A Conversation with Devi Laskar

December 15, 2023

Conversation with Devi Laskar, by Swetha Amit

Circa is a gut-wrenching novel that deals with a young Indian American woman caught between familial expectations and a tragedy. What inspired the idea, and what made you write in the second person?

In 1995, I started writing a version of Circa. I had a very good friend, Susan, to whom the book is dedicated. When I was in New York during my MFA program, I discovered she was diagnosed with leukemia. I tried to write many things about Heera and Marie to entertain Susan. When she passed away in 1996, I put it aside. Over the years, I tried to work on the story, but something always felt wrong. Then, in 2010, I lost the bulk of my work because of the raid that happened to us. I first wrote The Atlas of Reds and Blues and wanted something to work on after it was out. It was 25 years since Susan passed away, and it was time to begin reworking the book. I drew much inspiration from my classmate Julie Otsuka's book The Buddha in the Attic, written in the first-person plural-we. I tried writing it from that perspective for two months. It wasn't working. Then I stumbled upon the second person and felt I could hear Heera's voice well. I started over and found it all came together.

You mentioned about the raid in 2010 and how you lost most of your work. How did it affect your writing process, and how did you pick up the threads after that incident?

After that raid in 2010, I didn't write much for a year. Then, in June 2011, I tried to pen down a poem. But I couldn't. Then, Robin, another good friend from Atlanta, made me watch the movie Julie & Julia. In that movie, Julie gives herself the constraint of trying to make 524 recipes of Julia Child in 365 days. Since I was also a photographer, Robin suggested I take and caption a new picture every day. She felt that by adding words to my photos, I'd find the words coming back to me. Within a year, my poetry came back, and my prose came back after three years. Once my prose returned, The Atlas of Reds and Blues took two years, and Circa took one and a half years.

The time-era in Circa was set in the ‘70s and ‘80s. How did you capture that era authentically?

I wanted to set the time of the book in an era when we weren't constantly plugged into our phones and when people wrote letters and talked on our landlines. That's the era when I knew Susan, and we were close. I wanted to capture that period and make the story authentic.

Your protagonist is an Indian American immigrant on foreign soil, caught between the worlds of tradition and westernization. Did your journey as an Indian American influence how you wrote about this character?

I had a couple of thoughts when I was writing this book. If Marco had been the one to die, the grieving process between Heera and Marie would have been different through sleepovers and spending time with one another. Because it was Marie who died, there were all these societal rules that Heera and Marco couldn't grieve together or see each other anymore. I was curious about why society imposed those rules. The other thought I had was how people tend to judge others. I wanted to write a story about a character who gets judged by her peer set and community. I wanted to explore what it means for people to have cultural obligations towards their family but also want to be a part of the Western community. I grew up in the ‘60s and ‘70s in North Carolina. Back then, there weren't many Indians or Bengali families. Now, things have changed.

You refer to Indian practices like dowry or bride burning. Did you ever worry about your target audience or how the Western world would receive it?

I don't think about the audience while writing. The first person I end up writing for is me. Toni Morrison used to say that if you don't see the book you want to read, write it. With Circa, I had to be true to myself as I had to be able to defend every sentence I wrote. I am writing for people who are also navigating between two cultures. I had three beta readers who gave me the go-ahead. When I got their approval, I put it out in the world. I am thrilled when people tell me they love it.

Marie's death in the book was set on Halloween. Was there a significant reason behind that idea?

I did that because Susan's favorite holiday was Halloween. Incidentally, her funeral was also on Halloween. When I sat down to rewrite the book in 2020, I couldn't write about us anymore, but I had to keep some part of her in the book. Setting it on Halloween was my ode to her.

It is said that writing can be redemptive and helps in healing. Do you feel writing Circa has helped in your healing process?

I am relieved I was able to write the book. I didn't think I would be writing anymore after 2010. So, the fact that I have these books is such a relief. As an older writer, I am thrilled that people still want to read my stuff. However, it hasn't necessarily made me feel better.

You pack a lot in 184 pages with such tight writing. Do you think your poetry background influenced your prose writing?

Besides being a poet, I was also a journalist for a while. I spent my entire adult life with people telling me to keep it concise. So, I captured a lot from several years of tight writing in just 184 pages.

You have tackled themes of loneliness, disappearance, and coming of age. Was that something you consciously thought of while writing this book?

I had just started writing, and as I got further into the story, I realized the protagonist was lonely and several people disappeared. What intrigued me about disappearing is the ways people disappear, besides death. I didn't start writing a book about a girl who disappeared. I began writing about a set of circumstances and where it would lead me.

Who are the authors/books that influence you?

For Circa, it was The Buddha in the Attic by Julie Otsuka. Another book was I, the Divine by Rabih Alameddine. He was having a hard time trying to write about this woman named Sarah. He kept starting over and trying different things. Then, one day, he realized he had told Sarah's entire story whenever he started over. He felt the only way to finish the book was to assemble all the first chapters. This is a novel of first chapters where every chapter is done differently. There is a mix of first-person and third person. That gave me so much hope as I was struggling with Circa. It felt like permission granting.

Lastly, are there any upcoming works in the pipeline?

I just finished my third novel called Midnight, At the War. It is about a brown-skinned journalist set around the years before and after 9/11. As a former reporter, I have been upset by how the news has changed. There are many more opinions, and people have become numb from watching the news constantly.

Devi S. Laskar is a poet, novelist, photographer, former newspaper reporter, and lifelong Tarheel. She is the author of the award-winning *The Atlas of Reds and Blues*, named by *The Washington Post* as one of the 50 best books of 2019. Her second novel, *Circa*, was published by Mariner Books last year and selected as a Goop Book Club and Book Club Girl pick. Her third novel, *Midnight, At the War*, is in progress. She holds degrees from UNC-Chapel Hill, the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, and Columbia University. She now lives in California with her family.

Author of her memoir, A Turbulent Mind-My journey to Ironman 70.3’, Swetha Amit is currently pursuing her MFA at University of San Francisco. She has published her works in Atticus Review, JMWW journal, Oranges Journal, Gastropoda Lit, Full House literary, Amphora magazine, Grande Dame literary journal, Black Moon Magazine, Fauxmoir lit mag, Poets Choice anthology, and has upcoming pieces in Drunk Monkeys, Agapanthus Collective, The Creative Zine, and Roi Faineant Press. She is one of the contest winners of Beyond words literary magazine, her piece upcoming in November. She is also, alumni of Tin House Winter Workshop 2022 and the Kenyon Review Writers’ workshop 2022. Twitter: @whirlwindtotsInstagram @swethaamit

A Conversation with Nina Schuyler

June 3, 2023

A Conversation with Nina Schuyler, by Swetha Amit

What was the inspiration for Afterword? How did the idea initially come about?

Inspiration doesn't come from a singular moment. It can come from many things. For me, the list is long. I wanted to interject the messiness of this creativity. Much of it is my exposure, thinking about death, what makes it human, and what if we don't die. I am always thinking and reading widely, staying open to ideas. I started paying attention to AI in 2017. I became curious about what is going to become of this technology. Living in the Bay Area gave me access to people working in technology. I have a background in reporting, so it was easy for me to meet and interview these people. I talked to people from this industry and learned more.

How long did it take you to write Afterword? Tell me more about the research process.

I read an excellent book called Artificial Intelligence by Jerry Kaplan. I read that earlier on to get the fundamentals down. I constantly kept reading newspaper articles, blogs, and the news. Everything started with Alan Turing in the 1950s when he gave us the Turing test. When will a computer be [so much] like a human that we mistake a computer for a human? My curiosity fueled this research process, which started in 2017-2018. But life intervened since I also teach, so I took some time with it.

The novel alternates between third person close and first person from the perspective of Virginia. How did you make this choice to alternate points of view?

It goes back to what I believe is the longevity of a writer: try[ing] something new that you haven't tried before. I wrote my previous two novels using close third, and I have never tried anything in the first person. I wanted to bring the intimacy of the human being on the page. It's also blended with epistolary form, and there is some voyeurism. As a reader, I like it when the author invites me to a private place. That was my thinking behind it. So much of it was intuitive.

How did you find the voice of your character Haru, who is an AI instead of a human character?

I was teaching a class about heteroglossia. It's a term by Mikhail Bakhtin that emphasizes that fiction, especially novels, can employ different speech sounds. I needed to make Haru's diction different from my other main character, Virginia. I wanted to expand and create variability for him and make him sound more human. I wanted to contrast Ishiguro, who flattens the language often for his characters in Klara and the Sun. I wanted to show Virginia had a different sound and invite a fuller depiction of technology that humanizes it.

"Language is what makes us human." is a pertinent line in your book. Do you feel human communication and interaction have reduced with the advent of technology and increased loneliness? Do you see AI as a boon or bane?

The answer is yes and no. With large language models, it [AI] is now becoming better every month. It feels like you are talking to a human. Recently, the U.S. Surgeon General just reported an epidemic of loneliness. Japan and the U.K. have appointed ministers of loneliness to address this problem. The technology Replica, for example, provides the feeling of a best friend who can listen to humans sharing their stories. Recently, somebody discovered that replicas could be sexual companions and role-play with you at a sexual level. While it is a support group, I won't advocate AI companions to humans. On the other side of the coin, online conversations move to extremes and decisiveness. Humanity and patience get subtracted during online exchanges and tend to become polarized.

Your book has a delicate balance that brings out human emotions and talks about AI. It's a blend of suspense, love, and science fiction. How did you manage this balance? Did you consciously plan that out while penning down this book?

The book's heart, for me, was always a love story. I always kept track of it. One of my main characters, Virginia, has a memory of this man embedded in her to a large extent. There is this delusion that we know everything about each other. I wanted to tackle that aspect. I didn't intend for it to be science fiction. One of my M.F.A. professors always talked about taking out the genres and bringing back the character in them. Those words are embedded in me. This novel was an exercise in writing to discover what was unfolding on the page. I didn't think a play would be in the middle, but a play appeared. Every writer needs to find a private space that let the messy, chaotic creativity unfold. This place is to explode and transgress out of what is expected and break all those proper habits in writing. Russians have a name for this, “Vnye,” which is being within a context while remaining oblivious to it.

What do you want readers to take away from this book?

Whatever the reader is searching for, whether it's an experience, escape, a dream, or a fantasy. The premise of this is that what if you can continue a conversation with your loved ones. What if there was no finite death? Are we still human if we can transcend those boundaries of death? What will our relationship with machines be? It's an AI age, and we are living in it. It is the time to be thoughtful and think about such things.

Who are the authors/books that have influenced your writing process?

There are so many. I admire Virginia Woolf for her syntax and rhythm; James Baldwin, Toni Morrison, William Faulkner, and James Salter for eloquence and compression; Elena Ferrante for her honesty and bluntness; Shruti Swamy for her imagery; and poets Jude Nutter and Elizabeth Bishop. I read more poetry and cultivated this practice of memorizing poems.

Are any more books in the pipeline?

I have just finished a novel's first draft, and it’s in a private space now. I have an ending in mind, and I am waiting to get back to it.

Favorite childhood memory?

I had an imaginative experience of death when I was five or six. I am unsure what the trigger was, but I realized I came from nothing and will eventually return to nothing. I think it was a profound moment.

Any strange writing habits?

I always have a notebook and jot down what I see, hear, or think of something. I usually do this when picking up my boys or at a dentist appointment.

What is the strangest place you have visited?

We are living in a great space right now. There is much upheaval, and everything will turn out differently. I am reading everything I can about Chat GPT and am at the cusp of this upheaval.

Nina Schuyler's novel, Afterword, will be published in May 2023 by Clash Books. Her short story collection, In this Ravishing World, won the W.S. Porter Prize for Short Story Collections and The Prism Prize for Climate Literature and will be published by Regal House Publishing in 2024. Her novel, The Translator, won the Next Generation Indie Book Award for General Fiction and was shortlisted for the William Saroyan International Writing Prize. Her novel, The Painting, was shortlisted for the Northern California Book Award. Her nonfiction book, How to Write Stunning Sentences, is a bestseller. Her short stories have been published by ZYZZYVA, Fugue, Your Impossible Voice, Santa Clara Review, Nashville Review, and elsewhere. She has a new nonfiction book, Stunning Sentences: Creative Writing Journal. She teaches creative writing for Stanford Continuing Studies and the University of San Francisco. She lives in California.

Author of her memoir, A Turbulent Mind-My journey to Ironman 70.3’, Swetha Amit is currently pursuing her MFA at University of San Francisco. She has published her works in Atticus Review, JMWW journal, Oranges Journal, Gastropoda Lit, Full House literary, Amphora magazine, Grande Dame literary journal, Black Moon Magazine, Fauxmoir lit mag, Poets Choice anthology, and has upcoming pieces in Drunk Monkeys, Agapanthus Collective, The Creative Zine, and Roi Faineant Press. She is one of the contest winners of Beyond words literary magazine, her piece upcoming in November. She is also, alumni of Tin House Winter Workshop 2022 and the Kenyon Review Writers’ workshop 2022. Twitter: @whirlwindtotsInstagram @swethaamit

A Conversation with Natalie MacLean

May 8, 2023

A Conversation with Natalie MacLean, by Swetha Amit

How and when did you decide to write your memoir Wine Witch on Fire? How long did it take you?

It took a long time. I refused to look at my journal entries and notes for five years because it was too painful. Then, the incidents began swarming around my head. I started writing about it as a private exercise to make sense of what happened to me. I had no intention of publishing it. I thought writing about it in public would be vandalizing my own privacy. My favorite quote comes from memoirist Glennon Doyle. She says “You need to write from a scar and not an open wound.” And my next question is, why write about it at all? Poet Sean Thomas Dougherty says, “Because right now there is someone out there with a wound in the exact shape of your words.” Then, I realized by keeping this story to myself that I wasn't fully connecting with others, so I spent another five years writing and editing it. When you share vulnerability and cracks inside your life, you invite others in, and they share in return. The stories that came back to me from readers who read my memoir are profoundly moving.

Writing a memoir can be daunting. Did you face any challenges, or was writing any part of this memoir difficult?

It was tough. First, I had to get through the trauma and undergo a lot of therapy to process all that pain. My memoir brought together two aspects of my life that I thought were utterly different– my personal life involving a divorce and my professional life that involved all that defamation and accusations about intellectual theft. They were two sides of an open wound, and I stitched my life together to create a new meaning. It was challenging to relive those experiences, but there was more healing. Writing about it was cathartic. It helped me make sense of my own world.

The title Wine Witch on Fire is catchy. How did you come up with it? Does the word 'witch' symbolize anything in particular?

This memoir is about a middle-aged woman—me—who survives a personal and professional crisis to rediscover her own wisdom and resilience. Witches resonate with me because their strength comes from within. They represent wisdom, feminine power, and a healing connection to nature. My favorite childhood stories were always about witches. I was especially intrigued by the opposing forces between the good witch Glinda and the unnamed Wicked Witch of the West in The Wizard of Oz. I realized how these two opposing forces were inside me as well. There are some stereotypes associated with witches, which need to change.

Did you have any target audience in mind while penning this memoir?

A lot of memoirs start with the authors writing for themselves. A memoir feels like a hug to my younger self when I thought I was alone. As a memoir evolves, it eventually finds its core readers. In my case, it was women who were above the age of forty who had faced family and career challenges. It also appeals to younger women keen to know what pitfalls to avoid. There have also been some good men who gifted this book to the women in their lives—their wives, daughters, sisters, or mothers. Some men discuss the issues addressed in my memoir with their wives, which is excellent. If you find your story in my memoir, then it becomes a book for you.

The language in your memoir has a delicate balance of a bit of humor and vulnerability. Was it a conscious attempt to maintain this balance?

Humor has always been my way of coping with difficult times. Earlier, my humor used to be a defense mechanism. Now, it's a more general approach inviting people to chuckle with me. I realized my memoir could not be one long bleak narrative. At the same time, I did not want to trivialize some critical subjects. We need comic relief in life, whether in books or movies. Initially, I could not have inserted humor because I didn't have that distance. Now, with the wisdom of the time, I could adopt a different lens and find ways to insert humor. It's a matter of balance, just like a complex drink like wine, which is a combination of several elements.

You talk about different narrative approaches in your memoir. How do you approach your writing in terms of narrative and form?

I have always written in the first-person in a very conversational tone. It's natural for me to write like we are talking at the kitchen table. From a narrative form, a memoir is just a slice in time of your life, like a year or two, unlike an autobiography, which encapsulates your entire life. The memoir goes back and forth in time. This was challenging and exhilarating. I found it elevated my craft and challenged me as a writer.

Do you think penning down this memoir has changed you?

I initially thought strength meant holding it all inside and not needing anyone to confide in. This approach made my life a lot more complex and worse. Only when I confided in friends, family, and other women in the wine industry did I realize how healing restored the power of friendship. I realized that vulnerability was the only defense.

What do you expect readers to take away from this book?

We have a wine-making term called dry extract. It refers to the essence of wine-flavored components when all the moisture has evaporated. The dry extract is there in humans. It's about what is left over after life has burnt us down to that leftover essence—who we are at our core can help us rise again. It's incredible how we have more profound resilience and strength than we give ourselves credit for.

Now moving on to some fun questions. What would your favorite childhood memory be?

My favorite childhood memories are all connected to the sense of smell. Smell is the only sense of the five senses tied directly to memory and the brain, so, to remember how things smelt in my childhood, whenever I open a National Geographic magazine, I am back on my grandparents’ porch, which had a stack of those. I loved how those magazines smelled. Also, whenever I come back from swimming and let the sun dry my back, I recollect the smell of grass and tiger lilies in the corner of my grandmother’s garden, and even the salty ocean water close by. These beautiful smells transport me back to my four-year-old self again.

If you were to describe yourself as a particular variety of wine, what would it be?

Pinot noir. It's got all the flavor and vivacity of the best wines and none of the heavy dose alcohol like you get in some other varieties of wine. Pinot noir is like a thin-skinned grape. I find it like people on the edge of a nervous breakdown. They are exciting conversationalists, but you are not sure where the conversation is headed. Pinot is great when it's sublime. When it's bad, it's terrible. It's this mysterious aura of not knowing that makes it thrilling. I want to remain thin-skinned like the pinot and live in a place of vulnerability, sharing, and transparency.

What's the strangest place you have visited?

In terms of wine regions, I love South Africa. It was wild and fierce. They have some spectacular vineyards and landscapes. In North America, you must deal with deer, birds, and rabbits who want to eat your grapes. In South Africa, they deal with baboons and all kinds of wildlife that roam around in groups and can attack their vineyards anytime. I find it fascinating and strange. The food is excellent with all those exotic flavors, and the people are great.

Who are the authors or books who have inspired you?

Margaret Atwood is at the top of my list. As a teenager, I wrote about her for a book report on The Handmaid's Tale. It was inspiring to read her as a young woman and to continue reading her works. She has a strong voice and paints these pictures of characters that stay with you even after turning the last page over. Colette, the French writer, wrote with great sensuality about wine, food, life, and love. M.F.K. Fisher is another author I admire. She said “So it happens, when I write of hunger, I am really writing about love and the hunger for it.” She viewed food writing as a genre to look at people and life through the lens of food. This resonates with me. Wine gave me the confidence to write and ask people questions I never would.

Are any upcoming books in the pipeline?

Now, I am focusing on promoting my memoir. I will connect with people online through my online wine and food pairing courses, https://www.nataliemaclean.com, and the Unreserved Wine Talk podcast. I also want to connect with readers who share their stories with me. And I welcome readers to communicate with me. I have some ideas for my upcoming book and will pursue this after the hype around my memoir subsides.

Natalie MacLean's previous books, Red, White, and Drunk All Over: A Wine-Soaked Journey from Grape to Glass and Unquenchable: A Tipsy Quest for the World's Best Bargain Wines, were each selected as one of Amazon's Best Books of the Year.

She was named the World's Best Drinks Journalist at the World Food Media Awards and has won four James Beard Foundation Journalism Awards. She is the only person to have won the M.F.K. Fisher Distinguished Writing Award from the James Beard Foundation and the M. F. K. Fisher Award for Excellence in Culinary Writing from Les Dames d' Escoffier International.

Her work has appeared in The Globe and Mail, Bon Appétit, Food & Wine, Wine Enthusiast, San Francisco Chronicle, Chicago Tribune, Minneapolis Star Tribune, St. Louis Post-Dispatch, The Age, Sydney Morning Herald, and National Post. She's the regular wine expert on several television shows.

Natalie hosts Unreserved Wine Talk, selected as one of the best drinks podcasts by the New York Times. She offers online food and wine pairing classes where she connects personally with those around the planet who share her passion for wine at www.nataliemaclean.com.

Find out more about Wine Witch on Fire here, including the bonuses for those who purchase the book as well as the free companion guide with wine tips and pairings.

Author of her memoir, A Turbulent Mind-My journey to Ironman 70.3’, Swetha Amit is currently pursuing her MFA at University of San Francisco. She has published her works in Atticus Review, JMWW journal, Oranges Journal, Gastropoda Lit, Full House literary, Amphora magazine, Grande Dame literary journal, Black Moon Magazine, Fauxmoir lit mag, Poets Choice anthology, and has upcoming pieces in Drunk Monkeys, Agapanthus Collective, The Creative Zine, and Roi Faineant Press. She is one of the contest winners of Beyond words literary magazine, her piece upcoming in November. She is also, alumni of Tin House Winter Workshop 2022 and the Kenyon Review Writers’ workshop 2022. Twitter: @whirlwindtotsInstagram @swethaamit

A Conversation with Anthony DiPietro

April 6, 2023

A Conversation with Anthony DiPietro, interviewed by Joanna Acevedo

Joanna Acevedo: So my first question is about the title of your collection [kiss + release], which kind of mimics the catch and release that fishermen do. Can you talk about the title, what its significance is, and how it relates to the context of this book?

Anthony DiPietro: Sure. It's sort of a combination of that and the adage that you have to kiss a lot of frogs to catch your prince. So I was having a conversation with a writer friend, and the background of my life was that I was dating and going through break ups, and when that phrase came out of my mouth, I just knew that it was going to be the title of this book I was already working on. In the end, I feel like the book is a kind of meditation on things that happen over and over again. In a way, it becomes a meditation on how things just stay the same, because you’re always stuck in some place on a cycle. So I liked how it played into what the poems were dealing with.

A big part of that was the poem “love is finished again.” It anchors the work. I wrote it as a long poem of eleven sections, and at one point I just considered it one section, but at a certain point—we’ll talk later about how the book is structured—but I realized as I tried to break it apart, we keep returning to this “love is finished again,” which keeps turning over the same thing, or trying to find another metaphor to say the same thing. And that was the moment when I knew I had a book on my hands.

JA: I love that book moment.

So these poems sort of fall into a couple of distinct forms. There’s the one that zig zags across the page, then there’s the kind of blocky prose one, and there’s one more that I don’t remember. So can you talk about what form means to you, and how these forms came to be? And what they mean to the book?

AD: Sure. I was writing a lot of prose poems at the time, because I was taking a short forms course with Amy Hempel, who’s a fiction writer, and she said things like “I would be a poet, but I’m just not a poet, so I write short fiction,” and it’s hard to tell when you get these little blocks of text—it’s hard to tell the difference. When you’re the kind of writer who obsesses over every word and every cadence, it becomes hard to tell. Is it prose? Is it poetry? Is it fiction? Is it memoir? I was writing a bunch of those, and it was really successful. And then I was seeing how they interacted with the other poems I was writing.

I think the reason you have a lot of poems on the left margin is that sometimes, left to my own devices, I’ll just write poems that look the same over and over again. I’ll just write tercets, I’ll just write quatrains. Actually, my chapbook is all quatrains. It’s about the pandemic. And the monotony really worked for that collection, the sameness of the form with the different content in between. But with a regular poetry collection, I didn’t want to turn every page and have every poem be the same. It wasn’t like, okay, this is going to be in couplets, this is going to be in quatrains. I kind of fuss with the form until I find something visually interesting that’s also saying something with the content to me. So yeah, I often stumble on them just kind of by play.

And you know, another thread through the book is that I’m in conversation with other writers, or even song lyrics, things like that. So something about the book is playful, how it bounces around the page, mimicking this conversational back and forth. That’s happening in a lot of these poems.

JA: And I’ll ask you about that conversational aspect in a minute.

But a lot of your poems hinge on some kind of irony, I think, especially earlier in the book. A lot of the titles are very ironic. Do you want to talk about irony and titles?

AD: Oh, your question made me think that I’m definitely the kind of writer who, in workshops when someone’s reading my work, I’ll get laughs, and I’ll be like: I don’t get it. Why is it funny? I guess I have a very dry sense of humor. And sometimes I think people are laughing because it’s awkward. But sometimes it’s these juxtapositions that I put together that create irony, and I think that can be part of the queer aesthetic, just like a different way of seeing how things interconnect. I definitely think a lot about my titles. For years I didn’t get how a title was good or not good with a poem, and at some point we had people who were interested in that topic in my graduate program, and I think that was part of what led me to have some aha moments about titles and how they interact with a poem in a way that takes it to a completely different space. You know the poem would make no sense if the title didn’t give you the context that you need. So once I learned how to make the title not only interesting but intrinsically connected to the poem, it became one of my strengths as a poet. It’s like adding another layer.

JA: Pivoting a little bit, but I think there’s such a rich history of writing on desire and love and lust, but specifically, and maybe more recently, queer desire. Can you speak to this as your subject?

AD: Desire, and I usually say, Eros, just seems to be my subject matter. As for why I’m drawn to it, and why it’s important—there’s a lot of reasons, and part of it is that sex is already a subject that we kind of forget, because it’s everywhere, but sex was something you weren’t supposed to write about. And when you add that to queerness, it’s like extra taboo and persecuted. So I think that speaks to why it’s important as subject matter. It’s also a marker of identity. When I was in grad school, we had some professors who were like, “Oh, you younger generation just love to write about identity.” And they said that they never did that. And it was like, okay, well, just because you were white, male, and hetero doesn’t mean you weren’t writing about identity. But you thought you were the default, you thought you were speaking for the universal. Like, there’s other more interesting things than that. So I think that’s why I keep returning to desire and identity.

But I did make an effort in this book to not just be about the person, like to be looking outside of myself and towards the world. And still always have queer as a kind of lens. I wanted to use my perspective to say something about the world. Otherwise I think you end up with a poetry book that isn’t urgent. You’re not writing what anybody needs to hear. Not to say that my book is full of anything people need to hear. But it’s trying to be. You know, I do try to be relevant. I used to think you had to aim for a timelessness, but then I realized that how you get the universal is really with the hyperspecific. So it’s my moment that will make it timeless. If it’s of a time or place, that’s what gets it there.

And when you ask me about the context, as well, it gets me thinking of questions of lineage. Poets that I feel like I’m in conversation with include Diane Seuss, Jericho Brown, and sam sax. They’re all writing about desire, too. I talked about this in another interview, but Diane Seuss is writing about life history and turning it into a mythology. Unearthing the artifacts of our lives and the people we’ve known. Creating a whole image system through a song or an epic poem. That’s what I keep coming back to.

JA: Speaking of this related question, who do you surround yourself with when you are working? Who’s your kin? What books are on your desk?

AD: Yeah, I was taking that kind of literally and thinking about who I was with when I was writing this book, and what came to mind was the writers I was with in graduate school, who informed my thinking and my conversations. Also my teachers, and the writers I mentioned, who I always trust when I open their books. Anyone writing about queer desire. I was on the road for about a month when I was finishing the book, and that affected me as well.

JA: I’ve asked you this before, but what’s next for you? What are you working on?

AD: I’m already working on another book. The two ideas that are going into it are “house” and “party.” So right now it’s just house/party. Houses were on my mind because I bought a house during the pandemic, and for context, my father built the house I grew up in. So the physical structure of the house was like an extension of the family and our identities and stuff. And now I’ve circled to the point where I’m older than my father was when he built that house, and I wanted a house, and now I have one, and it immediately became complicated. It’s the American dream and all that. But it’s sort of like I look up and down the street, and everybody has a lawn, and everybody takes their garbage out on Monday morning, and it was complicated for me. I have to question that. So I’m writing poems about the symbolic meaning of that. And in the same way, house is connected to the pandemic, so if you had a house, your house suddenly became your world, and your memories of going to parties were suddenly all you had.

And parties suddenly got really complicated during the pandemic, too, right? So I started thinking about all the parties I’d ever been to—wedding parties, drinking parties, all kinds of gatherings. I started making a list of every party I’d ever been to. Kind of a fun exercise.

JA: I’ve been to a lot of parties.

AD: Yeah, you know, it’s like the most basic social gathering. People meet their partners there, people meet their friends there. You go to a party to get with someone there. There’s a lot of overlap with queer desire and with just the world we live in with the pandemic. And now suddenly it’s over, and you can go to parties again, but you have to be really cautious and vigilant, and maybe wear a mask like a physical barrier between you and other people. So what is that? What does it mean? And this is what I want to explore, that parties are gone the way we remember them. I mean, maybe they’re back now. But queer spaces are disappearing. I read this essay in The New Yorker, which talks about the loss of queer spaces, as a bigger societal trend—I’ll have to look it up for you. This is something I want to explore.

So yeah, those are the two things I want to explore, and the book will develop a persona, similar to [kiss+release], but I’m exploring persona in a different way. And this persona will be in third person. So I’m trying to do a few things at once.

Anthony DiPietro is a gay Rhode Island (USA) native whose career has been in community- based organizations and arts administration. He earned a creative writing MFA at Stony Brook University, where he also taught courses and planned and diversified arts programming. He now serves as associate director of Rose Art Museum in Waltham, Massachusetts. A graduate of Brown University with honors in creative writing, his poems and essays have appeared in numerous reviews and anthologies. His first chapbook, And Walk Through, a series of poems composed on a typewriter during the pandemic lockdowns, is now available from Seven Kitchens Press, and his full-length poetry collection, kiss & release, will appear from Unsolicited Press in 2024. His website is www.AnthonyWriter.com.

Joanna Acevedo (she/they) is a writer, educator, and editor from New York City. She was nominated for a Pushcart in 2021 for her poem “self portrait if the girl is on fire” and is the author of four books and chapbooks, including Unsaid Things (Flexible Press, 2021), List of Demands (Bottlecap Press, 2022), and Outtakes (WTAW Press, forthcoming 2023). Her work can be found across the web and in print, including or forthcoming in Jelly Bucket, Hobart, and The Adroit Journal. She is a Guest Editor at Frontier Poetry, The Masters Review, and CRAFT, and a regular contributor to The Masters Review blog, in addition to running interviews at Fauxmoir and The Great Lakes Review. As well as being a Goldwater Fellow at NYU, she was a Hospitalfield 2022 Interdisciplinary Resident. She received her MFA in Fiction from New York University in 2021, teaches writing, interviewing and communication skills for both nonprofits and corporations, and is supported by Creatives Rebuild New York: Guaranteed Income For Artists.

A Conversation with Emma Fedor

April 4, 2023

A Conversation with Emma Fedor by Swetha Amit

Swetha Amit: What inspired At Sea? How did the idea initially come about?

Emma Fedor: I have always wanted to write a novel. I had this original manuscript I spent years on and tried pitching it to agents. It didn't work out, so I decided to start over again. Through this process, I learned much about myself and the publishing industry. I developed this idea of how to write something that will attract attention and stay true to myself as a writer. My inspiration comes from the things I've been reading. For this instance, the idea emanated after reading the State of Wonder by Ann Patchett, which traces the journey of a researcher on an expedition in Brazil. And then, one day, when I was snorkeling, I wondered what if someone could breathe underwater without any apparatus, and the story was built on from there.

SA: How long did it take you to write At Sea?

EF: It took me about five years. I am not a fast writer and was juggling a full-time job involving intensive writing. This book was written on weekends and vacations whenever I could squeeze in time. Sometimes I'd go months without writing. This five-year time also includes the first drafts and revisions.

SA: It's interesting how you alternate between two protagonist timelines in your book. Was the structure initially planned out that way?

EF: I don't usually outline or plan my writing. I'm one of those people who just begins writing and hopes it goes somewhere. Initially, this book was supposed to be in two parts. I generally write in chronological order. I started writing the 2008 section parts and jumped into the 2014 timeline. I always knew I wanted to begin the book with that instance of having two figures sighted in water and not coming back to the surface. It was mysterious, and I initially planned it as a prologue. One day when I printed it all out, I separated it into different sections and shuffled them around. I wanted readers to read something first and wonder how the characters got there, and it can get tricky with a dual timeline. It can be exciting but also confusing.

SA: You chose to tell the story of your protagonist, Cara, using close third narrative. What made you choose this point of view instead of the first person?

EF: I gravitate towards the first person as it feels natural and easier. Somewhere along the way, I challenged myself and switched to close third. I was surprised to see how I could provide more depth in the scenic descriptions. It gives you more freedom in what you can say and how to develop the characters. Cara is sort of naïve and ignores the red flags, so using the first person would not help strike the balance I wanted to attain in my story.

SA: Your book is an interesting mash-up of genres. It's got this element of mystery, romance, thriller, and psychological angle. How did it all come up for you?

EF: I wasn't shooting for any genre. Although I recollect wanting to write about people in their twenties trying to figure out what they were doing. I was fascinated with the time and age group where Cara is in her life. I wanted a good romance in the story. The other factors evolved along the way when I was writing. I was surprised when the mystery and thriller elements developed during the process. I started with the idea of what if someone could breathe underwater but wanted to explore something other than science fiction. The psychological aspect was to ground the story back to reality.

SA: Returning to the characterization, how did you develop the stories of Cara and Brendon?

EF: When I first wrote about Brendon, I wanted him to be the charming person Cara would immediately fall in love with. Initially, I was afraid to give him faults as I wanted him to be likable. Along the way, I realized it would not be realistic if I carved him out to be so perfect. I decided to add more dimension to Brendon's character and complexity to Cara and Brendon's relationship. I wanted to project that just because someone has flaws or is battling mental illness doesn't mean you'll like them less. However, it makes their relationship much more difficult.

SA: It's interesting how you set the story on an island where Cara is cut off from everything else. Did you always intend the setting to be an island?

EF: Early on, I knew I wanted to set something in Martha's Vineyard. Initially, I didn't think about it being an island. I just thought about this place's beauty and wanted to get it on the page. It wasn't until I started writing the novel I realized how much of an impact this setting had on Cara's character. Especially when she is cut off from everything at that point. It was likely she'd believe Brendon and get absorbed with him to a point where he became her world.

SA: In the book, Cara says how art is an anecdote and helps with the healing process. Do you similarly view art/writing?

EF: From a young age, I was a big journal and diary writer. I would write as though no one was ever going to read it. If you think someone would see it, it's not going to be sincere, and you aren't going to say what you are feeling. That helps with fiction writing too. I turn to writing when I am struggling with something. It's cathartic to be able to write down everything.

SA: What do you expect readers to take away from this book?

EF: I want readers to suspend their disbelief and believe in the unbelievable, which we don't get to do in life. This book is an escape in that sense. We know someone can't breathe underwater, but it's fun and liberating to just let yourself imagine they could and not get bogged down by the details of it. The way readers interpret the ending will also say a lot about who they are.

SA: Who are the books/authors who have inspired you?

EF: While growing up, I read a lot of Judy Blume. It was great to read her work, where she talks about things that people don't like talking about. Summer Sisters is a book I love. Lily King is my favorite writer; her storytelling style is beautiful and graceful. Three Women and Animal by Lisa Taddeo are also books I like. I gravitate towards women writers and enjoy works with good family sagas, relationships, and coming of age.

SA: What's your favorite childhood memory?

EF: It would be going out on a boat at Cape Cod with my cousins and cruising along the bay on a summer day.

SA: What's the strangest place you have visited?

EF: I majored in Spanish in my college days. So, I spent a semester in Peru. I did an independent study with descendants of the Machiguenga tribe in the tributary area in the Amazon. It was different from anywhere I've been and a beautiful experience.

SA: Do you have any weird writing habits?

EF: I seldom write at a desk. I am always reclined on a bed or cozy chair, with my knees curled up, plonked with many blankets and pillows.

SA: Are there any upcoming books in the pipeline?

EF: I just finished a draft for a potential next book. It traces a group of rock climbers in the American west and revolves around the death of a rising star rock climber. It remains to be seen whether his death was an accident, or some foul play was involved. The book is written in multiple points of view from the perspectives of four people close to him and potential suspects.

Emma Fedor grew up in Connecticut and later attended Kenyon College, where she double majored in Spanish Area Studies and English with an emphasis in creative writing. Her short story “Climb” was selected as a semi-finalist for the 2018 American Short(er) Fiction Prize, and her debut novel, At Sea, was named a GoodReads and Zibby Mag most anticipated book of 2023. She lives in Massachusetts with her husband, baby girl, and chocolate lab, Homer.

Author of her memoir, A Turbulent Mind-My journey to Ironman 70.3’, Swetha Amit is currently pursuing her MFA at University of San Francisco. She has published her works in Atticus Review, JMWW journal, Oranges Journal, Gastropoda Lit, Full House literary, Amphora magazine, Grande Dame literary journal, Black Moon Magazine, Fauxmoir lit mag, Poets Choice anthology, and has upcoming pieces in Drunk Monkeys, Agapanthus Collective, The Creative Zine, and Roi Faineant Press. She is one of the contest winners of Beyond words literary magazine, her piece upcoming in November. She is also, alumni of Tin House Winter Workshop 2022 and the Kenyon Review Writers’ workshop 2022. Twitter: @whirlwindtotsInstagram @swethaamit

A Conversation with Kara Vernor

March 6, 2023

A Conversation with Kara Vernor by Joanna Acevedo

Joanna Acevedo: Most of your stories are incredibly short, less than two pages, which is something I really like to see. I'm a big fan of flash fiction. What drew you to flash fiction, as opposed to traditional fiction?

Kara Vernor: I think that it came to me naturally. Some people are just sort of oriented towards different genres. As a kid I would write poetry, not short stories, so I think I always wanted that kind of compression, and especially the emotional compression that you can get in shorter forms. But I spent a lot of time listening to music. I was much more into music than literature for a long time. The framework of a song conveys so much, but also being quite short I think was something that was just in my bones, so I think that's why I was drawn to it. I didn’t discover flash and then start writing flash. I was sort of just naturally writing these short chunks, and as it developed. I discovered flash and thought: that's the best home for what I do.

JA: Can you talk about how this collection kind of came together, and how you began to build the book?

KV: At some point I just felt like I had enough stories, and enough of a thread that ran through them. I didn't set out to create the collection—it’s my first writing in terms of trying to write more seriously—and so what I wanted more than anything was just to keep pushing myself and not do the same thing over and over. So it was actually quite intentionally trying out different voices. And so I think it took a while to sort of see what was there. And it's funny; I remember chatting with John Jodzio, who is a flash writer who I love. And he was sort of like, “Well, what brings your collection together?” and I just said: “Well, pop culture, and misery?” And I hope some humor, too. But I think that's about it. I know that some folks set out to write really tightly contained, cohesive chapbooks. So that's never been my goal. I will get bored if I have to set out to do all, like, magical realism or all fairy tales or whatnot. So I had to kind of write and write and write before I felt like I even understood what it was that linked the stories.

KV: And it’s still not the most linked chapbook out there.

JA: It's interesting what you said about trying different voices, because something that I noticed is you often write in the first person, and I think that you really do have a distinctive narrative voice. So I was interested to ask, who are the women? I think it's almost all women in your collection. And how does that voice affect your storytelling?

KV: I think the women in the collection—I wouldn't call them all naive narrators—but I think that a lot of them are. I think a lot of them do sort of present in that realm. They're hopeful and determined. But at the same time they just keep making these mistakes, their experiences and that naivete lends itself to that tragedy comedy, both sides of the coin flipping from one to the other rather quickly. I really like naive narrators.

JA: These women are mostly looking for something. I kind of picked it out as fulfillment or satisfaction, possibly love, and they mostly meet unfortunate ends. The one I'm thinking of is the one with the boy and the roller coaster. Can you speak to this theme, and how you use irony and humor in your writing to counter that kind of drive for love?

KV: Yeah, sometimes it sort of works out for them. And sometimes it doesn't. But I think that they all kind of want freedom, and they want love, and they want to do things their way. Especially in kind of traditional heterosexual relationships that balance can be really fraught, and they're running into that. They're running into like what they sort of learned and picked up in pop culture about how things are supposed to be in the roles we're supposed to play, and they're coming up against men, usually but not always, but usually, who probably have those tapes playing themselves. And then how do you negotiate that? Especially when you don't necessarily love yourself? And so I think a lot of the women in the collection are also women who are sort of seeking and wanting some validation that they haven't gotten from the world. But they're still hopeful to get it.

KV: I just think that growing up, how do you learn about how you're supposed to be in the world given your set of circumstances: who you are, what you like, your gender, your racial background, your sexual orientation, like all of those things. How are those reflected in the media? And then how do you be in conversation with that or not? And I think there's a lot of really funny sort of opportunities there when you're sort of taking a queue from pop culture in real life, because it's really not real life. For the most part it's really not real life. And so how do you reconcile those two things? What you think you're supposed to be, or how you're reflected? Or sometimes even the art that's important to you? With what's happening in your actual life.

JA: Speaking of the art as important to you, who are some of your influences?

KV: So many influences, lots of musical influences. I wrote a little bit about Jim Carroll, who is a musician and writer, but his spoken word really sort of influenced my writing. He tells these really funny vignettes about his life, but watching him tell a colorful story in a short amount of time stuck with me. But literature-wise, I mean, I got started reading Raymond Carver. I love Raymond Carver for all his faults and everything else. Some of the most influential flash for me was stuff that I read early. So, Kathy Fish. There was a Best Of The Net anthology, I think Matt Bell was the editor of it. So really just reading the breadth of what was out there, and I think some of the weirder stuff, too. There was a journal called LMA that wrote stuff that was a little more avant-garde or abstract a lot of the time and I felt really pushed by that. Stephanie Freele is another writer who I felt very influenced by, and I don't hear people talk about her as much. She’s in my area, so I got to hear her talk, and that’s how I started to learn about getting published.

JA: Another question I had—many of your stories hinge on what in poetry we would call a volta, or a final kind of turn or change in tone. How do you think this turn functions in your work, and why do you think it's so important? Or do you think it's so important?

KV: I don't know if I think it's important. I think I just like it. I like it when I read them, and again it kind of just works with how I think. But I love the idea of an ending that kind of reflects backwards. So you're building the story, and you need all of this forward momentum. Maybe not in every story, but something that I think is really satisfying is when you get to the end. And there's a reflection all the way back. So all of a sudden, you're sort of re-understanding everything that you've read moving forward. And it is in a way, like a flash. I mean, flash is probably an appropriate word. I think there is kind of like an illumination when that happens.

KV: And that's one of the ways to make a story bigger than it is and to get the most that you can out of a very short amount of language is to make sure that the writing is kind of working backwards as it's working forwards. Even if you don't realize that until you get to the end of the piece.

JA: What's next for you? What are you working on? If you’re working on anything? And what are you working toward?

KV: Yeah, that's a good question. I took a job about a year ago that has consumed my life, so I'm not working on all that much right now. And at the same time, I think, stepping back from reading and writing as much as I had been, and the literary community has allowed me the space to reconsider. And I don't know if it's this way in every genre, but for flash, being involved in the online community, it feels almost like a requirement, even though I know it's not. And what I've come to understand is that that hasn't—that doesn't necessarily support my writing. The more I'm involved on Twitter or other things. I've discovered that my writing suffers from it. I really like the literary community that I see in person. I used to put on a reading series. It was super fun. I've volunteered in different capacities with the Mendocino Coast Writers Conference, and been on the board in the past. I really like that element and how that works with my writing and makes it feel less isolating.

KV: But in sort of taking a step back, I can't be online as much, because I see how much that sort of takes away, not just in terms of time, but also in terms of a certain kind of thinking and way of being that becomes a norm in the community. And I don't know how to write and not think of my community at the same time. So I'm just kind of dipping my toe back in, really writing more for me when I can, and not stressing at all about publishing. Not feeling like I want to be on that sort of rat wheel. I guess it's the freedom of really having less ambition and actually not trying to get anywhere; like, I just kind of want it to be. I wanted to have a place in my life that feels good and not like a way I measure myself against other people.

Kara Vernor’s tiny fictions have appeared in Ninth Letter, Gulf Coast, The Los Angeles Review, Vol. 1 Brooklyn, and elsewhere. Some have also been included in The Best Small Fictions, Best Microfiction, Wigleaf’s Top 50, and the W. W. Norton anthology, Flash Fiction America. Because I Wanted to Write You a Pop Song, her fiction chapbook, is available from Split Lip Press.

Joanna Acevedo is a writer, educator, and editor from New York City. She was nominated for a Pushcart in 2021 for her poem “self portrait if the girl is on fire” and is the author of four books and chapbooks, including Unsaid Things (Flexible Press, 2021), List of Demands (Bottlecap Press, 2022), and Outtakes (WTAW Press, forthcoming 2023). Her work can be found across the web and in print, including or forthcoming in Litro USA, Hobart, and The Adroit Journal. She is a Guest Editor at Frontier Poetry and The Masters Review and a member of the Review Team at Gasher Journal, in addition to running interviews at Fauxmoir and The Great Lakes Review. As well as being a Goldwater Fellow at NYU, she was a Hospitalfield 2022 Interdisciplinary Resident. She received her MFA in Fiction from New York University in 2021, teaches writing and interviewing skills for both nonprofits and corporations, and is supported by Creatives Rebuild New York: Guaranteed Income For Artists.

A Conversation with Doug Henderson

February 23, 2023

A Conversation with Doug Henderson, by Swetha Amit

What inspired The Cleveland Heights. How did the idea come about?

For a long time, I wanted to write about the type of gay characters I felt we weren't seeing, especially at that time. Like typically, the gay heavy metal nerds. I always find it interesting to meet queer people in counter cultures. I thought it would be a good idea to talk about such queer people, and that's how the idea began. I finished writing the story in 2013 when I graduated. This book sat for a while, and I worked on it for six years before I signed the contract in 2019.

In The Cleveland Heights, these blurred lines exist between reality and the fantasy world. How did you balance it out?

I was lucky as my characters ended up being the kind of people who saw their world in a blurred manner. Most of them tended to see magic and serendipity, and so for me, that really helped in creating these fine lines as a writer. The only character who resisted that a bit was Mooneyham – though he needs it the most.

There is one interesting line in your book – Sometimes when you're in a rush, you don't see things that are right in front of you. There could be an idea for a story under our noses, which inspires a writer. Where do you draw inspiration from?

So, I am a very different person when I am writing. As a writer, I am much bolder and more stubborn. I am inspired to try doing things as they should. For instance, I make a running list of items. Then I like to tell the opposite of what I see. I write down everything I see in my journal. Besides, I also write almost every day.

What inspired your short story, The Manga Artist? How did you decide upon the unique structure and form?

I wanted to write a story that was form driven, and I knew I wanted to write about a manga artist, and someone living in Japan. These ideas merged, and I wanted to know if there was any way I could write it like a manga. Initially, I hesitated as I was curious if it would be sustainable, or what the reading experience would be like for the reader. Then one day, I decided to sit down and write a few vignettes. I began to like what I saw on the page, and felt I could keep writing like this. And it finally worked out in the end.

There are similarities in the dynamics between Masashieg and Scotty to Alfonso and Hamuchan. How did that come about? Was it a deliberate attempt to draw these parallels?

That also developed as I wrote the story. The idea for the school mice and the hamster came to me first. I also had a list of things I wanted to do, like writing in present tense and in first person. I generally resist both. I also wondered how I could write about animals without making it seem gimmicky. Then I realized the school mouse could be something the manga artist is drawing, and the manga artist could be the love interest of the guy living in Japan, and they all came together. I think these parallels between the characters came on to me quite early.

Did you always decide about Scotty being the narrator?

When I wrote the first draft, I didn’t know how to explain the panels to the reader. It was a little bit more direct. There was a lot of second person where Scotty was telling the readers what they see by using ‘you’. During revision, when I removed the second person, I knew there was a narrator in the story, and it had to be Scotty.

How long did it take you to write this story?

It took about five years from when I wrote the first draft to when it got published. But it sat for a while with a title. I initially came up with a few options, like 'The School Mice'. But once I thought of the manga artist, I knew it was ready to go. I had also workshopped it several times in groups after my MFA program. I initially wrote the first draft during my MFA. Someone said it was ready at the workshop, and I should be finding a home for it. And then it was a finalist at a story competition. But it didn't win, so I just kept submitting to journals.

When you get a few rejections, do you feel that you need to change something in your story? How do you deal with them?

It's always a challenge. Rejections hurt. This story got a handful of them. In fact, it was rejected within twenty-four hours. And it was a finalist somewhere else, and it won a contest. I don't know what rejections mean. And not sending work out is more painful than getting a rejection. Rejection results in a few self-doubts, which lasts for a couple of days. However, I would be crushed if I never took steps to achieve my dream of getting published.

You have written both short and long fiction. What is your approach towards both these forms?

I think about that a lot. The novel can be longer, while short stories need to be very tight. I like to draw parallels with music. A short story is like a music box with many mechanics that need to be fine-tuned. A novel is like a jam session, with more space and time to put in more things.

With some short stories, there is hardly a plot, and they are more character driven. So which, according to you, comes first – the characters or the plot?

Hmm. Not the plot. I don't know if it's the characters, either. Usually, it's a feeling or emotion that I want to recreate. So, I typically manipulate my plot or characters around that emotion. If that makes sense.

So, who are the authors who influence or inspire you?

Recently it's César, Aira-author of The Musical Brain. He is a South American author. My standard favorites are John Steinbeck, James Thurber, and Katherine Mansfield. I generally like a mix of humor and bittersweet stories. I read across genres, from literary to genre fiction, comics, and graphic novels.

What is the strangest place you have ever visited?

I once went to a fairy glen in Scotland that felt magical and transportive. I'd never been to any place like it – lots of small, rolling hills and little ponds. It was very otherworldly.

What is one weird writing habit that you possess? (If any)

I do not need any special requirements to write. I like to just get right into it. But I do enjoy a cup of milky black tea.

Lastly, are there any more books in the pipeline?

Yes. Hopefully. Fingers crossed. I am always writing. I do have short stories recently rejected that l will try to rework. I do have a novel that I am working on. The story takes place in San Francisco, and it's about people who pilot giant mechanical robots. We'll see how that goes.

Doug Henderson is the author of The Cleveland Heights LGBTQ Sci-Fi and Fantasy Role Playing Club, and a winner of the PEN/Dau Short Story Prize for Emerging Writers. His work has appeared in The Iowa Review, Short Editions, and elsewhere. Originally from Cleveland, he received his MFA from the University of San Francisco. He lives in the Castro District with his husband and two children.

Author of her memoir, A Turbulent Mind-My journey to Ironman 70.3’, Swetha Amit is currently pursuing her MFA at University of San Francisco. She has published her works in Atticus Review, JMWW journal, Oranges Journal, Gastropoda Lit, Full House literary, Amphora magazine, Grande Dame literary journal, Black Moon Magazine, Fauxmoir lit mag, Poets Choice anthology, and has upcoming pieces in Drunk Monkeys, Agapanthus Collective, The Creative Zine, and Roi Faineant Press. She is one of the contest winners of Beyond words literary magazine, her piece upcoming in November. She is also, alumni of Tin House Winter Workshop 2022 and the Kenyon Review Writ

A Conversation with Caroline Hagood

February 6, 2023

A Conversation with Caroline Hagood, by Joanna Acevedo

Joanna Acevedo: What was the process of writing this book like, compared to your other books? You talk a lot about process within the book, like how you sometimes write in gym socks and cat pajamas, but can you speak a little more on how this book came to be?

Caroline Hagood: In 2016 I read Jenny Offill's Dept of Speculation. In this book, the main character had wanted to be an "art monster” – often a man enabled to be wholly creative by the women in his life – but then she became a wife and mother. From the moment that book was published, women writers started writing the most fascinating essays ever on this “art monster” concept. I stayed up late reading them every night until I finally realized I had to put all my thoughts about it into a book, or my head might explode!

JA: That leads really well into my next question. Can you speak more on the M (mother) versus W (writer) dichotomy and how these two sides of yourself play into each other?

CH: I think in many ways the M and the W can be really oppositional. The M is all about having no space and giving everything to others, and the W is often about trying to steal time and space away from the M role, in order to create something outside of the small people who live in your house. On the other hand, there are some strange overlaps: both are about creating (people versus writing), but just a very different kind of creating. Lately, I have been trying to bring the M and the W worlds together more by writing at the same little table as my son while he does his writing homework.

JA: Why do you think some writing is considered monstrous, while other writing is praised? What, in your opinion, makes an art monster?

CH: I should start by saying that I view calling writing "monstrous" as a compliment, haha. No, but I guess we need to create some definitions here. There's writing I might call monstrous in a bad way because it glorifies something violent and awful, but the way I mean it in my book is more like "wildly creative." I would say an art monster is someone passionately dedicated to their creative work. This person has historically often been male because of the way society was constructed, so that the women in his life made his artmonsterhood possible. My book shifts the view so that we can look at women and mothers as art monsters too.

JA: You often compare the art monster to mythical creatures – witches, mermaids. Can you speak on the mythical aspects of the art monster, and how you’ve channeled these aspects into your own life?

CH: Definitely. In Weird Girls, one of the things I wanted to look at is why the term "monster" was in "art monster" to begin with. As in, if I didn't think the art monster was about being a monster in a bad way, then why was that word in there? I decided that the monster is a very creative entity in itself. Monsters, those mythical mermaids for instance (people often forget that mermaids are monsters because they are so cute), are hybrid creatures – women with fish bodies. This bringing together inventive exhibits from different spheres is precisely how I view the creative process. I often think of Frankenstein's monster: that sewing together of various "bodies" is similar to how I think of the most brilliant kind of writing. I love hybrid writing where you're not sure if it's a poem or a novel or what. In my own life, I guess I try to channel the hybridity and wildness of mythical women monsters to make me both more creative and more brave when it comes to writing or living.

JA: What, if any, role does the art monster play in society? You give lots of examples: Lady Gaga, Diablo Cody – who are both culture makers. Do you think the art monster is an integral part of our society, even as she is denigrated?

CH: I'm biased on this question of course, but I think the art monster is crucial to society. The art monster creates the works of art that help society transform. An art monster is not afraid to say the thing society needs to hear or to make the thing that will help society to see itself. The art monster is also just about good old creativity, and I like to think there's a crucial place for that in society, even as art funding is cut every day.

JA: The final, and perhaps most important question...What advice would you have for the burgeoning art monsters who are finding themselves in the present day?

CH: Oh wow, there is so much to say on this one. I think I will need a list form.

1) Find an art monster mentor to guide you through the underworld of creativity, and help you navigate the challenges that come up in any creative life.

2) Sometimes it helps to ask yourself whether you will look back on your deathbed and wish you had just done the brave thing. The answer is usually yes.

3) Make something every day, even if it's just a sandwich.

4) Take adventures to places that make you feel creative, even if it's just the subway.

5) The subway will often make you feel very creative.

6) Find a special place to be creative, even if it's just your closet.

7) If you want to be a writer, read all the stuff; if you want to be a musician, listen to all the stuff...and so forth.

8) Try to ask yourself at least once a day this question from this Mary Oliver poem:

"Tell me, what is it you plan to do

With your one wild and precious life?"

Caroline Hagood is an Assistant Professor of Literature, Writing and Publishing and Director of Undergraduate Writing at St. Francis College in Brooklyn. She is the author of the poetry books, Lunatic Speaks (2012) and Making Maxine’s Baby (2015), the book-length essay, Ways of Looking at a Woman (2019), and the novel, Ghosts of America (2021). Her book-length essay Weird Girls is forthcoming from Spuyten Duyvil Press in November 2022. Her writing has appeared in LitHub, Creative Nonfiction, Elle, The Kenyon Review, the Huffington Post, the Guardian, Salon, and the Economist.

Joanna Acevedo (she/they) is the Pushcart nominated author of the poetry collection The Pathophysiology of Longing (Black Centipede Press, 2020) and the short story collection Unsaid Things (Flexible Press, 2021). Her work has been seen across the web and in print, including or forthcoming in Hobart Pulp, Apogee, and The Masters Review. She is a Guest Editor at Frontier Poetry, Associate Poetry Editor at West Trade Review, Reviews Editor for the Great Lakes Review, Intern at YesYes Books, and received her MFA in Fiction from New York University in 2021. She is supported by Creatives Rebuild New York: Guaranteed Income For Artists.

A Conversation with Ingrid Rojas Contreras

January 19, 2023

A Conversation with Ingrid Rojas Contreras By Swetha Amit

What inspired The Man Who Could Move Clouds? When did you decide to tell this story?

I grew up hearing my grandfather's stories, which I loved. I always wanted to tell that story. When I decided I wanted to write it, I didn't know enough about craft or writing to write this story. It wasn't until I lost my memory, recovered, and while recollecting those stories of my family that it all came together. I could finally visualize the tone, structure, and way the story should be written.

How long did it take you to write this memoir?

I started to take notes in 2012 as the events in the book happened that year. When traveling back then, I would type everything that happened at the end of each day on my computer. I consider this the research stage, and I was developing a foundation for my writing. I spent six years trying to rewrite the first chapter and discovering the best way to begin the story. If I didn't have the beginning, I couldn't write the rest of the book. It was only in 2018 I finally wrote the first chapter, and the rest of the book took me two years, and I finished writing it in 2020. With a memoir, it takes time as you catch up to the knowledge of what happened in your life. So, it does take a lot of time for things to sink for you to understand what happened, even though you lived it.

You talk about history and family in your memoir. Please tell us more about the research process.

I read many anthropology books by Colombians about Colombia to try and get a sense of what happened in villages and what my mother's and grandfather's time was like. I visited libraries in Colombia and in the US, reading newspapers. I also did a lot of interviews with family members and people treated by my grandfather or who had known my mother when she was young.

There is a part in the story where you mention that your mother didn't want you to write this memoir. How did you handle that?

In the end, we discovered there were specific things she didn't want me to write about. And, of course, I respected that. It also took a lot of conversation and patience. When writing a memoir, you experience a certain amount of hesitation about telling your story. You have these questions about what everyone will think after they read it or whether you want your life to be known this way. Similarly, the people you are writing about will experience the same feelings of hesitation. I told her about my intentions to tell the story, how important it was to the community, and how it would make a difference to them. Once she was convinced, she was on board.

The structure in your book goes back and forth, which lends well to how memory works. Did you plan out this structure from the beginning?

Initially, I had a skeleton structure that was guiding me. From the skeleton structure, I knew the book would begin with our travel to Colombia and how the story would end. There was an arc I could lean on. While writing this memoir, I discovered another arc was happening within the book, which was much more abstract and had to do with a sequence of ideas that led to some conclusions. I would let myself wander and write subsequent drafts. Then I'd re-read those drafts and start seeing some connections. It was all very intuitive, and I was writing more from the gut than being calculative about the process.

You said memory is a burden, and memory loss gives you freedom. Yet you also possessed certain powers to heal people, which stems from memory? What is your take on this juxtaposition of memory?

Being without memory doesn't feel like it can last unless you are at the end of your life battling Alzheimer's. I used to think it would feel scary. But when it was happening, I felt joyful. While writing this book, I couldn't explain why memory loss was a joyful experience because most people haven't experienced amnesia. It was challenging to get across but trying to put that into language was one of my most exciting creative challenges. Memory loss felt like being disconnected from the good and bad things that happened to me. It meant you were open and available for the present. It feels amazing because you are seeing things for the first time and living in a constant state of wonder. It's extremely contradicting, but I miss having amnesia. On the other hand, I feel there is the power to keep memories of people and the place you come from.

Since you have authored fiction and nonfiction, what is your approach to both forms of writing?

With fiction, I tend to collage things I have seen, things that have happened, and something I have felt, and imagination. I always start with a real place, and it slowly begins to morph into a fictional setting. The character ultimately starts to become someone else. When I am writing a memoir, it's a problem of limitation where you are limited to things that have happened. With fiction, I am more interested in possibilities, and with nonfiction, I must actively recreate meaning from different elements in my life. I enjoy writing both and pushing boundaries. There is fun in that too. I like a lot of play while writing.

Has writing this memoir changed you in any way?

I do feel different. Even when I finished writing my novel Fruit of a Drunken Tree, I felt changed in a way that is hard to define. When you live alongside the narrative, you spend enough time with it and start to live certain things inside it. And when you come out, you are different, and the book proves what that time was. So, it's tough to say how I am different.

What do you want readers to take away from this book?

There is a lot of effort to uncover memory and history. When I was writing this book, I realized there are ways in which memories about things we don't remember live within us. For those who feel they don't have access to memory about their families or think that the knowledge has been lost, I want them to be aware that such memories reside within them in some form.

Which authors and books have inspired you?

Authors like Franz Kafka, Clarice Lispector, and Virginia Woolf influenced me during my formative years. There are so many books being published these days. Amongst the current lot, I liked Night of the Living Rez by Morgan Talty, and Seven Empty Houses by Samantha Schweblin.

What is the strangest place you have visited?

I think once when I was on a road trip across the US, there was this place an artist built out of junk. And when you enter inside, things are hanging from everything. It was wild.

Lastly, what is the weirdest writing habit you possess?

I wear this shade of deep ocean blue whenever I write. I have done it over the years, and I even wrote about it for the New York Times magazine.

INGRID ROJAS CONTRERAS was born and raised in Bogotá, Colombia. Hailed as “original, politically daring, and passionately written” by Vogue, her first novel Fruit of the Drunken Tree earned the silver medal winner in First Fiction from the California Book Awards, was longlisted for the International Dublin Literary Award, and was a New York Times Editor’s Choice, an Indie Next Pick, and a Barnes and Noble “Discover Great New Writers” selection.

Her debut memoir The Man Who Could Move Clouds was a National Book Award Finalist. Rojas Contreras brings readers into her childhood, where her grandfather, Nono, was a renowned community healer gifted with “the secrets”: powers that included talking to the dead, fortunetelling, treating the sick, and moving the clouds. The Man Who Could Move Clouds interweaves enchanting family lore, Colombian history, and a reckoning with the bounds of reality.

Ingrid Rojas Contreras’ essays and short stories have appeared in the New York Times Magazine, The Cut, Nylon, and Guernica, among others. She has received numerous awards and fellowships from Bread Loaf Writer’s Conference, VONA, Hedgebrook, the Camargo Foundation, and the National Association of Latino Arts and Culture. Rojas Contreras is a Visiting Writer at the University of San Francisco.

A Conversation with K.M. Soehnlein

December 2, 2022

A Conversation with K.M. Soehnlein, by Swetha Amit

Bio: K. M. Soehnlein is the author of the novels Army of Lovers, The World of Normal Boys, You Can Say You Knew Me When, and Robin and Ruby, along with essays and

journalism in numerous publications. He is the recipient of the Lambda Literary Award,

Henfield Prize, and SFFILM Rainin Grant in Screenwriting. He received an MFA from

San Francisco State University and teaches at the University of San Francisco MFA in

Writing Program. Raised in New Jersey, he lived in New York City during the AIDS crisis, participating in direct action with ACT UP and cofounding Queer Nation, all of which inform his recent novel, Army of Lovers. He currently lives in San Francisco.

What inspired the Army of Lovers?

Army of Lovers was inspired by the events of my life. I moved to New York City in 1987 and got involved in ACT UP, the AIDS activist group, until 1992, after which I left the city. This period was the same for Paul, the narrator of the book. I was inspired to write about this period as it was a historical time. I was among people who were making a social change and was very involved with this. On a personal level, many powerful things happened to me, from my first relationship to family troubles and the activism I was involved with. It was a very vivid and vibrant phase in my life. I always knew I'd write about it. It was just a matter of time, and it took a very long time for me.

This social change happened in the 80s and 90s. What made you choose to tell the story now?

It took a long time as it was hard to write. It was the most ambitious novel I ever wrote. I never wrote a book that covered a considerable period of political and social change. I've never written a novel that had so much emotion. I've always been a writer who has gotten into emotional stories through the characters. But this was a world where there was an epidemic going on. It was killing people I knew, a harrowing tale. It took a long time to get it right. Another reason why it took a long time is because I tried to get this novel published eight years ago. I had an agent in New York who stopped trying to sell the book after facing multiple rejections. I had to rethink how to write this novel, and over these eight years I ended up writing many drafts.

You have used the first person and inserted small portions of the second person. How did you choose to tell the story this way?

I knew from the beginning it was going to be first person. In fact, when I began writing it, I thought it might be a memoir. But as a novelist, my brain immediately started creating fiction out of the events. At one point, I thought it would be autofiction and decided to name the character Karl. I was inspired by many authors who create these blurred boundaries between memoir and fiction. The longer I worked on it, the character in the book became less and less like me and more like a fictional character on the page. I realized he was not Karl and decided to name him Paul instead. The story had to be told from the voice of the person living the experience. It's a story set over thirty years ago, and I wanted to write the past in the present tense. I was inspired by Margaret Atwood's Cat's Eye, which has a middle-aged narrator looking back at her youth.

The sections that break into “Notes to Self” were something I developed later. I had to acknowledge that this was a story written and told by someone who is and is not Paul in the book. I looked at novels that used metafictional techniques to remind the reader there is a writer behind even the first-person narrator. Those notes are the writer questioning why he is writing the story. More than the second person, this is the first person's direct address, talking to himself.

You mention how it started out as autofiction. When did you start feeling distant from the character Paul and realize he wasn't you?

When I was eight drafts into the novel. At one point, I needed help figuring out how to push through the places where I was stuck. A friend suggested that I stop thinking of this character as myself and more as a character on the page. In time, I saw that many things were happening to Paul that didn't happen to me. When the “didn't” outweighed the “did,” I decided to take out Karl, and the weight came off my shoulders. I began to focus more on Paul.

The novel is set in the 80s and 90s, and though you lived a large part of that life yourself, did you feel you had to go back and research to bring the authenticity of that era to the page?

I had to do research, as I only remembered some things. I looked up many things online, talked to several survivors of ACT UP, and sought their input. I also read some other books that have been written about this subject. Strangely, there have been few books besides a few nonfiction books, considering the significance of this movement.

You talked about historical events and had to tell a fictional tale. How did you manage this process of weaving fact and fiction together?

It's hard, and that's one of the reasons why it took so long. I wanted to ensure there was a lot of information about AIDS activism and the trajectory of ACT UP over the years. I always knew it had to be told through Paul's eyes. I cut out around 150 pages about the larger ACT UP group and narrowed it down to Paul's personal story within the group.

It was challenging to come out in the 60s and 70s. How do you think things have changed now?

Things have changed a lot. Back then, we did not have allies, faced a lot of stigma, and were very isolated. We fought to change that, and we have come a long way. Today the White House lights up in rainbow colors during Pride month. At that time, Ronald Reagan's admin did nothing to help anyone with AIDS. They just let us die and went as far as to joke about it. But unfortunately, we are facing the same enemies again in the form of right-wing conservatism.

You mentioned getting multiple rejections earlier. How did you deal with that painful experience?

I took it very personally. This book was a personal story. I was very hurt when multiple places refused to publish. That was a low phase, and I began to focus on other projects. While a part of me never gave up, the multiple rejections compelled me to let go and walk away from it.

In a short time, I became acquainted with Michael Nava, who is the managing editor of Amble Press. He asked if I had any manuscripts in hand. I sent him the first fifty pages, and he agreed to publish it. It was just a matter of finding the right person at the right time. I didn't have an agent and was looking for one. Initially, a few sounded interested but have yet to get back to me after I sent them the manuscript. It was discouraging, but at the same time, I had people who believed there was an audience for this book.

What do you want readers to take away from this book?

For people who lived through these times, I hope I have honored the struggle that we went through together. I hope they see or feel something true to their experiences in the book. To those who aren't aware of this challenging time, I hope I have made them aware of the dire effects of the AIDS crisis. It killed many people, and the queer community stood up and fought against the government. I also hope they understand what it is like to be a part of a political movement. I also hope that people who want to see a change in this world will take some inspiration about how to participate in political activism and community organizing.

How do you react to critical reviews?

This book is so new that I haven't faced a negative review. It's probably yet to come. A writer/author needs to stay true to their internal experience of the book rather than be defined by what other people say, whether it's praise or criticism. Having said that, it's hard to read bad reviews, as I am sensitive, and I do care.

Who are the authors/books that have inspired you?

I mentioned Cat's Eye by Margaret Atwood earlier. James Baldwin is another writer who inspires me, and he was one of the great voices in my awakening. He made me understand that, as a white person, I was responsible for dismantling white supremacy. You may have noticed his name and his writing appears numerous times in this novel. In fact, his novel In Another Country is another book that directly inspired me. Edmund White is a gay white writer, and his novel The Beautiful Room is Empty, a work of autofiction, inspired me while I was writing Army of Lovers.

One weird writing habit you possess?

I incorporate Tarot cards into my writing practice. I've been reading Tarot cards for about 25 years. Every day I choose a card and take a message from what's reflected in it into my day. Whenever deeply involved with a writing project, I'll look to cards for guidance.

What was your most memorable moment during your childhood?

When I was in sixth grade, my family, comprising my parents, and two younger sisters, took a cross-country road trip. We got a car with a camper on the back and drove from New Jersey to the Grand Canyon. During that one month, we saw a lot of places and faced some challenging moments. The gas tank in our car broke, so my dad fixed it using chewing gum. That was a significant and memorable time.

What is the strangest place you have ever visited?

One of the most isolated places was The Aran Islands off the coast of Ireland. My mother was born in Ireland, so I have a lot of family members back there. These islands are remote and barren, and people speak Irish as their first language. It's very rugged and beautiful. It's been twenty years since I last visited.

Lastly, any upcoming books?

I'm working on Dorothy’s Children, which I hope will be the third book in the series. I began with The World of Normal Boys and continued with Robin and Ruby, moving the characters in that story ahead ten years. Dorothy’s Children advances the story another decade, to the late ‘90s.

Author of her memoir, A Turbulent Mind-My journey to Ironman 70.3’, Swetha Amit is currently pursuing her MFA at University of San Francisco. She has published her works in Atticus Review, JMWW journal, Oranges Journal, Gastropoda Lit, Full House literary, Amphora magazine, Grande Dame literary journal, Black Moon Magazine, Fauxmoir lit mag, Poets Choice anthology, and has upcoming pieces in Drunk Monkeys, Agapanthus Collective, The Creative Zine, and Roi Faineant Press. She is one of the contest winners of Beyond words literary magazine, her piece upcoming in November. She is also, alumni of Tin House Winter Workshop 2022 and the Kenyon Review Writers’ workshop 2022. Twitter: @whirlwindtotsInstagram @swethaamit

A Conversation with Gaia Rajan

November 3, 2022

A Conversation with Gaia Rajan, by Joanna Acevedo

Joanna Acevedo: So as an emerging poet, you've got two chapbooks out. Can you talk about what drives you to write? What is your writing practice like, and what are some aspirations for your career?

Gaia Rajan: Yeah, absolutely. I think I've always been writing. As a kid, I was like seven or eight when I made my mom wake me up at five a.m. every morning because I just gotten this book by Ted Kooser called the Poetry Home Repair Manual, and it was my very first instructional book on poetry—and I was obsessed with it. To the point that at one point in my life you could give me a page number and I could recite what he writes on that page. I was obsessed with this book. I spent an entire year just reading it over and over and attempting drafts. But my drafts, at that point, were very derivative.

GR: So that's how I started out, and then I just decided on it. As a sustainable discipline. And it's a very interesting way of viewing the world. I memorize poetry in addition to writing poems, and it's not something I do consciously, but it's a thing that just happened, and so I go everywhere, and I just I'm thinking like, oh, yeah, Anne Carson, “the human custom of wrong love,” you know, like I don't know why I’m like this, but it's a great way of, you know, experiencing things in a rigorous way. Everyone picks their academic discipline. It might not be academic, but, you know, the world, this is mine.

GR: And in terms of writing practice, like I obviously started out with a very, a super strict, poem-a-day kind of thing. And then that stopped being helpful to me sometime like a couple of years ago. I just realized that you know that had gone from a fun constraint to like an actual limit on where my poems could go. And so now I'm taking longer with my drafts, and that's been pretty rewarding. I don't write for like six months, and then I think about a new collection all the way through, and I know exactly how it's going to move, and then I write the whole thing in like a month. So that's incredible.

JA: Can you talk about the title of your chapbook, Killing It? Because I can think of a lot of things that you would be trying to kill in this set of poems, like desire and societal pressure, or something within yourself. Where did the title come from?

GR: So killing it was originally a part of a seventy-five page hybrid thesis about hauntology and partition. So I do a thing where I write a seventy-five page thesis every single year, and I've done this for most of high school, and I also did it like, you know, post my eligibility for any of these scholarships that would be helpful. I just decided on it. You know it's like a way of just putting myself to make new work. So my thesis at the year of Killing It was hauntology. Hauntology is this idea by Derrida that the present is haunted by lost features. Basically, I was writing a bunch of poems, an interlocking series of short fiction, and also a paper on hauntology. Then I finished the thesis, and I was looking at my work a couple of months later, and I was picking things out, and I saw the thread of a new, either full length or chapbook in it. And there's that point. I thought it was a full length and I decided to call it Killing It because I was reading Minor Feelings at the time and thinking a lot about the ways that I had unconsciously erased myself to be good or more legible to the institutions. And so you know, there's a lot of murder going on there. And also at the time I came upon a quote where they talk about the ways that our cultures, definitions of achievement, are very much inclined towards colonialism and in violence so like, Killing It. Target audience, knock it out of the park. We have so many ways in which our conception of success are intrinsically tied with violence.

JA: You're writing a tradition of queer literature. Who are some queer poets and writers who have inspired you on your journey and writing Killing It and some of your other work?

GR: So I'm going to do people that I know personally, and then people I don’t know.

The first person is Megan Fernandes, whose work I followed for years before I met her, but I met her in New York, and it was pivotal to this collection existing. She's incredible. Her new book is called Good Boys and yeah, she's amazing. The way she reads is just insane. So her, and Dorothy Chan, who was my mentor for several years; she’s amazing. We met on Twitter, and I started working for her journal. And also Claudia Cortese, who I met through the Adroit mentorship when I was fifteen. And then we started a correspondence. We just kept emailing. She’s also from Ohio, so we really understood each other on some things. I met her in person in New York also, and we read together at the Black Lawrence Press reading.

GR: For people I don’t know: Anne Carson, love her. Autobiography of Red saved my life. Natalie Shapiro’s poems are insane, incredible. Paige Lewis was able to blurb my collection, but I don't know her personally other than that. Also, Jameson Fitzpatrick is a poet that I’ve been really into lately, especially “Divorce Song.” So yeah, that’s my small list. I could talk about this for ages, but I don’t want to.

JA: That’s a great, what’s the word, canon?

GR: Also, I would be wrong if I didn’t mention Bhanu Kapil, because Killing It would not exist without Schizophrene.

JA: So one of the recurring themes in Killing It is cameras and places where there should be cameras. Can you talk about the theme of surveillance, and how it affected your writing? I think that also speaks to just being young and female, feeling like people are watching you.

GR: I think that I became aware when I was around a sophomore in high school around like fifteen that I had just been accustomed to seeing myself as a possible threat in all sorts of experiences. Not that I believed that I was capable of harm, but that I believed that everyone believes that I was capable of, you know, violence. But I did have this constant feeling that people perceive me as like a lot more of a threat, or like harsher or more violent than actually, you know, I was, in every space. And I feel like that's like a brown girl thing, but also just like a queer thing, because I would go into women's spaces, and feel like a monster, you know.

JA: I think that's absolutely correct.

GR: So I'd walk everywhere, feeling like a bomb. There were cameras in every location in my old school, and so it was just like I'd be walking into my door at nine p.m. and there would be a camera, and I was like fifteen just figuring out how to live like and be a person in my own right, and it was just kind of pivotal for me to realize that the surveillance was not just external. It would also become internal, and I was always like monitoring myself for signs of harm, you know, and I was always trying to make sure that I was not, in fact, a monster and I kind of decided in Killing It, to say fuck it and be the monster, and, like you know, kill my old self—like I do snap her neck at one point. And it's because, like myself, actualization was not pretty. It was not dainty, and it was not feminine in the way that, like people want it to be feminine.

JA: Another recurring theme other than cameras: There’s ghosts, there's blood, and there's the body. So can you talk about how these poems echo through each other, and how poems can kind of go through a chapbook? By which I mean how poems come together to become a chapbook. Alternatively, say something about what ghosts, blood, and the body mean to you?

GR: I love this question. It's amazing. So, I wanted Killing It to feel haunted. And it’s the structure of itself, you know. And that started with, the core poem in the manuscript for me with the ghazal crown, because it was the centerpiece, but also the longest one. And so it felt the heaviest, right? But then ghazals are also a traditional South Asian form, and so bringing them together, I hope to mirror the geopolitical aspects of partition, and that was the centerpiece of the thesis, and so the form itself is haunted. And then in the callbacks that these ghazals to each other, because obviously, there’s word repetition, there was a haunting, but also a clarity. You know the call back to prior moments is exactly what I wanted for the overall movement of the collection. Not just that poem. And so there are several sustained characters. And there's a prodigy series that all have the same titles. Right? I want the reading experience to kind of mimic a full length. The collection comes in at forty-three pages, so it’s just shy of that forty-five page mark. I wanted it to be that weighty and significant like a full length not just like a collection of pieces, you know.

JA: Yeah, I think it feels meaty. I think it feels cohesive. As opposed to like a kind of a throwaway chapbook. Not that I throw away chapbooks. There's so many good chapbooks.

GR: I wanted it to be more than just a list of poems that I’d written in the past years, although I love some chapbooks like that. But that's not what I was trying to do with this. I think it was what I was trying to do with my first chapbook. You know it's just like: here are the poems I've written in the past three years.

GR: So I think I understand where you're coming from with that exactly. Also, because I think in units of collection. I planned the women of this from the beginning, which is a little psycho of me. It didn't actually stick like the way that I imagined that it would. I don't know. It feels a little bit antithetical to the point of poetry. The point of poetry, you know. Air quotes. But it’s against the point of poetry to outline. And so that's not entirely what I was doing. It was more emotional than that. It was like Jess Riz’s An Inkling with Teeth.

JA: I think that all of the best poets have a lot more structure to their work than you realize. Like Anne Carson, for example. There's so much behind the scenes that goes on, like if you look at “The Glass Essay.”

GR: I’m deeply indebted to Ghost Of by Diana Khoi Nguyen. She was talking about how she spends the whole year thinking about how she’s going to write her book, then writes the whole thing in fifteen days during winter break.

JA: That’s incredible.

JA: You often speak of “this town” in your chapbook. What’s the significance of the town, and how does it feature in the book?

GR: Richard Hugo has this collection called “The Triggering Town,” where he talks about how the best way to talk about the small town that you’re from is to imagine the exact clone of the hometown that you are from, except without any of the existing events that have occurred there. Right? And then just set everything in that town and figure out how to link it back, make it a route from that. I was figuring out that I’m from a town in Ohio, and I spent a really long time attempting to piece together my fraught relationship with this town. And it got a lot easier when I removed my allegiance to the town, as like the town, as it is named. That’s a lot easier of a course myth to come from than like an entire town with so many people with their own lives. And so it felt less journalistic. Once I decided on “this town” rather than like this specific hometown that I’m specifically, theoretically, from, right? And so this town is the triggering town.

JA: That’s great. I love that. So I just have one more question for you, which is: what’s next? Are there manuscripts in the future? Should we expect a full length?

GR: So, I am in the middle of another cycle right now. I started a new thesis. It's going to be done in February. It's code named but that’s not what it's actually called. I'm not going to actually call it that, but I'm working with the idea of reincarnation as an internal logic for a bunch of poems, and also short fiction. And so I'm talking about how early South Asians like, for example, believed in reincarnation, and how this impacted the way that they made their societies. And um, I have this entire series of short stories about people who see themselves. You can be reincarnated while you're not dead in this universe, right? And so you view reincarnations of yourself all the time. You just like, come across them. They walk like you. They speak like you, and they ride a bike like you, you know. It's called Afterlives. I have filled my entire bedroom all with ideas and like weird little visions. And so yeah, this looks like it'll be done by February. I'm going to play with it after.

GR: Also, I'm in the screenwriting class. I'm learning how to write scripts. It's so fun and such a weird way of conceptualizing dialogue. I love it.

JA: I can’t wait to see what you do next!

Gaia Rajan is the author of the chapbooks Moth Funerals (Glass Poetry Press, 2020) and Killing It (Black Lawrence Press, 2022). Her work is published or forthcoming in the 2022 Best of the Net anthology, The Kenyon Review, THRUSH, Split Lip Magazine, diode, Palette Poetry, and elsewhere. She is the cofounder of the WOC Speak Reading Series, the Junior Journal Editor for Half Mystic, and the Web Manager for Honey Literary. She is the first place winner of the Princeton Leonard P. Milberg Poetry Prize, Sarah Mook Poetry Prize, and 1455 Literary Festival Contest, and a runner up for the Smith College Poetry Prize, Nancy Thorp Poetry Prize, and Patricia Grodd Poetry Prize. Gaia is an undergraduate at Carnegie Mellon University studying computer science and creative writing. She lives in Pittsburgh.

Joanna Acevedo is a writer, educator, and editor from New York City. She was nominated for a Pushcart in 2021 for her poem “self portrait if the girl is on fire” and is the author of three books and chapbooks, including Unsaid Things (Flexible Press, 2021) and List of Demands (Bottlecap Press, 2022). Her work can be found across the web and in print, including or forthcoming in Apogee, Hobart, and the Rumpus. She is a Guest Editor at Frontier Poetry and The Masters Review, Associate Poetry Editor at West Trade Review, and a member of the Review Team at Gasher Journal, in addition to running interviews at Fauxmoir and The Great Lakes Review. As well as being a Goldwater Fellow at NYU, she was a Hospitalfield 2020 Interdisciplinary Resident. She received her MFA in Fiction from New York University in 2021 and is supported by Creatives Rebuild New York: Guaranteed Income for Artists.

A Conversation with Vanessa Hua

October 20, 2022

A Conversation with Vanessa Hua, by Swetha Amit

Date: September 30, 2022

Introduction: Vanessa Hua is an award-winning columnist for the San Francisco Chronicle and the author of the national bestsellers A River of Stars and Forbidden City, and Deceit and Other Possibilities—a New York Times Editors’ Pick. A National Endowment for the Arts Literature Fellow, she has also received a Rona Jaffe Foundation Writers' Award, the Asian/Pacific American Award for Literature, and a Steinbeck Fellowship in Creative Writing, as well as awards from the Society of Professional Journalists, and the Asian American Journalists Association, among others. She appeared in publications that include the New York Times, Washington Post, and The Atlantic. She has taught, most recently, at the Warren Wilson MFA Program, the University of San Francisco, and the Sewanee Writers Conference. She is the daughter of Chinese immigrants, and lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her family.

What inspired Forbidden City?

About a decade and a half ago, I watched a documentary about China and up popped a photo of Chairman Mao surrounded by giggling teenage girls. It turned out he was fond of ballroom dancing. He partnered with a troupe of young women not only on the dance floor, but also in the bedroom. In 1937, an American journalist, Agnes Smedley taught him and other party elites how to dance, and over the decades he continued to have these dance parties. The Chairman's physician wrote a memoir and used a dismissive tone to describe the young women, saying the experience was “exhilarating,” the greatest honor of their lives. I knew the story had to be more complex than that, particularly for those who became his confidantes, handled his mail correspondence, and interpreted what he was saying when his speech became garbled. They were able to stay by his side, during the most tumultuous time in modern Chinese history. I tried to find out more information. I initially wrote a short story set in one of those dance parties, and then something compelled me to keep going. What I couldn't find explained in official records, I wanted to attempt in fiction.

In your earlier book, A River of Stars, you used the third person, whereas in Forbidden City, you chose the first person. What made you decide to tell the story from the point of view of Mei in Forbidden City?

Forbidden City is the first book I wrote and the third book I published. I began writing it in grad school, as a short story in the third person, but I realized that I had to use the first person to access her interiority. By comparison, A River of Stars is in the third person and in early drafts, I had many more points of view, akin to Jennifer Egan’s A Visit from the Goon Squad. But after revisions, it was mainly told from Scarlett's point of view.

A large part of Forbidden City highlights the Cultural Revolution, which would have required a lot of research. How did you go about the process?

I spent fourteen years on the book as there was a long and winding road to publication. During that time, I conducted interviews in China and traced part of the path Mei would take across the country. I also became a power user of the library and read a lot of memoirs and nonfiction historical accounts. Historians have a particular purpose and intent in documenting what happened; novelists tend to focus more on how it felt to live through those events. I also read a lot of newspapers from that era. I didn’t take copious notes that I cross-referenced but if something inspired me along the way, I would include it in the narrative.

You come from a journalism background, and while writing a fictional narrative of the Cultural Revolution, how did you avoid this journalistic aspect while telling this story?

I remember workshopping the early part of the novel during my first semester in my MFA program. One of my classmates called it “reportage.” I was annoyed! Eventually, I understood that while journalism claims neutrality, fiction is filtered through the distinct consciousness of the character. Anything Mei encountered—whether it's the setting or recreation of historical events—is via her sensibility.

You write short stories as well. How was the experience of transition to long fiction?

I have been writing short stories ever since I was a kid. In second grade, my teacher asked the class to vote for the best story, and mine won. That was my first recognition, even though a classmate said she voted for mine only because it was the longest! So, it was also my first snarky review. I continued writing short stories throughout school and college. In my early thirties, when I was at a reporting fellowship in South Korea, I told another journalist I wanted to write a book. She said, “Then write a book.” She was merely making small talk, but that's when I realized I had to center that goal in my life. The difference between a novel and a short story is that a short story feels closer to a poem in terms of how it rests on an emotion, a turn. There’s a feeling of the world continuing after a short story, whereas a novel is a 300-page journey. There’s a sense of completion.

Forbidden City has a lot of themes like coming of age, friendship, love, and historical significance. Do you consciously think of themes while writing a story?

For me, my understanding of the themes doesn’t emerge until after I finish the first draft. I’m focused on the characters and it’s only in retrospect, when I’m looking at the book as a whole, that I figure out the themes which in turn can help guide my revision. I've always written where my interest lay, and my characters lead me, which may end up reflecting the zeitgeist upon publication. Readers and reviewers have remarked that my books are timely.

Forbidden City was published shortly before the Roe vs. Wade decision was overturned. Even though the novel is set during the Chinese Cultural Revolution, it resonates with the present because of its focus on female bodily autonomy.

You mention reviewers. While getting positive reviews is gratifying, how do you deal with the negative ones?

I get a good friend or my husband to look at them first. I don't even look at Goodreads or Amazon reviews. I also realize that my book is not for everyone and should not please everyone. But I hope that my book will reach someone at the right moment, resonate with them, and make them feel less alone.

How do you balance writing fiction and journalism? Tell us more about your writing process.

I like being able to do both. With nonfiction, the deadlines are on a weekly or monthly basis, whereas a novel takes years. So, writing nonfiction helps me get out in the world and interact with people in the community by interviewing them. Since I have a deadline, I can plan, think, and work around a strategy for it. With fiction, I must consciously map out the next few steps I need to take. I read my manuscript and sometimes listen to the draft via an app on my phone. This is to ensure I keep the world of my novel in my head as I progress with it.

So, do you like writing stories or articles more?

That's like asking who my favorite child is! I think both nourish me and nourish my practice of the other. I'm just happy to have the opportunity to do both.

How do you overcome writer's block?

It's good to have more than one project going so that when you struggle with one, you can cheat on it with another. I have also come to realize things like going for a swim or a run are essential to writers' practices. In fact, I figured out the ending for A River of Stars while I was on a swim. I was trying to figure out the ending, and I remember getting out of the pool and texting myself the solution. You can't access your subconscious directly. It is only when your body is in motion that sometimes answers come to us. Making room for movement in your life can release things.

Who are the authors who inspire you?

Maxine Hong Kingston (Author of The Woman Warrior) graciously wrote a blurb for my book. I am blown away by her generosity and by what she does for the community. Not just through her writing but also through her activism. I remember I had an opportunity to interview her a few years ago. She said that as an activist, you keep going. You don't know if your work is going to matter. Maybe someone 200 years ago did something that's made things possible for you. So, we have no idea how our actions may benefit someone in the future.

You touched upon the subject of memory earlier. What is your favorite childhood memory?

Well, maybe riding around on a car trip and reading jokes to my family. That coziness of all of us cramped in a car together, laughing, is a pleasant memory.

What is the most exciting job you have ever had?

I've been a journalist since I graduated from college. Even in college, I wrote on the school paper. Being a journalist has afforded me fascinating opportunities, such as reporting from overseas and visiting several countries.

What are the places you've been to?

I've been to Burma, Panama, China, South Korea, Ecuador—and even Burning Man!

What is it you want readers to take away from Forbidden City?

I believe the past is never as distant as it seems. Even though this novel is about the Cultural Revolution in China, it's an opportunity to not only learn about that era but also examine our own era. Sometimes you need to look back to understand our present.

What's the weirdest writing habit you have?

I got this last year. It's basically an under-the-desk bike peddler. Whenever I am revising or answering emails, I pedal away. It's nice to do as it's something that gets me going. Besides that, I also enjoy my cups of hojicha tea.

Lastly, any upcoming books?

I am working on two projects. One is a novel about surveillance and suburbia. And the other is an essay collection about foraging, resilience, and survival. I'm working on the draft for both, but excited to be in this process.