharma. I also read Hot Milk by Deborah Levy while I was writing this, and that helped me a lot on the sentence level. During editing, I tend to read a lot of poetry, so Morgan Parker, Elisa Gabbert, Tommy Pico.

6. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Ripe?
The most surprising thing was that I ended up trying to preserve the memories I had of my father while I was writing Ripe. Suddenly the father in the book really morphed into a way to immortalize my father. His advice, his way of thinking about business and work, his love of museums—these were all things that I was really afraid I was going to forget about him. At some point, this novel became a way to make sure I didn’t forget anything about him. I was so deep in my grief when I wrote this book, I remember worrying that I would forget how my father’s voice sounded. So the book is deeply personal; it’s very complicated and very close to my heart.

7. What is the earliest memory that you associate with the book?
Much like Cassie, I worked in Silicon Valley for a year. It made my parents very proud, and it felt like a big deal. But then I got there, and I realized it wasn’t exactly what I thought it was going to be. During my first week in San Francisco, I stopped in a coffee shop. The owner was working the counter and made me a coffee. We started chatting about where we were from, that kind of thing. And she mentioned that the night before, a man had set himself on fire outside of her store. She’d tried to put out the flames and was really shaken up over it, of course. Hearing that just knocked the wind out of me. I think that was the exact moment I got the sense that maybe I was living in a bad place. It was the moment the illusion of San Francisco shattered for me.

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started Ripe, what would you say?
This is a hard question. My only goal is to write the best book that I can at the time. I do think I did that with Ripe. I worked insanely hard on this novel. At many points, I did have this deep fear, which I think happens for all writers, that I’d written a terrible book and nobody would publish it. So I think maybe I would go back and tell her that all the work wouldn’t be for nothing.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
I did a lot of research for this book on pomegranates and black holes. I was researching both of them extensively—learning about their histories, their role in art, all of it. I was eating pomegranates constantly. I was watching documentaries, reading papers by astrophysicists. I really was just consumed by both of these things for the entire time I wrote the book.

I also spent a lot of time with visual art. That’s huge for me. We were in lockdown for much of the drafting, so I was making sculptures and painting a bit. I did want the novel to be sculptural, and that’s a lot of the reason it took on the shape of a pomegranate.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received? 
Finish the first draft. That’s it. It’s so simple, but we make it so complicated. Even if it’s messy and ugly and wrong, just finish it. Without the first draft you have nothing; you just have an idea for a book. And everyone—I mean EVERYONE—has an idea for a book. It’s just vaporware if you don’t finish the first draft. It’s so easy to get caught up in thinking: Who’s going to publish it? What’s the cover going to look like? I want a review in the New York Times! But all of that is fantasy without a first draft. Obviously editing is important, but you have nothing to edit without a first draft. Finish the draft. Nothing else matters.

Sarah Rose Etter, author of Ripe.   (Credit: Lee Jameson)

Ten Questions for Lillian-Yvonne Bertram

6.27.23

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Lillian-Yvonne Bertram, whose new poetry collection, Negative Money, is out today from Soft Skull Press. In this mix of free verse, prose poems, and experimental forms that make poster-like visual artworks of the page, Bertram explores the meaning of value and how we measure it in dollars and cents; the way we treat one another with care, neglect, or violence; and what mass culture holds up as ideal images and narratives. The poems leap from blunt confession to musical wordplay to high-lyric elocution: “The arrow grazed the doe in the morning, / shaved bare its shoulder,” they write in “Intima.” Surprising juxtapositions characterize the collection, as in the stark contrast of the elegant doe of “Intima” and the speaker’s “cunt / made of deer meat” in the next poem, “Raise Her Dark Matter.” Publishers Weekly writes that Negative Money leaves “the reader with an increased awareness of the fragility, absurdity, and loneliness of the world…. This profound book will stir readers into necessary reflection.” Lillian-Yvonne Bertram is an associate professor of English, Africana studies, and art and design at Northeastern University. They are the author of several poetry collections, including Travesty Generator (Noemi Press, 2019), which won the 2018 Noemi Press Poetry Prize and was a finalist for the National Poetry Series, and Personal Science (Tupelo Press, 2017).

1. How long did it take you to write Negative Money?  
Several years, as I didn’t set out to write exactly this book. It is a compilation of poems I’ve written over time, some a decade old or more. I was writing poems and figured that, at some point, they would coalesce into something I could call a book. My preoccupations over time remain the same, so poems several years old still spoke to more recent ones.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book?  
Once I had the poems it was challenging to think about what kind of story they could tell, what was missing, what needed to be added or amended. Things I wrote in the past I wouldn’t write today, but I also wouldn’t necessarily change them. Reconciling the different types of writer I have been proved to be more challenging than I expected.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
Anywhere I can, really, but also hardly ever! I have been working on other projects for a while, and so anything strictly “creative writing” hasn’t happened in many months. I do a lot of thinking and ideating, so hopefully that counts.

4. What are you reading right now?  
E-mail; lots and lots of e-mail. News and other sorts of content. But the most recent book I was reading was Crying in the Bathroom by Erica L. Sanchez.

5. What was your strategy for organizing the poems in this collection?
I tend to organize poems in groups, so there are maybe five or six groups of poems in the book, of four to six poems each, and those groups share similar themes or ideas. I wouldn’t put all the poems in a group one after the other, so it becomes a matter of spreading them all out so that they can still speak to one another, but also to the poems that intervene so that there is interconnectedness among the phantom “sections.” It all falls together rather organically, or so it seems to me.

6. How did you arrive at the title Negative Money for this collection? 
I was thinking about how I have far more debt than capital, and how many people can be fully employed but never keep any of the money they earn. That’s most of us. I began to think of this situation, of making money but not actually owning it or being able to keep any of it, as a kind of “negative money.”

7. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Negative Money?
I found myself feeling deeply insecure about the work, in part because some of it was written so long ago. I had to rethink how I felt about certain things when I wrote them and consider what they could mean now that my relationship to them is different and now that the world in which they will be read is very different. 

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started Negative Money, what would you say?
“Develop a consistent writing practice, and just write!”

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
I did a lot of revising—a lot—and other kinds of reading. I also spent a lot of time away from the poems, from the book, trying to spend time outside. Again, I don’t think in terms of books exactly, so I don’t write towards the book as a goal, which meant I never sat down and thought, “Okay, here are things I need to do to complete this book: A, B, and C.” The book itself is an arbitrary unit, after the fact. It is born only once there is enough writing. 

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?
The same piece of advice I give to others but never follow myself: “Just write!” That’s it. I don’t have anything profound to say about it, other than to just write and not bother with these ideas of whether you can or you should or if it’s good or whatever. Just write. 

 

 

Lillian-Yvonne Bertram, author of Negative Money.     (Credit: Adrianne Mathiowetz)

Ten Questions for Stacy Jane Grover

6.20.23

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Stacy Jane Grover, whose debut essay collection, Tar Hollow Trans, is out today from the University Press of Kentucky. In these complex inquiries into place and selfhood, Grover explores her upbringing and the emergence of her trans identity in Appalachian southeast Ohio. With a profound desire to be “a country woman, of the land, that place of undefined gender,” Grover nonetheless travels to the city seeking a more liberated existence, only to find a different form of “constraint” away from her beloved nature. In Grover’s research into family, regional, social, and medical history, she uncovers the many queer narratives interwoven with the people, places, and rituals of Appalachia: a great aunt who subverted gender norms and was murdered at sixteen; early-twentieth-century government interventions into the lives of rural women, seeking to “feminize” them in the name of health and hygiene; communal practices that put less pressure on the nuclear family and more on an extended network of kin. These narratives shape Grover’s understanding of her own personal experiences with friends, family members, and the various characters—both in person and online—that she confronts while resisting any certain conclusions about herself or the place where she grew up. “If there’s any hope in identity as a project, in all that we hold and practice to make sense of ourselves, whether we call it queer or transgender or Appalachian, it might be found in being bewil­dered, in forgoing knowability to bestow upon ourselves a complex interiority and wonderous possibility,” she writes. Publishers Weekly calls Tar Hollow Trans “a unique, fascinating collection.” Stacy Jane Grover is a graduate of the University of Cincinnati and holds an MA in women’s, gender, and sexuality studies. Tar Hollow Trans is her first book.

1. How long did it take you to write Tar Hollow Trans?  
The process of writing the book took about fourteen months, from pitching the book to my editor to turning in the completed manuscript.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book?  
The book was a real learning process for me. I had published essays in magazines, so I wasn’t even sure if I could write something book length. I also hadn’t found a consistent daily writing schedule. I had to learn through writing the book how to discipline my creativity so that I could write whenever and wherever I needed to.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write? 
I write every day, usually in the mornings, and also as the day allows. I write at my desk in my office or on the porch. I do write a lot on my phone—so, often, wherever I happen to be.  

4. What are you reading right now?  
I’m actually not a big reader in my free time, and it’s hard for me to read anything while I’m drafting. So I usually only read in preparation for something I’m going to write. I’m in a nice break period right now.

5. Which author or authors have been influential for you, in your writing of this book in particular or as a writer in general?  
I almost exclusively read Anne Rice when I was younger. Following her online shaped how I’ve come to understand writing as daily work, how to stick to an artistic vision while being open to change, and the need to be sincere with one’s audience.

Alison Stine and Carter Sickels have been dear friends and mentors. They’ve taught me through action how to be a writer who uplifts other writers. I’ve only had one creative writing class, and it was with Kristen Iversen. I know the essay as a form because of her teaching and generous spirit.

6. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Tar Hollow Trans
The shape the book took surprised me the most. I proposed an entirely different book from the one I wrote. I couldn’t write the original book I had an idea for, because I hadn’t lived it. When I allowed myself to be honest and sincere on the page, the essays began to take a different shape, and the forms they took outweighed my want to stick to the original idea. So instead of a book of essays about my transgender life in Appalachia, I ended up with a collection of essays that explore the process of trying to write myself into those identities, when I am not sure they’ve ever truly fit me. That’s why I love the essay as a form, because it allows for so much flexibility and spontaneity.

7. What is the earliest memory that you associate with the book?
In January of 2021, I tweeted that I wanted a contract for a book on being transgender in Appalachia. Maybe a day or two later, my editor—then unknown to me—contacted me about pitching her the idea. I was actually working on a different book idea at the time.

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started Tar Hollow Trans, what would you say
Writing won’t ever save you. Focus on living your life.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
My work is research intensive, so I had to collect family stories, conduct archival research, and read lots of books and articles on gender theory and Appalachian studies. I read almost all of the work that I cite in the book during my MA, which I completed two years before I came up with the idea for and started writing the book.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received? 
In Beyond the Writers’ Workshop: New Ways to Write Creative Nonfiction, Carol Bly writes, “Literature has low enough standards. But we can avoid writing the worst literature if we make ourselves ask ourselves, every two or three sentences we write, ‘Is that what I really think?’”

Stacy Jane Grover, author of Tar Hollow Trans   (Credit: Elizabeth Keith)

Ten Questions for Nathan Go

6.13.23

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Nathan Go, whose debut novel, Forgiving Imelda Marcos, is out today from Farrar, Straus and Giroux. In this epistolary tale that spins an alternative history of the Philippines, an aging father, Lito Macaraeg, pens a letter to his journalist son in the United States about his experience working as the chauffeur to Corazon Aquino, who became the president of the Philippines in 1986 after leading an uprising against dictator Ferdinand Marcos. Macaraeg recalls his work for Aquino, including his drive to deliver her to a clandestine meeting with Imelda Marcos, the dictator’s wife. Lito’s own life story becomes interwoven with his narrative about Aquino and Imelda Marcos, spurring him to reflect on fatherhood, grief, and the way individual lives become inextricably linked to the sociopolitical context in which they find themselves. The book also serves as a poignant reminder of the United States’ former role as colonizer of the Philippines, where the aftermath of imperialism continues to unfold: “Yes, America is a liberator. But often it’s also a liberator from the problems it created in the first place,” Lito writes to his son. Kirkus praises Forgiving Imelda Marcos: “Go’s narrative burns slowly, gracing the novel with an understated yet profound power. A tender meditation on the unseen moments that shape history and the human spirit.” A graduate of the Iowa Writers’ Workshop and the Helen Zell Writers’ Program at the University of Michigan, Nathan Go is a senior lecturer at the University of the Philippines in Mindanao. His fiction has appeared in PloughsharesAmerican Short FictionNinth Letter, the Massachusetts Review, and elsewhere.

1. How long did it take you to write Forgiving Imelda Marcos?
On and off, about fifteen years. I wrote the first draft as a screenplay for an undergraduate class in 2007. I forgot about it and picked it up again in 2014, when I turned it into a novella for my MFA thesis. Finally it became a novel around 2017 and underwent several more revisions.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book?
I didn’t seek to write a political novel, but the characters in my novel happen to be political. While I was finishing the final draft, the political landscape in the Philippines kept shifting back and forth. For this reason I made a decision not to let current affairs influence my book—I stuck to seeing the story from my characters’ points-of-view as best I could. I know this novel will not make everyone happy. There will be those who want a stronger political message, and there will be those who want a less political message. I just let my characters decide where the novel would go.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
My ideal writing schedule, which I achieved only once in my life—during my David T. K. Wong Creative Writing Fellowship at the University of East Anglia in Norwich, England, (for which I am eternally grateful!)—is to write as soon as I get up for about two to three hours, go to the gym, have lunch, and take a light nap. Then I would wake up and write for another two to three hours before going to the gym again and having dinner and a bath. I would read for the rest of the night before falling asleep and repeat the same routine the next day. Physical activity leads to better sleep, and better sleep leads to better dreaming, and better dreaming leads to better writing. I believe that writing is just a form of dreaming.

4. What are you reading right now?
I have a lot of catching up to do: In West Mills by De’Shawn Charles Winslow; Letters to a Writer of Color, edited by Deepa Anappara and Taymour Soomro; Brotherless Night by V. V. Ganeshananthan; and the Boxer Codex, a sixteenth century manuscript about the Philippines compiled by European imperialists for the King of Spain.

5. Which author or authors have been influential for you, in your writing of this book in particular or as a writer in general?
Marilynne Robinson’s Gilead and Kazuo Ishiguro’s The Remains of the Day were always on my table when I wrote the novel. In general, I am much indebted to Paul Harding and Margot Livesey, who really taught me not just how to write but how to be a generous writer.

6. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Forgiving Imelda Marcos?
How polarizing the title became because of the Marcoses’ big comeback in the Philippines. Again, I did not seek to write a political novel. Since the first draft in 2007, when the Marcoses were pretty much on the down-low, the title has been Forgiving Imelda Marcos. That was simply the most intuitive title: It was what I imagined the character Mrs. Aquino, a devout Catholic, contemplated during the last days of her life. I was not trying to make any political statement at all with the title.

7. What is one thing that your agent or editor told you during the process of publishing this book that stuck with you?
There wasn’t one thing that my agent or editor told me that stuck with me. Rather, I was more surprised at how long the publishing process took even after I sold the book. The novel had gestated for fifteen years and underwent so many revisions that I hadn’t expected my editor to do several more rounds of revisions. But they were all very helpful, and Farrar, Straus and Giroux was very supportive. I ended up rather happy, and humbled.

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started Forgiving Imelda Marcos, what would you say?
Perhaps write a different novel.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
I was a student, for the most part, when I wrote the different versions of the story. But when I went back to the Philippines and started helping out with my family business, I became extremely busy and forgot about the novel. It was only during the pandemic, when my family and I found ourselves stuck in Atlanta while on vacation, that I suddenly had time to revise the novel and send it to an agent.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?
All rules of writing are there to be broken. Otherwise, if we just simply follow all the rules, it’s not art: It’s ChatGPT, or artificial intelligence (AI). The paradox is that while we’re still learning to write, we do have to learn the rules. Only then can we become good enough to break them and form our own rules. I wonder if that’s what would differentiate human writers from AI.

Nathan Go, author of Forgiving Imelda Marcos.    (Credit: Crest Contrata)

Ten Questions for Helen Schulman

6.6.23

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Helen Schulman, whose new novel, Lucky Dogs, is out today from Knopf. This propulsive narrative considers how sexual misconduct by powerful men is often aided and abetted by women whose lives and livelihoods depend on the smooth operations of the patriarchy. The bones of the plot, Schulman writes in her author’s note, was inspired by the story of Rose McGowan, whose allegations of sexual assault against Harvey Weinstein reportedly led the now-convicted sex offender to hire an Israeli spy agency to undermine the actress’s case against him. In Lucky Dogs, a version of McGowan is Meredith Montgomery, who becomes friends with a mysterious woman named Nina after a fraught encounter in Paris, where Meredith is living after her social-media rants have made her a Hollywood outcast. From there, Schulman takes readers on a tour de force through Europe, Israel, the United States, and the inner lives of Meredith and Nina, each of whom has survived a traumatic past that pits one against the other in a battle for their lives. Kirkus praises Lucky Dogs as “a barn burner of a novel,” calling it Schulman’s “finest work to date. In a word: Wow.” Helen Schulman is the author of seven novels, including Come With Me (HarperCollins, 2018). Her fiction and nonfiction have appeared in such places as Vanity Fair, Time, Vogue, GQ, The New York Times Book Review, and The Paris Review. She is a professor of writing at the New School.

1. How long did it take you to write Lucky Dogs?  
I guess about three years. And then my marvelous editor, Jennifer Barth, and I worked on it together some more. Maybe closer to four?

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book?  
My last few books have been about earthquakes in the culture, through the lens of an individual, couple, or family. So I tend to surf the zeitgeist as I write. What I mean is, I write alongside history as it unfolds, creating a kind of time capsule of current events—a historical fiction of now. Ultimately, of course, it’s almost impossible to put the news of the day into a novel, so I eventually pull the plug and set an end date for my storyline. It’s a habit I’ve vowed to quit.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write? 
I write on my bed. I don’t have a desk or an office. I have a bag full of materials that I used to drag from room to room with me, because I also liked to write on the couch in the living room of our apartment. But then the pandemic happened, and everyone in my family came home, so I lost that coveted spot. I had long-haul Covid while writing this one, which kind of cemented the write-in-bed habit. I have two sweet kittens, who curl up with me. I don’t see this changing.
 
I write as often and for as long as I can. I teach a lot and I am the fiction chair at the New School MFA program, so I often do not have a lot of time on my hands.

4. What are you reading right now?  
Oedipus in Brooklyn and Other Stories by Blume Lempel. I’m on a reading jag of female writers who wrote in Yiddish, who have finally been translated into English. I am also late to the party on Claire Keegan and trying to make up for lost time. On my stack: Adrienne Brodeur’s new novel, Little Monsters; my former student John Bengan’s stories in Armor—John writes from the heart and from the Philippines—and Jennifer Grotz’s beautiful and crushingly sad new poetry collection, Still Falling.

5. Which author or authors have been influential for you, in your writing of this book in particular or as a writer in general? 
The answer to that is the bookshelf of my life. If you have been reading as long as I have, you are constantly taking notes, especially craft ones, as you go. It all goes in the blender. 

6. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Lucky Dogs
That nothing can abate my anger.

7. What is one thing that your agent or editor told you during the process of publishing this book that stuck with you?
I love my agent, Sloan Harris, like a family member—and more so than some of my family members. But when I asked him if he thought the book was funny, because my husband thinks it’s funny, he said: “You know how much I like and admire [your hubby], but he is a very sick man.” I think the book is funny too! So this made me laugh. But it also made me wonder what’s wrong with me, marriage and book-wise. The book’s subject matter is really tough, even devastating, but there is a lot of comedy in it. I didn’t plan it; it just came out that way. I think the humor helped me live through the darkness of writing it.

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started Lucky Dogs, what would you say? 
This book will challenge and change you. You will never be the same.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
For much of the time I was writing this book, I was teaching and doing other forms of writing to make a living. But from 2019 to 2020 I had a Guggenheim fellowship. Time is the world’s greatest gift. That fellowship gave me time. So I am very, very grateful. I was surprised, and also weirdly horrified, by how much I could get done during that period. Those twelve-hour days! It made me realize what might be possible if I didn’t have to work quite so hard at my day job.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?  
My father always told me to drive my own car. He said, “Don’t look at the traffic. It doesn’t matter how fast or slow anyone else is going.” It was a great relief to me, to learn just to do my own thing, and that has worked for me all these many years.

Helen Schulman, author of Lucky Dogs.   (Credit: Denise Bosco)

Ten Questions for Airea D. Matthews

5.30.23

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Airea D. Matthews, whose new poetry collection, Bread and Circus, is out today from Scribner. In this formally inventive book, Matthews deploys a surprising mix of lyrics, prose poems, images, and docupoetic forms to consider the self as a product shaped by individual experience and systemic forces. Adam Smith’s 1776 The Wealth of Nations provides a frame for the collection, which blends autobiography with economic and social theory to examine the origins and far-reaching effects of capitalism and its intersections with race, gender, and class. Smith’s texts appear throughout the book, altered by Matthews to reveal a disturbing subtext about the commodification of human life. Matthews weaves personal narrative throughout the collection, offering insight into how early childhood experiences continue to reverberate into adulthood. Public history, too, repeats in this collection, and Matthews offers a moving portrait of contemporary Black motherhood in poems such as “Animalia Repeating: A Pavlovian Account in Parts,” which recounts the devastating aftermath of the acquittal of George Zimmerman, who killed Trayvon Martin. “I genuflected at Mass, stole fleeting glances of my sons’ hands in prayer—tender, unburdened by veins or violence, unscathed. I prayed that whoever feared them would unlearn myth and threat,” she writes. Publishers Weekly praises Blood and Circus: “Full of humane wisdom, this powerful volume forces readers to acknowledge systemic inequity.” Airea D. Matthews holds a BA in economics from the University of Pennsylvania as well as an MFA from the Helen Zell Writers’ Program and an MPA from the Gerald Ford School of Public Policy, both at the University of Michigan. A fellow with the Pew Center for Arts & Heritage, she is a professor and directs the poetry program at Bryn Mawr College.

1. How long did it take you to write Bread and Circus
I wrote Bread and Circus over the course of the last decade. The poems with years ascribed to them are the eldest, and some of the poems, which insinuate othering and isolation, were written during the height of the pandemic. The prose pieces were written in the “in-between” of those two time periods.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book?  
The hardest part in writing this book was reconciling what the book wanted to be with what I wanted it to be—personally and structurally. After I wrote my first book, I hoped to write about poverty, race, and class. However, the poems I was writing at that time—none of which made it into the book—felt removed from those concerns. I let time pass to find another way inside my desires. I started reading more autoethnographic work in which the lived experience can be linked to research or cultural phenomena. That simple expansion gave me permission to use my life as evidence and to allow myself to be fully present as a participant in the system. 

Structurally, when I originally conceived of the idea of a poetry collection that intersperses economic concepts, I envisioned the extracted texts—what some call erasures—to be actual graphs that I’d honed into poems. However, as I concentrated on certain textual sections from The Wealth of Nations, I wanted to challenge myself to sit with the original text and have some way for the reader to grapple with dual meaning, as I did. To enact that, I decided on palimpsestic poems that require attention to the extracted sections as well as the original text, differing significantly from the true erasure in which the original text is illegible. Another fun fact about the extracted poems is that they are interactive. When held under light (an actual light), the authorial interpretation becomes increasingly clearer, while the legibility of the original text makes it possible for readers to hew their own interpretation.

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
I tend to consider pondering a form of writing. As such, I write all the time because I am an overthinker. I am constantly questioning, resisting, studying, accepting, and wondering—all of which I believe to be the hallmarks of the writer’s life. As for the physical act of writing, I jot something down every day—whether it’s a memory, an account, a feeling, or something I saw that invoked awe, wonder, or terror. I try to write by remembering through my senses what I’ve seen, tasted, felt, heard, or intuited. Notetaking—on the mundane and the supernatural—has become a practice by which I keep time and mind the turnings of my imagination. Now, do I beat myself up when I don’t write? Nope. I just take comfort in living and in a deep knowledge that whatever writing that is meant to come through me will arrive on its own terms and in its own time.

4. What are you reading right now?  
I have exceedingly broad reading interests and some rules around how I read. I tend to decompress after writing a book of poems by reading work outside of poetry for a short while. But we are in the midst of such a rich publishing year, I couldn’t resist! I just read Vievee Francis’s The Shared World and Charif Shanahan’s Trace Evidence—both marvelous. My ancestral research has led to reading, and rereading, historical slave narratives and accounts, including: The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano, Or Gustavus Vassa, The African, Written by Himself; The History of Mary Prince; Celia, A Slave Trial; and a volume of collected works titled Slave Testimony: Two Centuries of Letters, Speeches, Interviews, and Autobiographies edited by John W. Blassingame. I usually read something different at night than during the day. Recently I have been reading chapters of How to Be Authentic: Simone de Beauvoir and the Quest for Fulfillment by Skye C. Cleary, Todorov’s Mikhail Bakhtin: The Dialogical Principle, Jay Murphy’s Artaud’s Metamorphosis: From Hieroglyphs to Bodies Without Organs, and Susan A. Glenn’s Female Spectacle: The Theatrical Roots of Modern Feminism.

5. What was your strategy for organizing the poems in this collection?
I believe in organic strategies, and most revelations come late in my making. I realized that the book was spanning about forty-five years [chronologically], and it seemed wise to find an organizing principle to govern the movement. Around the time when I had to structure the collection, I was also studying and listening to John Coltrane’s A Love Supreme. A friend of mine is a musicologist, and he explained how Coltrane’s structure was “through-composed.” The through-composition offers a structure in music that insists on the story moving forward and the narrative developing over the course of the piece. As with A Love Supreme, Bread and Circus has four main movements—Acknowledgement, Resolution, Pursuance, and Psalm. Instead of a repetitive narratological structure, the through-composition allows for a wide variance that helps to set, develop, and show an unfolding story.

Also, a dear friend, Sham-e-Ali Nayeem, author of the poetry collection City of Pearls and composer of the electronica album Moti Ka Sheher, guided the poetry sequence by suggesting that I listen to “When Doves Cry” repeatedly. She told me Prince wrote that song in under an hour to round out the Purple Rain album. Something shifted as I listened, and the sequence of the poems clicked into place thereafter.

6. How did you arrive at the title Bread and Circus for this collection? 
My second son, a writer and poet who just graduated from college and is on his way to graduate school in Boston, is my first reader. In an elevator pitch for the draft, I shared the major themes (in my view) of the book: the loss of innocence, materialism (commodity), and spectacle. He reminded me of the quote from the Roman poet, Juvenal, “And every thing, now bridles its desires, and limits its anxious longings to two things only—bread, and the games of the circus!” The quote pretty much encapsulates an avenue of the book’s “aboutness.” After my son’s consultation, the working title of the manuscript became Bread and Circus.

7. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Bread and Circus?
The extracted poems, as well as the poems with visual elements, were created in Adobe Illustrator. I was surprised by how much I enjoyed introducing a new technology into my writing practice. I became so much more intentional about space, visuality, and movement. I wanted the poems to simulate spatial movement and momentum by liberal use of open—free—structures and by fully observing the page as a canvas. My impulse as a writer is to economize, and technology provided a space to explore the contours of the page more extravagantly.

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started Bread and Circus, what would you say?
It depends on how far back in time. If I could go back to that child in 1977, who became a pawn for her troubled father trying to make ends meet, I would announce myself as a future version of her and say, “I know these words aren’t much comfort, but we survive this, and we’ll find a certain beauty in the ash of this chaos.” I’m not sure what the present results would be of that butterfly effect; but I think the younger me would appreciate the heads up.

If I am moving backwards to the writing of these poems, I would simply encourage myself to remain compassionate and hopeful and to embrace the past rather than be embarrassed by it.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?  
I reread Guy Debord’s The Society of the Spectacle and Adam Smith’s The Wealth of Nations. I traveled to the University of Edinburgh to dig into Smith’s letters and archives. I wanted to understand the man who was the author of the free market and capitalism as we know it—a flawed system that undergirds many societal ills and evils. To delve into the archive is to see the flaws in what the world views as a great mind. I saw the flaws in both Smith’s and Debord’s very disparate theories and added my own flaws into the mix. I wanted those moments of extraction to reflect the truth of my reality meeting the truth of their theories.

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?
I was once advised, “Write the world as you understand it, and take space to constantly question what you understand and why.” When we write from our understanding, we lend agency to our experience. When we question what we understand and why, we make room for growing beyond what we’ve known or lived.    

Airea D. Matthews, author of Bread and Circus.   (Credit: Ryan Collerd)

Ten Questions for Kwame Alexander

5.23.23

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Kwame Alexander, whose new book, Why Fathers Cry at Night: A Memoir in Love Poems, Recipes, Letters, and Remembrances, is out now from Little, Brown. In this mix of poetry, prose, and directions for cooking beloved dishes—such as “Turkey Legs With Noodles”—Alexander offers “snapshots of a man learning to love.” Written in the midst of mid-life losses—including the death of his mother and the end of his marriage—Alexander reflects on the journey that has led him to this moment. Considering his parents’ marriage and influence, his time studying with the poet Nikki Giovanni, falling in love, fatherhood, and building a writing life, Alexander gives readers a window into his evolving worldview and his own personal reckoning: “You wrote this book as a nudge to yourself,” he writes. “To be single? / To be by yourself. And remind yourself that being alone is not the same as being lonely.” Publishers Weekly praises Why Fathers Cry at Night: “This candid and courageous work finds poetry in places both ordinary and extraordinary. It’s a quiet triumph.” Kwame Alexander is a poet, educator, producer, and the best-selling author of more than three dozen books, including The Crossover (HMH Books for Young Readers, 2014), which won the 2015 Newbery award for children’s literature.

1. How long did it take you to write Why Fathers Cry at Night?
I’ve really been thinking about the themes of the book, and writing occasionally, as a way to understand all the feelings I was dealing with since my mother passed on September 1, 2017. But I began the book in earnest probably in 2021.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book?  
Well, most certainly it was writing the last part of the book. I could write about my father, my marriages, my uncouplings, my daughters with a level of comfort, and therefore rhythm, that bailed on me when I began writing about my mother. I put it off, literally, until weeks before the book deadline. Her death was the thing that I had not thought about too much because it just hurt. So I waited, and it was indeed the hardest section to write. It was also the most enjoyable—the precious memories. In the end, they proved quite comforting. 

3. Where, when, and how often do you write? 
For this project, I woke up every day in my London penthouse and wrote from about 6:00 AM to 11:00 AM. And I would send some of the poems to friends, to family. I’d also go for walks in Regents Park or Hyde Park and think a lot, replay experiences and conversations from my life, listen to podcasts and audiobooks—of Neruda’s poems, memoirs, cookbooks—for inspiration. 

4. What are you reading right now?  
I’m listening to Wild Game by my friend Adrienne Brodeur. I’ve just read more than a hundred poetry books as research for an anthology of contemporary Black poets that I’m editing. And next to my bedside for “light” reading is The Trees by Percival Everett. 

5. Which author or authors have been influential for you, in your writing of this book in particular or as a writer in general? 
It’s always three people: my parents and Nikki Giovanni. It is these writers who have taught me most of what I know about storytelling. Pearl Cleage, Matthew McConaughey, and Pat Conroy have such uniquely powerful voices that I found their memoirs unputdownable and tremendous templates for how to tell my own story. In terms of Why Fathers Cry at Night, I found incredible inspiration and insight in conversation with several writer friends—Jacqueline Woodson, Jason Reynolds, Christine Platt, and Alice Cardini, to name a few.

6. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of Why Fathers Cry at Night
That it became a memoir. It was supposed to be a collection of love poems—romantic and familial. My hope was that readers would find it interesting and that some of the poems might resonate. As I got further into writing it, my editor commented that the book read chronologically and that perhaps I should consider writing a few prose pieces to make the narrative more concrete. Then I added a few recipes and letters, and we both saw a memoir—albeit an unconventional one—developing. Then she asked for more prose pieces. I was expecting to allude to, hint at, speak in metaphor about my love life, not put all my business out into the world. Oh, my!

7. What is the earliest memory that you associate with the book?
I was three years old, learning how to appreciate words. And basketball. There’s a story I tell in the book about my favorite book back then, so I won’t spoil it for you here. But I will share that my father would often take me to the playground near Columbia University, where he and my mother were in graduate school. He would shoot free-throws, and then he would give me the ball and tell me to do the same thing. Now, I’m three years old, so there’s no way my shot is going anywhere near the basket. The playground supervisor walks over with a big wrench and tells my dad that he will lower the goal so that I can make a basket. My father stops him and says, “No, he doesn’t know he can’t make it.” I ended up writing a whole book of “basketball rules” for life inspired by that moment. Never let anyone lower your goals. Always shoot for the sun, and eventually you will shine.

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started Why Fathers Cry at Night, what would you say? 
Writing this book forced me to deal with, and face, some parts of my personality that haven’t served me. One was my inability to open up, share, be vulnerable with dear colleagues and friends who cared about me. There are friends who gave me sound input near the completion of the book—when I was ready to hear it—that I wished I would have had the courage to talk about and listen to earlier in the writing, because I think I would have been inspired, maybe even been more courageous, to go even deeper than I did. The good thing is, there can always be another book. 

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
As I mentioned, I did a lot of walking as a way to prewrite, reflect, and just give myself the time and space to think through some of the heavy topics I was writing about. I spent a great deal of time in the kitchen, making each of the recipes at least a dozen times to ensure that the meals tasted as good as I remembered. 

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received? 
As I write in the book, frustrated after receiving a C-minus in Nikki Giovanni’s advanced poetry class in college, I scheduled an appointment with her during her office hours. She told me, “Kwame, I can teach you how to write poetry, but I cannot teach you how to be interesting.” While nineteen-year-old me thought those were pretty harsh words, it turns out that I have spent my entire writerly life walking around as an eager and engaged participant so I’d have something worth writing about. 

Kwame Alexander, author of Why Fathers Cry at Night: A Memoir in Love Poems, Recipes, Letters, and Remembrances.   (Credit: Portia Wiggins)

Ten Questions for Emma Cline

5.16.23

This week’s installment of Ten Questions features Emma Cline, whose new novel, The Guest, is out today from Random House. In this taut and suspenseful tale, readers follow Alex during a week leading up to Labor Day in an exclusive shore community—the Long Island Hamptons is implied, but not named—where she’s been living with the older, wealthy Simon while dodging trouble back in New York City. After Alex behaves badly at a party, and Simon asks her to leave, the protagonist must devise a way back into her host’s good graces. Evoking a cross between Edith Wharton’s Lily Bart and Anna Sorokin—the con artist arrested in 2017 for swindling a group of elite Manhattanites—Alex embarks on a bleak picaresque through the pristine beaches, waterfront manors, and troubled social lives of New York’s summering class. A parasite whose whiteness, beauty, and sociopath’s ability to spot an easy mark grant her access to rarified spaces, Alex is also deeply vulnerable—a perpetual guest who knows that her privileges may at any moment be revoked. Readers will breathlessly turn the pages, wondering whether Alex will triumph or meet an unseamly end—unsure which fate they prefer for this maddening, mysterious character. “Like watching a car crash, this is hard to look away from,” writes Publishers Weekly. Emma Cline is the author of the bestselling novel The Girls (Random House, 2017) and the story collection Daddy (Random House, 2020).

1. How long did it take you to write The Guest
I started a version of The Guest in 2016, and returned to it off and on over the next few years while I mostly wrote short stories. In late 2019, I began focusing on The Guest in a more sustained way.

2. What was the most challenging thing about writing the book? 
The challenge I set for myself with The Guest was to maintain the tension of a short story across the length of a novel. I also wanted to draw a character to carry the narrative without using the shorthand of backstory: Could I draw a character using negative space?

3. Where, when, and how often do you write?
I write sitting on the floor sometimes, and then sometimes at my kitchen table. Most rarely, at a desk. How often I write really depends on where I’m at in a project. If I’m in the middle of something, I’ll write every day. If I’m not, I’ll try to at least write in a journal every couple of days, even if it’s just a sentence or two.

4. What are you reading right now? 
Blake Butler’s memoir, Molly, out this fall. It’s bleak and beautiful. Also the writings of painter William N. Copley, Percival Everett’s Dr. No, and Nell Dunn’s Talking to Women.
                                                                             
5. Which author or authors have been influential for you, in your writing of this book in particular or as a writer in general?
In general, I return often to the work of Mary Gaitskill. She’s tapped into some mystic vein of our psychology, and there’s this almost paranormal shimmer to how she renders the world.

6. What is one thing that surprised you during the writing of The Guest?
It’s always surprising when the book clicks into being an actual book—which I find happens at the very last minute, the point at which suddenly some energy has coalesced.

7. What is the earliest memory that you associate with the book?
The first time I saw an East Coast beach, I was so struck by the mildness of the landscape, a long stretch of dunes and the warm water and mint grasses. It looked surreal to my California eye, and I knew I wanted to write about that landscape.

8. If you could go back in time and talk to the earlier you, before you started The Guest, what would you say?
I don’t think I would have much to say. Unfortunately, or fortunately, I think a book is forged out of the writing of the thing and in the struggle to answer the questions you’ve set up for yourself, and that necessitates not really knowing what you are doing or where you are headed.

9. What forms of work, other than writing, did you have to do to complete this book?
I spent time out on Long Island, taking notes and photos, and also wrote a good deal of the book while staying with friends there.                                                                    

10. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received? 
I think the best and most simple advice about any kind of writing is always this: Finish it. You can make anything better, or work with whatever you’ve done, but first just finish the thing.

Emma Cline, author of The Guest.   (Credit: DV DeVincentis)

Go to Source

Author: jdegregorio

Mind Your Manners

The New York City culture and news website Gothamist recently asked New Yorkers about their thoughts on sidewalk etiquette in the crowded, bustling streets of their beloved city. What are the rules, who has the right-of-way, and who should yield? Respondents focused on always walking to the right of the sidewalk and to “move quickly and never stop.” One thoughtful respondent considered the cultural differences of sidewalks used for recreational strolls versus commuting. But the overall consensus was that among nine-to-fivers, tourists, parents with kids, dogwalkers, bicyclists, and groups, seniors deserve the right-of-way. Write an essay about the unwritten rules or etiquette you have observed in your daily surroundings. How have these common practices adapted to fit the needs of different people? Do they evolve over time as social norms change? Consider some of your own experiences with how public etiquette has helped or hindered harmonious community life.

Go to Source

Author: Writing Prompter

Lunch Poems With Brandon Shimoda

In this recent installment of UC Berkeley’s Lunch Poems series, Brandon Shimoda reads a selection of poems and essays with the theme of “oranges,” which address the memory of Japanese American incarceration and war.

Go to Source

Author: bphi

Sub Rosa

The term sub rosa means “under the rose” in Latin and refers to something said or done in private. The rose has been associated with secrecy since ancient times, a decorative symbol often carved and painted in places like meeting rooms, banquet halls, and confessionals as reminders of confidentiality. This week write a short story that revolves around a conversation or discussion that occurs sub rosa in an enclosed space. Does a certain detail get leaked out or overheard? How might the secretive nature place a burden on your characters? Consider the ways in which the atmosphere and tone of your story feel distinctive in the time and space of your sub-rosa conversation versus the scenes that take place before or after the talk.

Go to Source

Author: Writing Prompter

Victoria Chang on Grief and Art

“This year I turned my back to the world. I let language face // the front. The parting felt like a death.” In this About the Authors TV video, Victoria Chang speaks about her award-winning collection, Obit (Copper Canyon Press, 2020), and reads a poem from her new collection, With My Back to the World (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2024), which engages with the paintings and writings of Agnes Martin.

Go to Source

Author: jkashiwabara

The Midlist Indie Author With T. Thorn Coyle

How can you build a creative, sustainable career as a ‘mid-list’ indie author? How can you design a business that works for you and your books over the long term? T. Thorn Coyle explains more in this episode.

In the intro, BookVault bespoke printing options; Harper Collins partners with Eleven Labs for AI-narrated non-English audiobooks [Publishing Perspectives]; AI Publishing Formula Podcast; Brave New Bookshelf Podcast; “I’m not worried about AI, because I got my mojo working.” Stephen King;

ProWritingAid

Today’s show is sponsored by ProWritingAid, writing and editing software that goes way beyond just grammar and typo checking. With its detailed reports on how to improve your writing and integration with Scrivener, ProWritingAid will help you improve your book before you send it to an editor, agent or publisher. Check it out for free or get 25% off the premium edition at www.ProWritingAid.com/joanna

This show is also supported by my Patrons. Join my Community at Patreon.com/thecreativepenn 

T. Thorn Coyle is the author of paranormal mystery, urban fantasy, alt history, epic fantasy, as well as nonfiction around magical practice. Their latest book is The Midlist Indie Author Mindset.

You can listen above or on your favorite podcast app or read the notes and links below. Here are the highlights and the full transcript is below. 

Show Notes

  • What does it mean to be a mid-list author?
  • How being weird can help you connect as more human
  • Finding your sense of weird and letting it shine in your work
  • Making marketing about connection and finding what works for you
  • Marketing for Kickstarter in a short-term promotional window
  • Tips for managing multiple Kickstarters per year
  • Keeping readers engaged with your newsletter and social media
  • Creating a tagline that portrays the message of your author business

You can find Thorn at ThornCoyle.com, and the Kickstarter for The Midlist Indie Author Mindset here.

Transcript of Interview with Thorn Coyle

Joanna: T. Thorn Coyle is the author of paranormal mystery, urban fantasy, alt history, epic fantasy, as well as nonfiction around magical practice. Their latest book is The Midlist Indie Author Mindset. So welcome back to the show, Thorn.

Thorn: Thanks so much. It’s great to be back.

Joanna: Yes, I know. I had a look, and it’s been six years since you were last on the show.

Thorn: That’s a long time, especially in the indie publishing world.

Joanna: Yes. I mean, we’re old school, which probably means we met like a decade ago!

Thorn: Yes, probably.

Joanna: Which is so funny. So let’s assume people haven’t listened to our episode from six years ago, and also, things have moved on.

Tell us a bit more about you and how you got into writing and publishing.

Thorn: Well, I was one of those people, you know, I’ve written since I was a tiny child, probably age five or six. I wrote poetry, I did journalism as a teenager, wrote for tattoo magazines in the 80s and 90s, and really wanted to write fiction.

I would practice writing fiction, and then I finally just gave up. I was the classic, I would labor over a short story for a year, and I would stall out three quarters into a novel.

I loved writing nonfiction also. That was easier for me, less of a challenge. So I got my first nonfiction major traditional publishing contract 20 years ago. I sold a book to Penguin, and I gave up fiction and focused on nonfiction, and traveling the world, and teaching for two decades.

Then fiction came back. Some characters showed up in my head one day, and I started writing fiction, and I started studying craft. Then I started seriously indie publishing, I decided I didn’t want to go trad. My three first nonfiction books were all traditional published.

I didn’t want to go traditional for fiction because I saw the struggles my friends were having with traditional publishing and my own struggles with traditional publishing. I started seriously indie publishing in 2017, and here we are today. I’ve got a big catalog now, and I just keep going.

Joanna: So what is a big catalog to you?

Thorn: I have probably, including short story collections, probably 30 books, which for me is a big catalog. I know for other people, that’s a tiny catalog. It might even be more than 30 books now. I fail to keep track.

Joanna: I mean, it’s also funny because you sounded slightly apologetic about 30 books, and I do this too. It’s like, this is ridiculous because there are authors who write two books in their whole life!

Thorn: I know people like that. I certainly know a lot of traditional authors who only wrote a couple books. That’s great, it’s just a hard way to make a living.

Joanna: Yes, exactly. So let’s get into the book, so The Midlist Indie Author Mindset. I feel like this word “midlist” probably means more in the traditional publishing world. So why don’t we start with that.

What is the ‘mid-list,’ and why use that concept? What does it mean?

Thorn: The reason I latched on to the concept of midlist—and you’re right, it does come from traditional publishing. So I’ll give a little background.

In traditional publishing, especially in like the 70s, 80s, and 90s, midlist authors were the bread-and-butter authors. They were middle class. They weren’t best sellers, but they put out books people enjoyed year after year after year. They were the backbone of a lot of publishing for a long time.

So the bestsellers financed the non-sellers, the poor sellers, but the midlist just kept going, writing books people enjoyed. That slowly faded away as traditional publishing changed. It became harder and harder to make a living as kind of a middle class, midlist author.

The other thing about midlist authors is they had a big catalog because they just kept publishing year after year, usually genre fiction of some sort or another. They built up a catalog that people enjoyed, that in traditional publishing is called a backlist. We still use that terminology, but it’s not really accurate for indie publishing.

In traditional publishing, frontlist is a brand-new book that they push for three months, that’s what that means. Backlist is everything else. So we can just call it our catalog because as indie authors, we can relaunch. We can do whatever we want with all those books. They’re not going to go away.

So I wanted to bring forth this concept of midlist into the indie world because so many people say, well, if I’m not making multiple six figures or seven figures, I’m a failure.

I believe it’s possible for a lot of people to find ways to make a decent middle class living as writers.

It’s a lot more attainable and sustainable than some of the tactics and techniques people use to grow to be multi-six, like high six-figure or seven-figure authors. It can feel discouraging, I think, to a lot of people when we see these success stories and think, well, I may as well win the lottery or get struck by lightning. That’s how unattainable it feels.

I realized in my own life, I had to curtail some of my ambitions because of life circumstances. I realized what I really wanted was a slow, sustainable build and a long, sustainable career. If I can do it, I think a lot of people can do it.

Joanna: Yes, absolutely. The problem is the midlist is it’s not a very sexy goal! It’s not very catchy like, you know, six figure, seven figure.

As you say, it’s more like the slow build, sustainable living, sustainable lifestyle, and things that actually give us a good life. Sometimes I feel like you have to be careful what you wish for. In the book, you talk a bit about your jet set lifestyle, you know, you used to travel a lot teaching. So what happened to that?

When did the romance disappear from that ‘jet set’ lifestyle?

Thorn: So it was around 12 years ago that I really stopped wanting to travel all the time. I was traveling all over the world constantly, like, sometimes twice a month I was on an airplane.

It was wonderful. I met amazing people, I saw amazing places, and I was getting paid to do it. Unbeknownst to me, my undiagnosed chronic illness was getting worse, so that was starting to happen.

Also, I was just burning out. I was burning out on having to be this public figure, even though it was in a small sphere. I was burning out on the travel. I’ll never forget, one time I came back from a trip, I crawled into bed, and said, “I’m done,” and I still had six months to a year’s worth of trips booked.

So I just had to get through that time and then recalibrate and figure out what to do. That’s when I did my major pivot. It also coincided when those characters showed up, and I started studying fiction again.

So yes, I burned out really badly, which I know a lot of people do and need to make career change. So I realized I still had those ambitions, and I took some of my ambitions into the indie writing sphere early on before I realized that was not going to be sustainable.

There were things people were doing that were all about the fast build. They were all about the spikes, you know, the huge income right away. I was trying to do that and failing, and I had to reassess and say, okay, what can I actually do? So I slowly figured it out for myself.

Joanna: Yes, and what do we want to do as well. It’s interesting that the characters came back at the point at which you said you’re kind of done with that life. So you opened up space in your mind for that.

I talked about this years ago when I made a decision to opt out of my career. I still had five more years of that IT consulting career, but I opted out of the career ladder. So I did what I needed to do to make the money and to do a good job for my boss, but I knew I was leaving.

That opened up the potential for what then came next. I feel like a lot of people don’t realize that you almost need to make the space, like for you, for the characters to come back.

Thorn: Yes, and in the book, I talk about having a possibility mindset. That’s what you’re talking about.

Making space for what is possible, is really important.

It gets easy to just get on a hamster wheel and never just take a full breath and ponder, as you’ve said, what do I want? Not only what’s right for me and what’s sustainable or possible, but what does my heart want? What does my soul want? You know, what’s interesting to me?

So I always try to invoke curiosity. I’ve invoked curiosity around writing fiction, but over the years, I’ve learned also to invoke curiosity about running a business.

That was my huge mindset shift.

When I decided to get curious about business instead of treating it like a loathsome, horrible task, it changed everything for me.

Joanna: Well, let’s talk about that for a minute because I do remember having a conversation with you. I think we might even have talked about this on our last discussion on the show.

You’re a strong activist, you have very strong principles, and money and capitalism were just things that you kind of hated. So you were pushing away money. Tell us how you got over that and how you reconciled this?

Thorn: I still don’t like shareholder capitalism and the effects it has on the world, I can say that. For me, what I want to do is connect with people. That’s always been my task as a creative. That’s also my love as a business person.

So I need to run a sustainable business, and take interest in it, and figure out ways to engage with it in ways that are going to help me connect with people. That’s all my business is.

I run a publishing company that’s about connection.

So reframing that for myself, that it’s not about who gets the most toys, it’s about here’s the world we live in, and what are my options for connecting with people and trying to make the world a more enjoyable, less horror-ridden place.

The other thing is, I’m always a proponent of culture change. One of the best ways to bring about culture change is capturing people’s imaginations. So if I want to capture someone’s imagination through my stories, I have to figure out a way to reach them with those stories, so I have to figure out how to run a business. So I think that’s what helped me get curious.

Joanna: Yes, and I mean, to reach more readers, it’s better to have a bigger engine in your business. I also remember you saying to me, “If I make a ton of money, I can always give it all away to causes that I care about.”

So that I think it’s a really good reframe for people. It’s to accept that if you make more money as an author, it’s because you’re selling more books, and you’re reaching more people.

Thorn: Exactly, and people are excited about my books. People are excited about your books. People need fiction right now, and nonfiction too.

The world needs wonder. The world needs hope. If we can supply even a little bit of that for people, how awesome is that?

Joanna: Yes, and escapism as well. As we record this, I just binge watched the 3 Body Problem on Netflix, and I hadn’t read the book. As soon as the series finished, I was like, right, I’m buying the book.

I learned today that The Three-Body Problem trilogy and Silent Spring, Rachel Carson’s book, which they use in the series and is in his book, went to number one on Amazon because everyone’s buying these books. I just thought that was brilliant, because again, it’s such a resonant story at this time in history.

Like you say, these stories have power, and they connect minds. It’s so powerful. I feel like sometimes we almost degrade writing fiction, like, oh, we should write something “more important” in inverted commas.

Thorn: That’s also the great divide between high literary fiction and what we call genre fiction. We think, oh, my cozy paranormal mysteries are not important. Well, actually, my cozy paranormal mysteries are my best sellers because people need that escapism.

People need some comfort, you know. So why isn’t comfort important? Why isn’t enjoyment important?

I recently talked with author Meg Elison, and she really talks a lot about the importance of pleasure in life. I agree with her, we need pleasure. We need joy. Everything can’t just be hard all the time because we won’t make it through.

Joanna: Yes, absolutely. For me, going to bed with a book is still a big pleasure. Sometimes I’m just so tired, and I go to bed in the afternoon, and I’ll read fiction. Other times I’ll read nonfiction. I read your book on the plane coming back from 20 Books Seville. It’s a great book.

I do want to come back to one point in the book. You say, “My readers love my work because I’m weird.” I talk about doubling down on being human, but I think it is easier said than done, especially in this world where there’s a lot of advice around chasing tropes, or writing to market, or any of this.

How can authors find their own particular kind of weird and have the confidence to let it out into their work?

Thorn: Well, first of all, what comes most naturally to you? That’s the main thing.

We often make the mistake that what comes most naturally to us, and what we really love and feels easier for us, isn’t important. We think it’s too ordinary, but what’s ordinary for us, is extraordinary for something else. It feels ordinary to us because it’s just part of us.

When we allow that voice to come forward, people respond to it because they’re like, “Oh, that’s an authentic voice. You’re not putting something on. You’re actually connecting with me, and I’m connecting with these characters.”

So I’ll give you an example. I had been writing my alt history and kind of more serious urban fantasy, and I was in the middle of writing my epic action-adventure trilogy, and I needed a break. I had got a concussion and a brain injury.

I started writing my cozy paranormal mysteries, which are just bonkers. I did a Kickstarter for them, and I was very nervous because I thought, wow, this is really different and people aren’t going to like it.

People came out of the woodwork to back that Kickstarter. My first reader for the cozy mysteries said, “Well, you know, cozy readers tend to be more traditional. They’re not going to be into the fact that you have bisexual characters and transgender characters and all this stuff.” I thought, you know what — 

I’m just going to market this as cozy mysteries for freaks and geeks, because I like cozy mysteries, and I’m weird.

Clearly, now I realize, oh, other people who are weird also want the comfort of cozy mysteries. They’re not all traditional readers, you know.

So I was told very clearly, cozy readers are traditional. I said, I don’t care, these are the books I want to write. Lo and behold, they found readers. It might take a little more time, which is why I talk about the slow build in the book. It might take more time, but you’re going to find your readers.

Joanna: I do want to comment on this, because you’re a super strong person, and you’re very clear on your freaks and geeks side and your visual brand.

Let’s just speak to the people who might not be that strong in their knowledge of what their weird is. So what about people who don’t have that strong sense of “what is my weird?” How do we find that? How do we tap into that?

Thorn: Again, you mentioned earlier, making space. If we make space for ourselves and listen to our heart and what’s most interesting to us, rather than listening to the clamoring voices trying to tell us what we should be doing, that’s the first way through.

It’s just to pause, go for a walk, meditate, ponder for a while, and think, what am I actually drawn to? Not what the marketers are telling me I should be drawn to. That’s how to find ourselves and find our path forward, I think.

It just starts with listening and making space to listen.

Joanna: Yes, and it is really hard. I mean, the world is super noisy. You could just spend your time endlessly scrolling whichever social media it is, or doom reading the news, or whatever, and then your brain is full of all those things that it thinks that it should be interested in. So where do you find it? I mean, maybe it is in the books you read when nobody’s watching?

Thorn: Yes, yes. I think that’s brilliant. What are your so-called guilty pleasures? Then put all that in your writing.

Joanna: I mean, it’s interesting, because I mentioned the 3 Body Problem again. So I say I don’t read sci-fi, because I’m like, I’m not into aliens. Then watching the 3 Body Problem, I don’t know why I didn’t realize this before, it’s not about the aliens. It’s about the humans.

Thorn: It always is.

Joanna: It always is. The thing is, I really like reading horror. People are like, oh, why do you like horror? And I’m like, well, it’s not about the monsters, it’s about the humans. It’s all just exactly the same, isn’t it?

Thorn: We’re all just trying to make sense of the world in our own way. It doesn’t matter what genre it comes through. I think the joy of writing is we get to figure out the world. We either get to try to figure out the world we live in already, or we try to figure out what world we want to live in.

Joanna: Yes, and write that into whatever alt-world you’re doing. It is interesting. Well, let’s come to the marketing because you said in the book—

“I figured out how I market, not how other people market.”

That has a similar sense of finding your own path. So just talk about some of the things you tried but failed on, and what does work for you?

Thorn: Well, I’ll go back to that word “connection.” Figuring out that for me marketing is about connection was helpful.

Actually, you helped me with this years ago. We were at some conference, and you said, “Oh, Thorn is great at content marketing.” I went, “I am?” I had no clue because I was just doing what I was doing. It was natural to me. Then I went, oh, okay, that’s content marketing. I post what’s interesting, it’s still related to my world, and that’s how I market.

The things that didn’t work for me were early on. First of all, I didn’t have a big enough catalog to do advertising for, but everyone said you have to do advertising. So I was taking the Amazon ads and Facebook ads classes, and they didn’t work for me. Turns out all that advice at the time was really only useful for people in Kindle Unlimited, but they weren’t telling me that.

The other thing that never worked for me were like, Facebook group takeovers, newsletter swaps, because I don’t write the kind of urban fantasy these other people are writing. So doing a newsletter swap isn’t going to really work because I don’t know if your readers are going to really like my books.

Now, I eventually figured out that certain kinds of advertising works for that. Like if I did a free first in series and did the paid newsletters, I wasn’t trying to target other people’s readers, I was just targeting people who said, oh, we want urban fantasy, or we want cozy mystery.

I don’t have to bring my entire catalog to these people. I’m bringing them one series. Then if they find the rest of my catalog, that’s great.

The other thing that didn’t work for me was that spike marketing. Trying to do promo stacking and get the big spikes and hitlist and all that, it was never going to work for me. That was all feeding the beast. Even for the writers that was working for, I don’t think it was a long-term strategy.

So I had to figure out my long-term strategy, which was, how do I connect with my readers? Well, I do that through my newsletter. I do that through how I use social media. I do that now through things like Kickstarter.

So, over the last eight years, I’ve built up enough goodwill with my readers that they are so happy to share my stuff now. It also means when I do any paid advertising, I’m strategic about it, and it works. I’m not just throwing spaghetti at a wall.

Joanna: Interesting. You said the spike marketing hasn’t worked for you, but Kickstarter is a short-term promotional window. So how are you doing that?

What kind of marketing are you doing within the three weeks this Kickstarter will run?

Thorn: That is a great point. So spike marketing for wide retailers didn’t work for me. Spike marketing for direct sales does work for me. So I’ve built up all this goodwill through how I use my newsletter and how I connect on social media, so whenever I go to run a Kickstarter, people are like, “We are sharing your Kickstarter everywhere. We’re so excited that you’re doing this. We’re backing you up just because we like your work.”

So I do market those, but I do it in the regular ways I do everything else. I use my social media platforms and send out notices in my newsletter. I don’t do anything special for my Kickstarter. It all is organic for me.

Joanna: It just has a time limit. So you’re basically just sending out some newsletters, and obviously, you’ve been doing some podcast interviews like this one.

Are you running any paid ads for your Kickstarter?

Have you found them useful?

Thorn: I spend like $20 on each campaign.

Joanna: That doesn’t count!

Thorn: So I don’t I don’t do paid marketing. Some people do. I don’t, and my Kickstarter campaigns all do really well.

Joanna: So how many Kickstarter campaigns have you done now?

Thorn: This one will be my ninth.

Joanna: Okay. So what’s the kind of tempo? Because obviously we’re talking here about the life that people want to live and designing your business around that.

What’s the tempo of your Kickstarters in a year? How do you manage the different releases?

Thorn: I do three a year, and three years seems to work for me. I thought I was going to do four this year, and it was way too much. Partially because I ran a big-for-me Kickstarter campaign last year that brought in like twenty-five grand. Since I’m doing it all myself, it was big.

I had trouble with my printer, so it took a lot longer to fulfill than I wanted. So I’m like, okay, I need to take the fourth Kickstarter off my plate this year because everything just got backed up business-wise.

Three a year works for me because this is my full-time job. For people I know who it’s their part-time job, they run one a year. It’s a great way to make money for covers, pay for editors, and build a new audience.

This is the other thing I love about Kickstarter. About half of my backers come directly from Kickstarter, which is awesome. Then about half come from my world.

Joanna: Yes, from your audience. So when I do Spear of Destiny, it will be my first fiction Kickstarter. I’ve done two nonfiction. well memoir and then the writing nonfiction. I’m doing it under the same name.

This will be my first thriller, and I feel like I’m going to have to have really low expectations because I’ve spent the last 12 years training my fiction readers to buy eBooks on Amazon, basically. Do you feel like if you start with fiction, particularly where that’s where a lot of our readers come from—

Does it take a while to retrain your readers to want other things?

Thorn: No, my readers love Kickstarter. I mean, some of them are confused by it, especially some of my older readers, and I have to do a minor amount of hand holding. But, no.

If I do a regular book launch on wide retailers, maybe a couple people will share it, maybe some people will buy it if I don’t do actual advertising. My Kickstarters, people know it’s time limited. It’s an event, and they’re excited to participate, so it spreads.

My readers do my marketing for me. Then the Kickstarter algorithm kicks in, and it does my marketing for me. It’s actually much easier for me than launching something into the void on Amazon or Apple.

Joanna: I’m quite excited to see how it goes.

I do want to ask you, because you’ve mentioned your chronic illness, brain injury, and you talk about health issues in your book. When we do a Kickstarter, you’ve got the Kickstarter timing. What happens if then something happens in your health that you just can’t do it? Or like you said, things get backed up?

How are you managing your health issues with the ups and downs of being an author?

Thorn: Well, it might seem strange to talk about health issues in a business book, but it felt important to me because everyone has something going on in their life. That is why I love this question.

I pad a lot of time into my fulfillment. I make this mistake all the time where I set out my year’s goals when I’m feeling good, and then when I’m not feeling good, I have to deal with those goals, and I have to reassess them and pivot and rewrite my production schedule. I do it all the time.

Joanna: Yes, me too.

Thorn: With Kickstarter, I’ve learned to build in extra time for fulfillment. So if you think it’s going to take two months to fulfill, tell people you’ll fulfill in three to four months. If you think you’re going to fulfill in four months, tell people you’re going to fulfill in six months.

Just add in space, give yourself grace, and then if you fulfill early, that’s awesome.

With the campaign I just finished fulfilling, I just told people, “Hey, here’s what’s happening with the printer. I’m having these issues. We’re working on it.”

I just kept in communication, and people were very kind and happy just to be communicated with. So I was about a month behind in fulfillment, which is not the end of the world.

Joanna: Yes, these are books at the end of the day.

Thorn: Yes, seriously. So just communicate with people. First, build in extra space and time, build in a buffer. Then communicate clearly. People are very happy to be supportive. Most people want to be kind.

Joanna: Yes, I agree. So just coming back to your newsletter because you talked there about communication, and earlier you talked about it as the fundamental aspect of your marketing.

What do you do in your newsletter? What do you send out to people?

Because I feel like this is something that many authors struggle with.

Thorn: So, I used to barely use my newsletter. Coming out of traditional publishing, I never used a newsletter. I think that’s changed now.

I send out a weekly missive about what I’m thinking about. I post a photo I take on one of my walks and just whatever thoughts I have. Then at the end of this 300-word missive, I do a line break and a small ad of, you know, “Here’s my latest podcast I’m on,” or “Here’s this book that is on sale or has just launched,” or “Here’s my Kickstarter.”

So people come back week after week, and they know what they’re going to get from me is just some thoughts from Thorn. Enough people like that, that some people actually pay me for it even though it’s a free newsletter.

Joanna: That’s on Substack?

Thorn: I was on Substack for three years. I just recently switched to Beehiiv.

Joanna: Because of the Nazis?!

Thorn: Yes, because of the Nazis. I mean, it’s unfortunate that Substack decided to make those choices. I think Substack is still a better platform, but Beehiiv is getting there rapidly. So I have great hope.

So that’s another thing I changed. I used to try to be on ConvertKit and do all the automated sequences that everyone said were best practices for newsletters. Those work for a lot of people—oh, segment your email list, do these sequences.

That marketing never worked for me, ever. So it made putting out my newsletter a chore. I said, I’m going to stop paying for this, I’m going to go to this free service, and I’m going to strip it down and say, here’s what I’m doing. Every week, I’m going to send out thoughts with a tiny ad.

That was a huge shift for me. I started that just over three years ago, and people responded. People love the newsletter, people share the newsletter on social media, people reply, people send me long, thoughtful comments. So, again, it was figuring out how marketing worked for me.

Joanna: That’s interesting, because I do have two newsletter lists. Actually, when you were talking there, I realized that’s what I do on this show. My introduction includes the things I’m thinking about.

Many people are still listening to your interview, but some people did just come for the introduction. So that’s actually exactly what you just said. You’re doing it in writing, I’m doing it with talking.

Thorn: Yes, and I just let it be simple. It’s like, okay, here’s 300 words. I can write that in 15-20 minutes. Here’s a photo. It works for me, and it works for my readers.

Joanna: It’s just being human. It’s a connection, like you said. I think this is the point we talked about earlier, everyone’s quite smart these days around seeing through when things are a gimmick or they’re not real. I still think that being human and the human connection is important.

So, let’s come to social media. Again, I think we used to exchange things on Twitter when it was Twitter. A lot of people have moved on from some platforms.

I know you’re a super ethical person, so what are you doing with social media now?

Thorn: Well, first of all, we just all have to figure it out. We live in this world, and I am not judging people who are on various platforms.

Losing Twitter was a great loss. Twitter was actually my favorite platform. I’ve tried to get off of Facebook ever since I’ve been on it, but people won’t leave Facebook. Maybe they will eventually, but that has not been my experience.

Joanna: When we all die. When the old people die.

Thorn: Yes, when all the old people die. So, very simply, I only use my public Facebook page. I don’t use my private page, except to track a few author groups. I do one post, same post, Facebook and Instagram, every morning. Usually it’s a photo and a thought.

I’m on Mastodon, which strangely enough, Mastodon has no algorithm. It is my best place to get marketing traction because people know I’m showing up, making posts, even if it’s just one simple post a day.

Then when I post something marketing-related, it gets shared. I get more shares on Mastodon than anywhere else, even though it has no algorithm. Then I’m on Bluesky, which frankly, is useless to me.

Joanna: I did try and get on Threads, and it went toxic so fast.

Thorn: Threads is horrific. The comments. I’m like, oh, my gosh, the comments on Threads are awful.

Joanna: It’s like all the toxicity from Twitter ended up on Threads.

Thorn: Yes, it did. It did.

My social media strategy is very simple. I do one simple post a day. Then I try to remember to occasionally do a marketing post.

Then when I’m running a Kickstarter, though, I do a more marketing-related post pretty much every day during my Kickstarter.

Since I’m not doing that constantly, people seem supportive of it. They’re not always getting bombarded by “buy my book” from me. So they’re really happy to support when I’m running a Kickstarter. They’re really happy to do things like share my newsletter when I post my newsletter on social media, things like that.

Joanna: Again, you bring in the things you care about, and sometimes that is about protests, or art, or tattoos, or gender issues. I mean, you do just share quite all over the place, I think.

Thorn: I do. I try to be uplifting as much as possible. If I’m posting about something difficult, I always try to have a call to action that people can actually do. I’m not just on there complaining.

My rule for public discourse is I try to be signal and not noise. There’s too much noise out there. So what is my signal that I’m trying to put out to reach people?

Yes, my presence can feel all over the map, and I have felt that about myself. Like, you know, buy my books, but I’m also talking about magic, but here’s a flower that I saw on my walk, then here is this social justice thing that’s happening. But truly, that’s all me, and that is all in my books, too.

Joanna: That’s the point I was trying to make. I didn’t mean you were all over the place. I meant— You talk about all the things that go into your books.

Like you are political, and your books are political. So if people don’t want to do politics then, you know, they’re not your person, but people who love your politics will love your books. So I think that’s what I was trying to get at. You are very, I hate the word authentic, but you are pretty authentic.

Thorn: I can’t not be, which is why I just had to figure it out for myself. What’s interesting to me is at this point in the indie author world, I’m hearing this from a lot more people.

A lot of people right now are reassessing how they’ve been marketing, and what they’ve been writing, and what they want their careers to look like.

I think as a whole in the indie author world, we’re taking a step back right now and saying, how do we want to move forward? For me, it always just had to be, be myself.

When I first started publishing fiction, everyone said you need to do it under a pen name because you’re going to pollute your Amazon also-boughts. I’m like, I don’t care. I have spent decades building up goodwill with people with my name. I’m just going to write fiction under this name.

Well, lo and behold, Amazon also-boughts quickly went away. The Amazon algorithm changes every six months to a year.

Joanna: I think it changes every week.

Thorn: Probably. So people have figured out, oh, we can’t just chase the algorithm anymore. It doesn’t work long term.

So, I came up with a tagline for my author business, and it’s, “Magic is real, and justice is worth fighting for.” So people know that’s what they’re going to get from me, no matter what I’m writing or talking about. A sense of magic and a sense of justice.

Joanna: A lot of people want a tagline. I have tried, and I think I’ve even asked you about this before as well. I still don’t have a tagline. So I mean—

Did it take you a long time to get to that tagline, or has it always been very clear for you?

Thorn: It took me a little while, but it didn’t take me that long. I just, again, paused and assessed and said, what do I think my through line is? What are the strongest threads in my work? What are the strongest threads I want to put out in the world? That’s where it came from.

So, for you, I think you’re really interested in human emotion. I think you’re obviously interested in the shadow. You’re interested in what makes us tick.

I think that also includes your author stuff. Your author books, over time, I think have grown to include more and more of your interest in human psychology and philosophy.

Joanna: Maybe that’s part of it. You know, we’re talking as two people who’ve been doing this a while now, and I feel like that’s another thing.

Also around your book and talking about the slow growth, look, some of this stuff takes time. None of this appears overnight. I get people sometimes that are trying to figure all this out, and they haven’t even finished their first book yet.

Thorn: Yes. Yes.

Joanna: So patience, I guess.

Thorn: Patience, and patience is hard. Every new writer wants to be an overnight success. The thing I’ll tell you is I’ve seen people who have been overnight successes and that puts a lot of pressure on the work.

I think it makes it harder to build a long-term career for most people. You know, you start thinking, what if my next book isn’t as good? What if people don’t like it? Instead of just giving yourself the freedom.

Frankly, no one knowing who you are is a huge boon to your creativity because you can do whatever you want and find your voice over time and slowly build an audience over time.

Kristine Kathryn Rusch says we build our career one reader at a time. I think doubling down on that is helpful. I don’t have to reach 100,000 people or even 1000 people. I want to reach one person. That’s where it starts.

Joanna: Absolutely. Now there are loads of great tips and things in the book. It’s really meaty. It’s got lots in it.

Tell people about the Kickstarter, where they can find it, and when it’s running.

Thorn: So the Kickstarter launches April 16, and it will run through the first part of May. I will have some checklists for midlist mindset changes. I will have some coaching options for people who really want to say, “Hey, how do I shift my mindset around this stuff? I’m struggling with this area of my writer business.”

So it’s not going to be coaching around like specifics on marketing, it’s all going to be mindset coaching. Then of course, I’ll have the eBooks and print books and maybe some other surprises.

Joanna: Fantastic.

Where else can people find you online?

Thorn: ThornCoyle.com.

Joanna: Brilliant. Well, thanks so much for your time, Thorn. That was great.

Thorn: Thanks again for having me back on the show.

The post The Midlist Indie Author With T. Thorn Coyle first appeared on The Creative Penn.

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Author: Joanna Penn

Generative AI Impact On Creativity And Business In the Music Industry With Tristra Newyear Yeager

What can authors learn from the adoption of AI into the music industry? What are some of the ways musicians are making money in the fractured creator economy? Tristra Newyear Yeager gives her thoughts in this interview.

In the intro, Draft2Digital announced a retail distribution agreement with Fable [D2D]; Kobo launches a new color e-reader [Rakuten Kobo]; Ultimate guide to subscription models [Self-Publishing Advice]; Independence and interdependence [Self-Publishing Advice]; Becca Syme on getting unstuck [Ink in Your Veins].

Plus, Amazon’s new AI board member, Andrew Ng [TechCrunch]; AI for Everyone free course; SEO is Dead [Marketing Against the Grain]; My episode on Generative AI Search for Book Discoverability; Yes, Colossal is real, and Spear of Destiny.

This podcast is sponsored by Kobo Writing Life, which helps authors self-publish and reach readers in global markets through the Kobo eco-system. You can also subscribe to the Kobo Writing Life podcast for interviews with successful indie authors.

This show is also supported by my Patrons. Join my Community at Patreon.com/thecreativepenn 

Tristra Newyear Yeager is the Chief Strategy Officer for Rock Paper Scissors, which provides PR for music innovators. She’s also the author of historical fantasy and scientific romance, and the co-host of the Music Tectonics Podcast, which goes beneath the surface of music and technology.

You can listen above or on your favorite podcast app or read the notes and links below. Here are the highlights and the full transcript is below. 

Show Notes

  • The current state of AI for musicians — is Suno the ChatGPT for musicians? [Rolling Stone]
  • AI’s effect on the stock music industry
  • How authors and musicians can cut through the sea of content, whether human or AI-generated
  • Using AI for discoverability (more in my episode on generative AI search for books here)
  • The fragmenting of the creative economy [MusicX; Bandzoogle]
  • Do fame and awards matter less as metrics get harder to track?
  • Recommendations for selling author merchandise

You can find Tristra at NewyearMedia.com

Transcript of Interview with Tristra Newyear Yeager

Joanna: Tristra Newyear Yeager is the Chief Strategy Officer for Rock Paper Scissors, which provides PR for music innovators. She’s also the author of historical fantasy and scientific romance, and the co-host of the Music Tectonics Podcast, which goes beneath the surface of music and technology. Welcome back to the show, Tristra.

Tristra: Oh, it’s an absolute pleasure to be here. Thanks for having me back, Joanna.

Joanna: I’m excited to talk to you today. Now, you were last on the show three years ago. It seems so long ago. It was in March 2021.

We actually started talking back then about the potential impact of AI in the music industry. So we’re going to start there again today. We’re going to start with AI, and things have obviously moved on.

You specialize in the music industry. Even in the last week, as we record this, I saw Rolling Stone wrote about suno.ai, the ChatGPT for music.

Let’s start with the current state of AI for musicians in terms of the opportunities.

Let’s do the positive ways at first.

Tristra: Yes, let’s start on the positive. So Suno was a really interesting development, in that it was the first general generative-AI, something akin to ChatGPT or Claude, that could make really, really good, convincing tracks.

So no offense to all the other large models out there that can generate music from scratch. Usually, they were really short little sections of just like 45 seconds, and they tended to go off the rails pretty quickly. Suno was a little bit different and sounds a little bit better.

Now, if we’re going to talk about generative AI for music, it’s a little bit different, I would argue, than text because there’s a lot of different layers to music production and music creation.

So for a long time, we’ve had AI that could generate melodies using the MIDI format. So that’s not really like a full-fledged sound or melody you’d hear, but just like the signals that a synthesizer uses to generate a melody. We could generate lyrics, that’s been around for a while.

Then one of the most commonly used aspects of AI is in mixing and mastering. So mastering is the final set of tasks we do to make a recorded piece of music sound polished and good. So to get the all the levels right, just add a little bit of extra spark and sort of finalizing of that track.

So AI mastering has been around for quite some time and has really taken off. People will use it almost at every stage of recording, in some instances, depending on what kind of music they’re making.

So in a lot of ways, the stuff that gets the news headlines really recently, isn’t the stuff that’s really for musicians, I would argue. It’s more for people who don’t consider themselves musicians, or who struggle to make music, because they just don’t have the technical background or the musical training.

That’s what’s really interesting, from our perspective in the music business, is —

Maybe we’re looking at a future where we have a lot more people creating music.

Maybe numbering in the billions instead of the low millions. People who are making stuff for their own purposes, and it may not be the traditional commercial pipeline of recorded music of the past. It may not even be static recorded music.

So in terms of the existing AI models and what they can produce, most of us agree that the biggest threat, if we’re going to talk about threats. So that’s a positive side is the creative.

Let’s talk about the threats for just a second because they are intertwined.

There is some concern about how are we going to manage this sea of content that, you know, we thought things were intense before, what’s going to happen now if everyone starts wanting to upload their music to Spotify, or even to a SoundCloud, or other platform? How are we going to ever find stuff that’s good?

Then there’s also this question of a very specific niche in the music business that most of us hear all the time but we may not think about, and that is sync or production music. So that is the music you hear behind an image. AI really could completely upend that world.

If an advertiser, or video creator, or an author making a trailer for their book, decides they know exactly what kind of music they want, and they can type in something cool into something like Suno and get a little clip that’s licensed and they know they’re not going to get any copyright strikes or other legal complications from that, that really changes the game.

If it’s way, way cheaper than even what exists now, like there are very inexpensive online libraries that have pretty decent music and a lot of different kinds of music, but it won’t be as custom and it won’t be as expensive, most likely, even at the sort of lower end of the that market. So that is an interesting place. Some people are very concerned about that and some people are really excited.

Joanna: Wow. Lots to come back on.

Tristra: Just an onslaught of AI news!

Joanna: I know, but I think this is good because there’s a few things you bring out. So first of all, let’s go straight for the stock music piece because we’ve seen the same thing.

Like I use, as someone who has obviously this podcast, I do an image that goes with this podcast that goes on to the YouTube audio and onto the blog. I use images in my newsletter, for example. I use images on social media for ads.

I used to pay for a stock photo service. In the last six months with Midjourney and with ChatGPT Plus — the paid version of both of those have commercial licenses — I stopped all my subscriptions to stock photos.

So what you’re talking about there with stock music that might go behind—oh, so I did license a piece of music from AudioJungle for a book trailer. So what we’re basically saying is it may be that with something like Suno or with some other tools that will arrive, or like other tools with video that are looking at generating audio with the video, that we wouldn’t necessarily use something like AudioJungle.

One of the things you said there was that that is a revenue stream for some musicians. So does that kind of sum up that issue?

Tristra: Exactly, and so you’ll start to see more and more integrations with platforms like Canva, where you’ll have just, “Do you want to generate some music? Okay, what kind of music do you want?”

And just as we become a little bit more savvy about how to prompt image generation, I think more and more people will get a little bit more in tune with how to prompt to get the kind of sounds that they like.

It is kind of exciting as a music nerd. I want more people to enjoy the pleasures of music nerd-dom!

— and that could really bring everybody a little bit closer to like, why does sound affect me, what sounds affect me, what are the names that we give to different sounds or genres or moods? That’s kind of an exciting moment for me, personally.

Joanna: Possibility. Yes, it’s interesting.

I had a look at Suno. I don’t know if I’m a complete weirdo, but I have very, very sensitive hearing. I spend most of my time listening to rain noise. Very occasionally, I’ll listen to some music, mostly from the 90s, like if I’m working out or something, but I don’t listen to music much at all. So I am totally hopeless.

So I went to Suno AI, and it’s like, “Type some words about what type of music you want.” And I’m looking at it going, I literally don’t know.

So I still think there’s this big gap between someone like you who could prompt an AI in a very clear way knowing what they want, and someone like me who has absolutely no clue.

I do think that is a gap between those who know the language to create music and those who don’t (just like with writing).

In fact, there was some research that shows that these models bring up the bottom level. So people who are terrible can become average, but these models right now, as we record this in March 2024, cannot be the best at any of these things.

Tristra: That’s exactly right, and you’re always going to hit the middle of the road with these models. That’s just how tokenization and probability work, I think within the current way we create these things.

So there’s always going to be a lot of room for extraordinary thoughts for really crazy upending of what we expect, and a lot of how our brain processes sound has to do with expectation. That’s where the emotion kind of comes in.

So if we’re talking about folks who don’t create music, or really don’t consider themselves musical, or don’t engage with music very much, there’s a big window to bring some people who might never think musically, so to speak, into the world of making music and playing with sound.

That can come through things like stem separation and making it really easy for people to mess around with sound, way easier than it is now.

Young folks, like if we’re looking at how people use sound on TikTok, or at cloud-based digital audio workstations like BandLab that are super accessible, kids are making weird sounds all the time and messing around with music. They are pulling things apart, putting things together, chopping things up, speeding them up, and that’s really, really super cool.

I think we’re going to see rising tide of people making music, just the way we saw people playing around with things like filters and lighting when Instagram went mainstream.

So there’s another side too, on the very top level of people making music.

AI can really function in a lot of complex ways that are really subtle.

So everyone’s heard about voice cloning and things like fake Drake, or the Weeknd singing a song, or all these sort of very gimmicky, goofy things.

The way those models actually work is fascinating. It’s more accurate to call them timbre transfer. So timbre is like these sort of frequency qualities. The weird little sonic moments that define what makes a sound sound like itself.

So if I hit a cardboard box, or if I hit a piece of wood, or if I hit a drum, those might all have the same duration, they might even have some similar frequencies, but they all have a different timbre. So it’s like that quality to sound.

So the model basically lets you take the timbrel patterns of another person’s voice and transfer it to something else. You could transfer it to an instrument, you could transfer it to all sorts of crazy other sounds as well. It doesn’t just have to be another voice.

So the way you clone a voice is by making sure you have the same intonation. So if I used an Eminem voice model, and I didn’t have Eminem’s really distinctive intonation, it wouldn’t really sound like him.

So there’s kind of an interesting layer that’s almost like a filter you put on a photo. Or like a font, like if you read a text in one font versus another, there’s like this subtle little thing that changes in how you interpret and perceive that text.

So anyway, these timbre transfers are the kind of tools that people with more musical training or more musical inclination might be able to use to really change how things sound. It’s much the way people have used effects, like reverb or flange, or how they’ve used synthesizers to create new and radically different sounds.

It’s a lot of exciting stuff that is maybe a little bit more technical, a little bit deeper in the musical weeds, but is really, really cool. I think it will filter into mainstream audio creation as well.

Joanna: I love that attitude. I think this is the right attitude, which is —

This enables new kinds of creativity that we’ve never seen before and we’d never been able to do before.

I feel it’s the same with the language models for writing. The way people who don’t use these models assume that we’re using it is “output a thriller.” You know, click one button, output an award-winning thriller. Okay, that just doesn’t work.

Like you said about the musicians there, I feel like as someone who uses, at the moment, mainly Claude 3—again, we’re recording this towards the end of March 2024, these models change all the time—but I’m using Claude 3.

I’m going backwards and forwards, I’m iterating with it, I’m playing with it, I’m putting my words in and changing them and getting something else out.

It’s backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, in terms of leveling up my writing.

It is, in fact, slower to co-create for me with these AI tools because I’m trying to be better and use them to make my work better.

It feels like that’s what you were saying with those more advanced AI-assisted musicians.

Tristra: Absolutely, and if we think about it as a conversation, it starts to get really interesting.

The thing that everyone often overlooks with AI, like we’re so wowed at the moment by, “wow, AI can really sound like a customer service representative, like this is amazing.”

What’s really exciting to me is how bizarre the output can be from some of these models. So in my own writing, I wanted to play around with what it would sound like if an advanced artificial intelligence was having basically a freakout. It’s like a really fun freakout.

So what I did was I fed a bunch of 19th century spiritualist texts, available on Google Books, I just fed a bunch of this stuff into an earlier model. The early models are still super weird and you can make them output really odd things, and it spit out this totally insane rant.

That’s perfect. That’s what I wanted. I edited it, I switched it around, there was work that I did as a writer after that. The fun thing was like I would never have been able to get this weird and unhinged on my own.

So that’s maybe an extreme example, and I’m sure there are much more gentle and civilized examples than the one I just gave, but the weirdness and the emergent qualities are really where we, as artists, can thrive and explore. We have a whole bunch of uncharted territory to wander around in, and that’s exciting.

Joanna: Yes, it is exciting. Let’s come back to what you talked about, which was the potential challenge—exactly the same thing happening with authors—which is this sea of content.

You know, you thought it was bad before, it is going to get exponentially, let’s say “worse” in inverted commas, in that there is a sea of crap.

I have two opinions on the sea of crap.

One is that sometimes, crap is fine.

Like, I’ll have McDonald’s burger now and then, as much as I want a really lovely meal at a nice restaurant. I definitely do not read Pulitzer Prize winning books every night, and I just watched the Road House movie with Jake Gyllenhaal. I mean, it is a fun junk food movie.

So the sea of crap, one is a lot of people don’t mind that at all. Like we mentioned stock music, you don’t need something amazing for your little book trailer.

The other one is that there’s obviously just so much out there and it’s hard to find the good stuff.

So what are your thoughts on this? Again, I mean, coming back to AI and using AI tools, I know you read my search article, or thinking about other marketing possibilities—

How do musicians and authors cut through this sea of content?

Tristra: I think it is going to be a real balance between the human and some of these cool tools that we can use to unlock things and see patterns that we wouldn’t see otherwise.

In some ways, music and books are locked into this genre system right at the moment, like that’s the language that we use to talk about things.

A lot of things that are not in the sort of sea of crap, or more templated, or just fun entertainment stuff, it’s kind of hard to put them easily into one bucket. At least I can say that for music.

With really good music, artists really struggle to say, “Oh, I’m just making funk. That’s all I make,” or “I’m just straight up like old school hip hop, that’s all I do,” because it’s usually not all someone does. So in that regard, using AI can help us find other similarities to other works.

So with music, it’s a little bit weird when it comes to search because you can search using a bunch of different properties for an audio file. So you can look at the waveform and try to find other waveforms, so sound similarity search.

You can look at metadata, which is a whole huge can of worms.

If you ever want to make someone from the music industry cry, just talk about metadata.

Joanna: Same in the book industry!

Tristra: Exactly, but we don’t want to make anyone cry here today. So some metadata, when metadata is good and it’s doing what it’s supposed to do, it can really help people find music.

Then there’s things like user behavior. So the way a lot of recommendation algorithms are supposed to work is that you look at a user who is similar to you in some way, shape, or form, and maybe in their listening habits, for example. Then you look at what that listener is listening to that you aren’t listening to.

Then the algo magically match makes and says, “Hey, your buddy who listens to like 80% of the same stuff as you really digs this, and you haven’t checked this out yet. So you should check it out.” I think I’ve gotten a little bit far afield here.

All of these different AI channels could converge to help us market better, if only because we’re trying to find audiences in new ways.

Not just like, okay, this is a romance or a cozy mystery, and I’m going to find all the cozy mystery writers, I’m going to do what all the cozy mysteries do.

It’s like, well, maybe there’s like a whole world about super intelligent cats, and there’s like a super intelligent cat super fandom out there that you could discover if you had the right AI pilot.

In some ways, we might just leave genre behind.

That’s starting to happen in music. I haven’t seen as much reporting on this from books, but I’d love to hear your perspective, Joanna.

In music, young listeners basically listen to everything. They just listen across the board. So like 40 years ago, people were pretty siloed. They were like, I do rock, or I’m into hip hop, or I listen to classical music, and that’s it.

Now it’s like, young listeners, their Spotify or whatever is just filled with all sorts of different kinds of music, and in all sorts of languages, too. A lot of the music that is reaching young people now is not in English. So it could be K-pop, it could be J-pop from Japan, that’s starting to percolate.

Of course, there’s Latin music. Folks like Bad Bunny have really made a huge change. Now India is starting to come up on a lot of young people’s radars as well. It’s just fascinating. So anyway, all this to say this is not very helpful advice.

Joanna: Well, no, I think the point was that we’re looking at AI tools for discoverability. So, for example, I have found a lot of stuff with ChatGPT. The example I give in one of my posts was looking for novels about stone carving.

When I used the traditional Amazon search, it came up with a whole load of nonfiction books on stone carving, and most of it was advertising and all this kind of thing.

Then using ChatGPT, it actually gave me a whole load of really interesting options. Then you can also, with the generative search models, you can then ask more nuanced questions. Like okay, well, I want this to be historical, for example, or I want this to be set in Europe as opposed to America.

There are ways you can make it more granular. So I suppose the same would be true about music, that you could say, well, these are the artists that I like, these are the songs I like, give me suggestions that are similar to this.

I mean, I guess what people are scared about, and this is already happening in the author industry, is ‘generate to market.’

In fact, I kind of saw this happening on ChatGPT the other day.

So I asked it for a whole load of books on creative business and money for authors because I’m going to update my Business for Authors book. It came up with this whole list of books, and I was like, oh, wow, I haven’t heard of some of these, these are amazing.

About four of them existed, and six of them did not exist.

Tristra: Incredible. I love that.

Joanna: It was incredible because that hadn’t happened before. When I did that article before Christmas, that didn’t happen, like those books were real.

The crazy thing was, and I said to Jonathan, my husband, like, “Look at this. Look at these amazing book titles.” And he said, “Well, maybe you should write one of those.”

Tristra: There you go. I mean, if you did that well, that could be incredible. I think music, because it’s a lighter lift in some respects, musicians don’t get mad at me.

Joanna: As in it doesn’t take so long?

Tristra: It doesn’t take so long to create. Well, obviously you could work for years on a single song and polish it and refine it and revise it and everything. If you’re working in like a song format, you’re looking at like 3 to maybe 10 minutes of audio, and that can take a while to make.

Then with a book, if you’re shooting for a 50,000- to 100,000-word piece of fiction that hangs together reasonably well, I would argue it might take a little bit longer. That’s from someone who’s both recorded music and written music and books.

You know, again, the creativity and the heart and the soul is equally demanding, but it doesn’t take as long.

Music doesn’t take as long to make, and it doesn’t take long as long to enjoy.

So anyway, the book side makes me a little like, wow, you’d have to put some effort in, but it would be worth it. For the music side, you could really go nuts.

Joanna: I would kind of like to just feed in one of my books. Maybe I could do that. Maybe I feed in a one of my books into Claude, and I say, “Act like Ramin Djawadi.” The guy who did the Game of Thrones soundtrack.

Tristra: There you go.

Joanna: I’d be like, “Okay, do this for my book. Give me a prompt that I can put into Suno,” and then see how it is.

I mean, we’re laughing because you and I are quite positive about this. There are people listening who were like, oh, dear. So let’s move into the business model with this stuff.

Tristra: Can I just say one more quick thing on the fantastic fun side. This is something I think a lot of authors experience, not everyone, but we’re kind of like minor synaesthete. Like we see what’s happening before we write it, or sometimes we hear it, some people may smell it, I don’t know.

This is giving us a chance in certain ways to unlock those sides of our imaginations.

We may not share that publicly, but if you had a soundtrack to Spear of Destiny, that might actually spark new creative directions for you that you hadn’t unlocked before.

I think the multimedia side of things is really intriguing as all these different art forms converge.

It’s something that is a little strange, but could end up being quite exciting from an imagination standpoint.

Joanna: Oh, yes. Well, I did this to Claude.

I uploaded a short story and said, “Can you plot out a book trailer,” and then I made the images in ChatGPT and DALL-E, and then got the music for it. So it was a kind of collaboration in that way.

Given that there are tools coming out, the kind of text-to-video models with music, probably by the end of 2024, you could feed in a book and say, “Create a 30-second trailer with music.”

Tristra: Exactly. Or, “What song would this person be singing?”

Joanna: Exactly. I mean, that’s the fun side.

Coming back to the business, because I think, to me, there are some really interesting things. So you mentioned a bit about the voice synth thing. I think it was Grimes, who said, “Take my voice, create records, and give me half the money,” or whatever.

So I think licensing voices is going to be one model.

You wrote an article on the MUSIC x Substack and said the creative economy is fragmenting.

[Read Tristra’s article here.]

I’ve used this term splintering. Maybe you could talk a bit about that. Like musicians are not just making money on Spotify streams. That is not the business model anymore, right?

Tristra:

There’s no single business model. It’s very similar to what’s happened in the author world. There’s been a whole DIY music movement.

There’s been some really key players that have knocked down the doors where a lot of the back-office stuff that was happening.

It was very difficult for an individual to hook into things like certain kinds of royalty administration, that kind of thing. So those doors have come down.

Now, a person with the right mindset can pretty much manage an entire music career on their own, using available tools that aren’t outrageously expensive.

So with that in mind, people are trying all sorts of different stuff. So there are folks that have built a whole career around live streaming.

Now there are folks that have built their whole career around various streaming platforms, and making music to playlists or to market. So there’s a huge interest in Lo-fi and other sorts of study or focus-oriented sounds, and there are artists who satisfy that market.

So there’s all these different directions you can go in, and really different ways to make money.

Some people only play live.

What the digital music world gave us was this insight into usage, but what’s happening right now is that moment when most things could be seen online in some way, shape, or form, is fading.

So we have people who are selling LPs direct. We have people who have a subscription model that they use. We have musicians who are doing all sorts of really unusual things. It’s hard to get a good handle on what all the business activity is.

So for example, there’s some debate about how many indie record stores are actually giving their sales information to the folks that manage things like charts or sales. I know there’s something similar happening with books.

Just no one knows how much people are selling, even in a store, which is like a well-established retail outlet that’s been around for decades. Like they just don’t report their sales data.

So we’re seeing all sorts of different very niche models, as well as, of course, superstars and all sorts of stuff. It runs the gamut.

Joanna: Yes. Two things to follow up on that. So one, this invisible sales thing. I’m thinking a lot about this because —

My own revenue is now mostly invisible. Most of the money I make is invisible to any charts.

It comes from Shopify, it comes from Kickstarter, it comes from Patreon. Like you said, these are subscription, these are one-off, they don’t report. I mean, Brandon Sanderson in the book world, $42 million Kickstarter, and that doesn’t hit a list.

Tristra: At that point, like who cares, right?

Joanna: I mean, I guess so. I mean, there are authors who are Amazon-only sellers who never hit any list. The person who hits the top of the New York Times list is some traditionally published author who’s sold a fraction of what some of the biggest indies are selling in other ways.

Like you said, at this point, who cares? I do wonder about this—

Are we kind of in a post-fame world?

Where there’s like Taylor Swift and Beyonce, or whatever, and then there’s everybody else. Like, do we care? Do we just get on with it?

Tristra: Yes, and is there going to be sort of an interesting market bifurcation or fragmentation, where there’ll be people that are into stars and that are into celebrities. Then there’s people who are just like, I like just to collect stuff that kind of suits me, and I don’t care who made it as long as I like it.

I mean, in some ways that was what was obtained before the digital content revolution. I hate the word content, but I’m going to use it. You know, people would have their local record store and their local bookstore.

Then maybe there’d be like a weird, I don’t know if every listener had this in their world, but when I was growing up, there was sort of these oddball little shops that would have mimeographed or photocopied zines.

Joanna: Yes, zines. I was going to say there were the zines.

Tristra: Exactly, and none of that really registered. So in some ways, we don’t know how new this is. This could have been going on for hundreds of years, you know, thinking of broadsides and all the ephemera that was popular in the 19th century, for example.

The fact of the matter is, maybe we are in a post-fame thing, or maybe we’ve always been, and in some ways, we’ve gotten a little bit turned around in thinking that the loudest voices were the ones who were actually calling the shots. I don’t know. It’s an interesting moment.

So there’s always a lot of talk about this musical middle class that’s a little bit mythical because, again, the history isn’t there. I don’t think there’s any reason to believe necessarily that the musical middle class right now is smaller than it was 40 years ago. It’s just a different group of people.

It’s not session players, like the kind of folks you might have heard backing up Steely Dan who are like these exquisite artists that just played sessions. It’s not people who are selling CDs hand over fist. It’s a very different group of people.

How big was that group 50 years ago? I mean, there’s not a lot of great research on that. So I have this feeling it’s not necessarily smaller, it’s just certain people have lost ground. It is, of course, sad because they were making some good music. It’s an interesting question.

Joanna: Yes, it is. I get what you mean, and it’s kind of similar. I mean, you get to a point where you think, well —

I really just like making stuff. I need to make enough money that I can pay my bills, and I can keep creating stuff.

Once you get to that certain amount of revenue, which is the midlist in the indie author space, for example, do you really care about the other stuff? I mean, I don’t really.

I mean, I have some particular goals, but they’re not around fame. They are to have some recognition with my peers. I recently won an award for my memoir, and I was really happy with that. That’s not going to sell any more books, but I feel happy to be recognized by peers in a certain way.

So I can imagine in the music industry, too, there’s people who are doing their merch, and doing their vinyl press, and selling at an indie record store, or whatever, doing their Kickstarter, doing their Patreon, or whatever it is for music. It’s like, that’s a happy creative life.

Maybe that’s just the positive thing about this new world is that—

We’re moving away from obsession with streaming and top of the charts, and into a sort of more happy, creative life.

Tristra: It’s less about broadcast or imitating old traditional media broadcast models. It’s more about this kind of, I think you put it as an artisan approach.

I pulled up some statistics before we started talking. There’s a website builder called Bandzoogle, which I don’t know if there’s an exact equivalent in the book world. Basically, it’s a bunch of templates and tools and cool things that some indie artist-minded folks have created for musicians.

They just announced that Bandzoogle helped musicians earn $16.4 million in 2023. Most of that came from direct merch sales or direct ticket sales. That’s pretty interesting.

So subscriptions aren’t a huge thing for musicians because for a lot of musicians, that’s not really a model that’s going to work for the way they make stuff. So I thought that was pretty notable.

Bandzoogle doesn’t charge a commission. So that’s money that’s going straight into creative people’s pockets. I thought that was pretty cool.

Joanna: So, I just pulled that up. So Bandzoogle, they build websites, make website management and have tour dates. So it’s websites and selling direct and merch and things through their site. That looks fantastic.

Just on merch, then. This is something that musicians have always done, and have done very, very well selling merch at live events and this stuff. At author events, people will more likely where band t-shirts than they’ll wear author t-shirts. It’s just not the thing to do.

Tristra: I’m just trying to imagine like, you know, my Melville t-shirt.

Joanna: I mean it really is a cultural thing for bands to do this. It’d be great if authors did this too. Do you have some sites that you would recommend?

If authors do want to do merch, what are some of the best sites you know of that they might have a look at?

Tristra: I have been thinking about this myself for merch. One thing that I have been thinking a lot about is t-shirts and sizes and how hard it is to do. I guess you can do print on demand, but the margin seems a little bit so-so.

If you’re a band, you’ll probably print a small run or a big run of different sizes and styles and things. So I’ve been thinking a lot about that, like what are some alternatives to t-shirts?

There’s been some crazy variety of things that people have done in music. I would say if you want to look for some inspiration, look at places like Bandcamp. So if you have a favorite genre or artist, see if they’re on Bandcamp and see what they’re selling. Sometimes music artists will sell really neat things that are pretty simple.

So you probably don’t want to go to the trouble of putting out a vinyl LP. There’s ways you can make cassettes nowadays. They have all sorts of fun stickers. I’ve seen bandanas. There are things like drink koozies, if that’s your thing.

I don’t know, if I was setting one of my books, like maybe a thriller in the Florida Keys, like a koozie sounds like a good piece of merch.

Joanna: It’s like a beer sleeve for your craft beer?

Tristra: Exactly, exactly. So your seltzer water.

Joanna: Your hard seltzer!

Tristra: Exactly, there you go. For authors, it may indeed have to be a hard seltzer. I’m being silly.

There’s enamel pins. There’s all sorts of really fun little things that you can look at. I’m all for getting inspiration from other people, and for thinking about like what is an object that’s easy to mail that’s not too fragile, that is relatively small, and that’s something that someone would buy in enjoy.

Something where the design can really shine. Like an enamel pin or a sticker would be a great example. Those are things that are pretty easy to manufacture.

I mean, I have to say my favorite thing, Joanna, and I’m going to give a little shout out, I love Sticker Mule here in the US. If you sign up with them, they will send out these deals, these like random deals. They have the best marketing emails that are just like, “50 stickers. $10 today.” I’m like, I love you.

Joanna: It’s funny, I do actually make my own stickers for my own journals. I have thought about doing stickers.

So let’s talk about selling direct, because as you mentioned, the biggest thing is that I refuse to, as part of my business plan, I am not having stuff in my house, and I am not going to the post office.

So everything I do with my Shopify stores, it has to be print on demand, and it has to be shipped. I don’t want it anywhere near me, it needs to go from the vendor.

You’re also doing selling direct, aren’t you? You’re also doing live events, I saw on your website, like things like book shops and creative spaces and all of this. To me, it just seems like a lot of work.

Tell us about your ecosystem around selling direct?

Tristra: Absolutely. You know, you’ve got a lot of plates spinning, Joanna. So there’s some reasons why you might want to draw those really firm boundaries. I love that, and I think it’s really important to know that about yourself as a creative person.

Like if I do all this stuff, is it going to completely destroy me as a writer?

Meaning I’m not going to have any energy or interest in sitting down and being like, okay, so what is happening with these radioactive mice that are putting together an orchestra?

If you can’t go and play with your imaginary friends, you can’t pursue that particular thing. So in my case, I’m a baby author, and I’m not going to hide that. So what I mean by that is that most of the people I’m going to be selling to are people I know, or people who know people I know, et cetera.

Most of the stuff I’ve been writing lately has had a very strong regional or local flavor to it.

So it’s based in Indiana, it’s based on the history of Indiana, it is a crazy, weird story based on the history of Indiana. So it’s got a very specific audience.

I kind of wanted to have enough physical copies around to be generous with them. That is what my life allows. That’s not what everyone’s life allows. So for me, it made sense to print up a bunch of books and just have them there.

Again, I have the space for it, and I have the means to advance myself that. So that’s not the right decision for everyone. It’s a certain kind of privilege.

At the same token, I’ve been able to be really generous with my books, meaning like if I want to give it to someone, I can. That means a lot to me. It’s less of a business decision and more of just a human decision for me.

However, I do really enjoy local events. I don’t always call myself an introvert, I do find it difficult to associate with people for long periods of time.

I find it really helpful for me to focus on ideas, instead of my persona as an author, or my own work even.

So I often want to go and talk to people about the ideas or phenomena that inspired my book. So it could be artificial intelligence. It could be human utopias. It could be the history of frontier settlements in places like the US.

So I’ll tailor what I want to talk about to each locale, judging by who their likely audience is. So for me, that’s worked really well because it keeps the focus off of me, which is very uncomfortable for me. I’m a Midwesterner, we just don’t do that.

It also allows me to bring people into this world that was why I started doing this in the first place, and really share it from a different perspective.

So instead of the story and the little universe I generate for them in the book, we get to talk about the actual facts, historical sources, actions and events, and people who inspired some of my writing. So that’s really fun for me.

I would advise people to set themselves up for success. So try to know yourself.

Start in your home turf, start in a friendly location where you feel comfortable.

Maybe even consider inviting someone along and setting it up as a fireside chat, instead of just a you-show, which can feel really uncomfortable at first.

Also try to build the support around it that you need. So maybe schedule some time alone afterwards, or schedule some time with friends, or make sure that you have a little bit of promotional and marketing machinery in place.

It can be really simple. It could just be on socials, it could be reaching out to local media, but don’t leave yourself high and dry and just expect the store to do all the work.

Then for me, maybe I’m an indie author because I like to control things, and I like to know things are getting done. I don’t want to be angry with someone because something didn’t get done, unless it’s me, and then I can be angry at myself.

So if you’re going into an event, if you’ve decided to try this, I would say set yourself up for maximum success and know thyself. Try to make it sound as appealing as possible, and if there’s no way it sounds appealing, don’t do it.

Joanna: Yes, exactly. I flirt with this idea a lot, and I do some speaking, but this is just not for me.

I do think, like as we talked about, if you’re being more analogue with your products, then sometimes if you have the weird stuff, if you want to do the vinyl, or the cassette tapes, or the different types of books, it may be that this is something that really works for you.

Especially as you are, if you’re embedded in the community, if it’s about the local area, I think there’s a lot of opportunity there.

Perhaps, as you said, this business model that’s emerged in the digital space, people have thought more about the global digital side than they have around the local physical side. So interesting times ahead, I guess.

Tristra: Absolutely, and just one more little thought about that is you can think about the global digital side, and I think a lot of people are finding success there, or it makes sense to them.

For me, I had to think in concentric circles. I had to think about, where’s my home base, and how do I expand out from there gradually and organically?

It’s really frustrating because I want things to move faster than they do, but that’s a growth opportunity too, is to learn to be a little more patient.

Joanna: Indeed.

Where can people find you and everything you do online?

Tristra: Well, if you want to find out more about my music, tech nerdery, and musings, you can check out the Music Tectonics Podcast, and that’s tectonics like the geological phenomenon.

You can also hit me up on LinkedIn. I know that’s really dorky to say that, but that’s where I do a lot of musings and post a lot of articles and stuff like that.

If you want to find out about my fiction, I’m at NewyearMedia.com. I’ve got a podcast coming out in June about an American intense feminist from the 1820s. You can find out about my novels.

You can also hit me up on Instagram, Facebook, you know, all those silly places where I mostly post things about barns. You know, trees, dark foreboding roads, that kind of fun stuff. So it’s more of an art project.

Joanna: Well, thanks so much for your time, Tristra. That was great.

Tristra: Thank you, Joanna. It’s great to be here.

The post Generative AI Impact On Creativity And Business In the Music Industry With Tristra Newyear Yeager first appeared on The Creative Penn.

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Author: Joanna Penn