Rob Mclennan's Blog, page 88

12 or 20 (second series) questions with danilo machado

Born in Medellín, Colombia, danilo machado (he/they) is a poet, curator, and critic living on occupied land interested in language’s potential for revealing tenderness, erasure, and relationships to power. A 2020-2021 Poetry Project Emerge-Surface-Be Fellow, their writing has been featured in Hyperallergic, Art in America, Poem-A-Day, Art Papers, ArtCritical, The Recluse, GenderFail, No, Dear, Long River Review, TAYO Literary Magazine, among others. They are the author of the collection This is your receipt and is not a ticket for travel (Faint Line Press, 2023) and the chaplets wavy in its heat and to be elsewhere (Ghost City Press Summer Series, 2022/2023).

With Em Marie Kohl, danilo co-hosts the monthly queer reading series exquisites First Thursdays at Art Cafe + Bar in Brooklyn. danilo is also the co-founder/co-curator the chapbook/broadside fundraiser Already Felt: poems in revolt & bounty and author of The Post Post Post newsletter on Substack. danilo curated the exhibitions Otherwise Obscured: Erasure in Body and Text (Franklin Street Works, 2019), support structures (Virtual/8th Floor Gallery, 2020), We turn (EFA Project Space, 2021), and Eligible/Illegible (co-curated with Francisco Donoso, PS122, 2023). An honors graduate of the University of Connecticut, danilo is Producer of Public Programs at the Brooklyn Museum. They are working to show up with care for their communities.

Headshot by Ryan Bourque, 2023.
 
[Image Description: Headshot of a brown queer person, wearing a red-tan jacket, glasses, and a tied handkerchief. They are standing looking at the camera at a side with a slight smile. Behind them is the arch at Grand Army Plaza and a car passing by. ]

1 - How did your first book or chapbook change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?
This is your receipt and is not a ticket for travel is my first big collection and I’ve learned so much from both the process of publishing it and from the poems themselves. I’ve always been writing transit poems, so this selection feels like part of a throughline. It does feel unique because of the collaborations that made it happen, namely my friend Jason Lipeles and Faint Line Press, Jenna Hamed who contributed photographs, and Rodrigo Moreira who designed the cover.

2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?
I attribute my sophomore English teacher, Ms. Ginsburg (now Gordon), for making me a poet. I remember staying after school working with her on drafts.  I did try my hand at some bad novels when I was younger, and I do write art criticism, too—but poetry remains my most core practice.

3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project? Does your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts appear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious notes?
The writing can be quick sometimes, but the editing is often slower. I’ve learned that full projects take years to simmer and develop, which was the case with This is your receipt. I think about editing as rock tumbling, and each poem requires its unique number of spins to shine.

4 - Where does a poem usually begin for you? Are you an author of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a "book" from the very beginning?
My poems always begin handwritten in notebooks. They are often, perhaps unsurprisingly, started in transit. Subway rides, train rides, and walks are not just subjects in my work, but spaces where drafting (and sometimes editing) happens. Being in transit is this particular in-between where time both stops and slows; where there is both stillness and overstimulation; embodiment and disembodiment. I’m constantly in awe of the language, bodies, and light one is surrounded by in those spaces. They’ve always inspired writing and observation—sometimes imbued with wonder and other times with critique. The early version of This is your receipt started as a semester-long independent study where the end goal was  a collection, but much of my other work starts with individual pieces which slowly find ways to combine.

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
I find readings to be a useful (and fun!) part of my poetic practice. Often, they reveal unexpected punchlines in poems and encourage a different kind of attention to them as the author. I learn new things about the poems, particularly through the sonic qualities which are not always immediate on the page. One of the best parts of readings for me is getting to hear other poets share their work and seeing the kind of connections that emerge from a lineup. I also enjoy hosting and organizing readings, which is its own art!

6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the current questions are?
For sure. My poetics are interested in capturing queer migrant realities and intimacies, with special attention to navigating the violences of structures of power and countering them with tenderness and close looking. My poems are often asking the same questions (What makes a political poem? What is the relationship between our everyday commutes and our larger experiences of migration and dislocation? How can English and the language of bureaucracies be reclaimed or deflated?) without the aim to answer. The asking is the thing itself, the poem itself.

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Do they even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?
I believe that writers have a responsibility to their communities, no matter what they may be. I think as important as making “good” work is being a good community member that collaborates, shares generously within one’s capacity, and that invests in supporting both peers and emerging writers. Writing or being a writer is not a substitute for the many other kinds of action required to fulfill the responsibility we all have to each other and our collective liberation.

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
Editors, but more broadly trusted readers, are essential! Their distance from the text is a useful position, but one that I wouldn't fully characterize as “outside.” The best editors (and friends with whom I share work with) have a level of familiarity with my work and the bigger questions I (and often we) are concerned with. It is important to me for (my) work to not just reflect a singular unique voice but to be grounded in a web of relation.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
This is a tough one! I can’t think of one singular piece of advice but one thing that I find useful is reminding myself that the balance between urgency and patience is key. We must act like the world is on fire (because it is) while embracing the slow, unglamorous, nonlinear work not just of (good) poems, but of good relationships.

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to critical prose)? What do you see as the appeal?
For me, moving between (and beyond) genres feels natural. Poetry is often at the center even when I’m writing prose, and blurring genres feels not just freeing but accurate to how I experience the world.

11 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?
I don’t have a routine per se, but I am often writing in transit and late at night. I try to do morning pages when I can. Typical mornings begin with feeding and walking the dog, and always with coffee.

12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
When I’m stuck, reading other poets helps—that or a walk. I really believe that a chunk of the process necessary for writing doesn’t involve writing at all, but that requires you taking in the environments, language, and people that surround you.

13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
Coffee brewing.

14 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?
I’m very much influenced by visual art and artists, both in my poetry and in my other practices of curating exhibitions and public programming. I’ve written several ekphrastic poems—there’s one in the book called “small / paintings” inspired by the work of Brian Kauppi I first saw at Head Hi in Brooklyn—and a few poems in conjunction with exhibitions as well. Jesse Chun and Levani are two contemporary artists I’ve been lucky to be in conversation and friendship for a few years. I’m so inspired and informed by their work and have loved dreaming up exhibitions and publications together.

15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
Marwa Helal has had perhaps the most profound influence on my work and on my life as a writer. There are so many writers who are important to me, some of which I feel lucky to consider friends, mentors, and peers. Ariel Goldberg, Jan-Henry Gray, and Stacy Szymaszek are just a few that were key to This is your receipt.

16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
I’d like to write a book-length poem, like those of Ted Rees and Tommy Pico.

17 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?
I don’t think I could pick or have ended up doing anything that wasn’t related to writing, visual art, and poetry!

18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
I think a need to record and to make sense of the world around me made me write.

19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
I loved Caelan Ernest’s night mode (Everybody Press, 2023), which I got to read an early copy of in very fitting digital form. It’s glitchy and winky and queer in all the best ways. I famously don’t watch that many movies, but I finally saw Everything Everywhere All At Once and it was such a profound, absurd delight.

20 - What are you currently working on?
I’ll be part of the Ghost City Press Summer Series again with a new chaplet called to be elsewhere. I’m also working on a performance at National Sawdust with composer Chase Elodia and some amazing New York poets called Walking In the City . My friend Em Marie Kohl and I co-host a monthly queer reading series called exquisites at Art Cafe + Bar,  and we’ll be launching the first of our chapbook series this summer  as well.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

Ongoing notes: late May, 2023: Emily Tristan Jones, Carolina Ebeid + Jordan Davis,

There’sso much going on! There’s even a reading on Thursday in Ottawa with three above/ground press poets—Stuart Ross, William Vallières and Jessi MacEachern—hosted by Bardia Sinaee. And you saw the big above/ground press 30thanniversary fundraiser, happening right now? Or the fact that the spring edition of the ottawa small press book fair is coming up in a couple of weeks? And don't forget my enormously clever substack, where I'm working on one or two or three ongoing non-fiction projects. Somany things!

Montreal QC: I was first directed to Montreal poet andeditor/publisher (Columba) Emily Tristan Jones’ chapbook debut, HAND(Cactus Press, 2023) thanks to Hugh Thomas, who offered her as a poet worthpaying attention to. I’m intrigued by the curious patterns of her lyric, andintrigued at the fact that she has a full-length debut, Buttercup, outnext year with an unnamed press (at least according to her biography in thisparticular title) in Chicago. “A crow, inserting its hands into the air,” shewrites, to open the poem “CROWNLAND,” “descends / by my human head / to low redshrubs [.]” The narratives of her scenes unfold across narratives of straightlines and deflections (the Blomidon and Bay of Fundy references I quite enjoyed, having experienced such myself), even through the fact of a chapbooktitled HAND that bears the cover illustration of a foot: one thing isnot necessarily another, aiming instead for the ways in which these thoughtsconnect. The poems are playful, specific and simultaneously tethered anduntethered to the ground, akin to a kite. “My whole body, like a skeleton,music in the air,” she writes, early on in the collection. I am interested tosee what her work is able to accomplish through this forthcoming debut, acrossa wider, broader canvas.

~

A large number of mythoughts were broadcast in the woods

I ran in every direction,leaving little to the imagination
I was like a racehorse. Thewind whistled behind me
Animals whistled behindme

I was a free man
My soul fanned like thehair on the body of a wild thing

Philadelphia PA: Further to Brian Teare’s remarkablechapbook series through his Albion Books is Carolina Ebeid’s latest, DAUERWUNDER(2023), subtitled “a brief record of facts,” published as the fourth title inAlbion’s series eight [see my reviews of 8.1 here, 8.2 here and 8.3 here]. Thepoems collected here are set, or tethered, between two words—“WINTERNET” and “TRANSGRACE”—andemploy a sequence of an exploration around the accidents of language thattechnology spark. She writes of the glitch, of audio, text and meaning(something east coast poet Lance La Rocque explored as well from a differentangle, across his chapbook glitch a few years back), from the literalglitch of audio to the recombinative. She explores the elements of what remainsand what is rebuilt, reconstituted; she writes of telepathy, telephone calls andthe “Hollow of a torso”; she writes of what is left behind, lost or added, fromdigital recordings to “something about our / neighborhood dust [.]” As shewrites, mid-way through the collection: “how do you know you are remembering /an event or remembering the pictures of / an event, do your dream in the firstor / third person?”

“Attention” as animperative but without exclamations, the way one lowers her voice in thesensitive part of conversation making you lean in. “Attention, taken to itshighest degree, is the same thing as prayer” (Simone Weil).

Brooklyn NY: I’m only slowly engaging with the work ofNew York poet Jordan Davis, having produced a chapbook of his throughabove/ground press (full disclosure, naturally), and now through thepublication of his Hidden Poems (If A Leaf Falls Press, 2022), a small chapbookof sixteen short poems produced in an edition of one hundred copies. I’vealways been a bit envious of those poets working in miniature, from Nelson Ballto Mark Truscott to Cameron Anstee, for the possibilities that can exist in smallspaces. Through Davis, the short form is less a compact form of held meaning,as in the works of those three examples, but as poems composed as pieces thatexist beyond the boundaries of a single moment. Some poems here are akin to a waveof the hand, suggesting but part of an unseen and far larger space, or as accumulationsof phrases that mangle and mix in the imagination, offering something far else.These are poems of possibility, including what might fall into contradiction, across what mightotherwise be impossible. His directions are as evident as through the openingpoem, that reads, in full:

BAD POEM

Put that rock down

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Jasmine Gibson

Jasmine Gibsonis a Philly Jawn and psych worker. She is interested in the liberation from thepsychic bondages of racial capitalism.

She is the author of chapbooks Drapetomania (CommuneEditions, 2015), B.C (Belladonna, 2020), Only Shallow (MontezPress, 2020).

The full length collection Don’t Let Them See Me Like This (Nightboat,2018),and the forthcoming A Beauty Has Come (Nightboat, 2023).

Her most recent published work has appeared in Academy Of AmericanPoets “Poem Of The Day” series solicited by Jos Charles, The Segue ReadingSeries and A Perfect Vacuum.

1 - How did your first book or chapbook change your life? How doesyour most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?

My life didn't change materially but it did change conceptually andrelationally. I began writing because I was a Case Manager working with clientswith co-morbid diagnoses in the South Bronx, doing organizing and engaged inmarxist literature. At the time, I was reading Anti-Oedipus (Delueze and Guattari) and Tales (Baraka) and it blew my mind. It was like a soundtrack for mymind. When I began writing, my own ideas about myself and others changed. Iwanted to be a part of a large community of writers and thinkers that wereengaged in the world and worked to transform it in creative ways. My thoughtson neurodiversity changed, my thoughts on how my clients used language todescribe their symptoms and lived experience had changed. I had become a moreintersubjective writer.

What feels differently now is that I was trying to illuminate theunconscious elements of writing. Trying to figure out where I began and wherethe world continued. I revel in the sea of it all now. Also I have met somereally interesting writers and artists because of my writing.

2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction ornon-fiction?

I came to poetry because radicals like Kuwasi Balagoon, AssataShakur and Claudia Jones all wrote poetry. Because members of the CombaheeRiver Collective did it. Because I saw formations like Metropolaritycome together and was like "wow, that is super cool!". When I finallydecided to give a crack at poetry, I was already writing political propagandafor an organization I was a part of and began writing long form essays for materialistfeminist journals. I always loved Audre Lorde, Ntozake Shange, JuneJordan and Sonia Sanchez. I thought "if they can do it, I can too". Iwanted to join the tradition in any way possible.

3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project?Does your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do firstdrafts appear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out ofcopious notes?

It depends! For a long form essay and poetry, I like to hunker downand read a lot before I begin to write. I like to stew in the juices of thework I am creating. It is a co-creative process. I am being undone, the work isbeing done, the work is being undone and I am done. Like an ouroboros.

For A Beauty Has Come, Ihad some parts of the book together prior to the pandemic, but once March 2020had come around, I was sitting with the work with the greatest writing partner(JohnRufo) and just had the best honeymoon in Berlin(Yes, I got intoBerghain). I refer to that time as "our shared womb". Or as TayannahLee McQuillar would expand on that in her Siblys Oraculum "a sigh is both a womb and agrave". And that is exactly what that time period felt like.Very generative, and equally destructive. Cosmic composting. Upheaval. A  space to explore the event horizon.

I wasn't worried about a complete book or my ownproject. I was a part of history now, which meant my little life was a part ofa larger Aquarian question. The locomotive of history waits for no one.  There are decadeswhere nothing happens; and there are weeks when decades happen, after all.

I now had all this time to figure out things that tangentially werein my view: How do I do zoom therapy for myself and others? How do I celebratea solar return in a limited and virtual capacity? How do I connect back to mybody and move? What do I really think of this album now? If this world eventhad occurred at any other point in my life would I be able to ride  with it?

I went to virtual salons hosted by my friend StephanieGeorge and Willie Lee Kinard III, watched live streams ofHortenseSpillers, I started a mutual aid box in my apartment building, I hadtwo bomb gay Black therapists, I led my first Capital Vol 1 reading group thatwas informed by Black Materialist Feminism, I was reading Black Jacobins withBlack and Brown children in the LES, I was providing therapy to kids inNYC,  I began martial arts, I got freshvegetables from my friend's garden, I biked the Central Park loop multipletimes, my spouse was doing their orals exam (they've since passed! Congrats, Dr.John), Idecided to apply to become a psychoanalytic student, I was rediscovering mylove of music and collecting vinyl again(this album really saved me, particularly the song 'Qadir'), and I curated my home in a way that incorporated the softness I was sorelymissing.

I allowed myself to grow, in a time of deep contraction. Which isironic because it was during my Saturn Return. Allowing myself to grow, meantthat I could allow my work to grow and allow A Beauty Has Come to transform and transcend me.

4 - Where does a poem usually begin for you? Are you an author ofshort pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working ona "book" from the very beginning?

The image of an ouroboros is my answer here too. I never know ifsomething I am writing is going to be longer or shorter. It depends on thevibe, subject matter and context. It depends if the emotions stirred from aparticular thought, feeling, theory or conversation rattles me into actionwhere I must speak in the written form.

For example, when writing ABeauty Has Come, I had discovered that I was a fan of the Beach Boys andthe Grateful Dead. Two bands I avoided with much effort. But ended up becomingreally influential on the work. Why is that??? I think I avoided them becauseof the stereotypical white supremacist fans that the two bands have. Why did myorientation change? For the Beach Boys I heard "Til I Die" and read Tom Smucker's Why The Beach Boys Matters. It totally turnedme out. The way he spoke about their alienation and the loneliness of whitenessand how the Beach Boys could be better understood as a R&B girl band, I waslike "Damn shawty, ok!". For the Dead it was "UnbrokenChain" and "Box of Rain". I was listening to the Staple Singers"Will the Circle be Unbroken?" and I listened to them in conversationwith each other. It became to me a continuum of the mid-century upheaval andnecessary change that different sets of musicians were reckoning with.

All this to say, I let the process inform the shape of things tocome.

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creativeprocess? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?

Tongo Eisen-Martin gave me really good advice about this. He said,"Read like you are practicing your instrument". I used to be veryanxious and dreaded the reading process. After he said that to me, anddefinitely having more years under my belt with practicing therapy, I am awareof my instrument and the power it has to sway. I view readings as a practicespace. The audience is there with me, and it is time to get co-creative. I amsending energy into the room. My voice is cutting through the thoughts andcellular process of the collective. It's liminal, so might as well be expansivewhen given the chance.

6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? Whatkinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you eventhink the current questions are?

Yes, I have been stating that my poetic and therapeutic process is"Black Materialist Feminism", meaning I am concerned with Blacknesson an international, and historical level. I am concerned with materialismbecause of the material power relations that dictate movement and embodiment ofthe world we live in. I am concerned with feminism because I operate from theperspective of decentering cisheteropatriarchy.

How this all comes together in my poetics is illuminating,critiquing, exploiting and working to resist subjugation in effort to transformthe world and ourselves. I hope to be a part of that tradition.

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in largerculture? Do they even have one? What do you think the role of the writer shouldbe?

That depends on the writer. All writers are in service to somethingor an ideology. I am Foucaldian through and through. We all are in service tosocial, political, emotional and psychical reality.

A Beauty Has Come is in service to larger culture concernedwith the malleability and expansiveness of Blackness, with material conditionsthat impact the realities of the dispossessed and on the side of life,resistors and upsetters.

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editordifficult or essential (or both)?

I haven't worked with an outside editor per se, but I have workedclosely with my spouse (John)  whilewriting A Beauty Has Come. They werewriting their dissertation as I was writing my manuscript. We noticed that wehad a lot of overlap in the concepts we were using within our respective works.For example the overlapping of revolutionary Black Aesthetic and Black RadicalPolitical traditions and metonymy. We were both listening to Cecil Taylor andMary Lou Williams' Embrace and readingsimilar works. In many ways, I considered John an outsider editor. I also liketo share my writing with friends and get their perspective. I also consult mycards and see what they say about the direction of my writing.

I am very grateful to Lindsey Boldt and Jaye Elizabeth Elijah fortheir insightful and concise editing. They really followed me through myprocess, were very patient and generous. I consider them to be my co-writersand midwives for A Beauty Has Come.This was my second time having Lindsey as an editor and she is a great writerand thinker. She's always thinking about who writing can be in communicationwith, who needs to see the work and great recommender for books and her amazingprojects that she has in the words for herself. While I was writing A Beauty Has Come, she sent me herrecent writing There Are No Cops inAmerica & The Streets Are Paved w/ Cheese (2020) and it made megrateful to have a fellow traveler for an editor. Working with Jaye is ablessing. They are intuitive, imaginative and promising writer and editor intheir own writing. They presented a visual representation of how my book lookedand I had never heard or seen that before. It was really cool to see a visualrepresentation of my work and I'm grateful that they did that. They reallyprovided feedback for me to step totally out of myself, which was a relief.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarilygiven to you directly)?

"Know where you end and where the world begins" and"Know what is yours". These are things that I've heard in therapeuticwork and training. It is very useful to know what is something that youconsider to be yours and what is not yours and can be composted, if it does notserve you.

10 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do youeven have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?

Vibes are everything! My ideal writing situation is a warm sunnyday at my desk. Music playing, vinyl or bluetooth speaker. Incense burning(preferably the incense Nag Champa) and a few books that I can pull off theshelf that I can dip in and out of. Perhaps some movement to go along with thewriting, and groove until words shake out of my bones.

11 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or returnfor (for lack of a better word) inspiration?

I return back to “Mama's Baby, Papa's Maybe”, “All the Things YouCould Be” (both by Spillers), Poet In NewYork by Federico Garcia Lorca, SavageDetectives by Roberto Bolano,  Palmares by Gayl Jones, Jazz Fan Looks Back by Jayne Cortez, Capital Vol 1, Heart of The Congos by The Congos, Return of The Super Ape by Lee Scratch Perry, Movement In Black by Pat Parker, Loveless By My Bloody Valentine, Journey In Satchidananda by Alice Coltrane, Weapon of Theory by Amilcar Cabral, Nothing But The Music by Thulani Davis, Taste of Brown Sugar by Mireille Miller-Young, I Against I by Bad Brains, Black On Both Sides by C.RileySnorton,  Sula by Morrison and so many other.

Especially over the course of writing A Beauty Has Come I was revisiting items new to me, but old to theworld. Moby Dick by Melville blew mymind in the first chapter. My public school education didn't introduce Melvilleto me but as I got older all these marxists were into Melville. When I read theBlack congregation scene where the pastor is leading a sermon on the"Blackness of Darkness", it blew my mind. I've been revisiting Black Athena by Martin Bernal and thathas blown my mind and been affirming because as a young person I was veryinterested in Greek and Egyptian mythology. Especially the story of Io, whoescapes more molestation from Zeus and the gods, and finds solace in Africa tofinally give birth. A beauty has come, indeed.

Tera Hunter's 'To Joy MyFreedom is a text Ifrequently return to as a reminder of the history of self-adornment, laborrevolt and resistance towards racist, sexist and ableist projections placedupon newly emancipated Black women in Atlanta. The book begins with a prologueof a newly emancipated Black woman stating that she is leaving her past behindto "'joy her freedom" which is so powerful to be reminded that projectof freedom(s) is an active one that is always being advocated for in the minds,the hearts and tongues of ancestor of the past and present. The first chapterbegins with an enslaved Black woman risking physical violence on behalf of hergazing upon her likeness in a mirror and adorning her body with perfume. It isa beautiful vignette to be reminded of the ways Black women even whilstenslaved are finding ways to self-adorn and are actively finding covert andovert ways to display beauty and resist white supremacist notions of beauty, atthe risk of violence. The Beautiful One Has Come in the flesh gaze at herselfwithout fear, indeed. And yet, the risk violence is not enough for thebeautiful one to reconsider the option of bucking against the demands ofservitude and fighting for bodily autonomy. The beautiful one has sought toclaim herself. This is the historical context of Black Is Beautiful in theAmerica(s). How to make one's self in an image of their own liking thattranscends the categories of race, class or ability position. It is an activecosmic position. A life giving position.

I've also been reading LaMovida By Tatiana Luboviski-Acosta, revisiting Crosslight for Young Bird by Asiya Wadud (which I recently gave away toa student), A Theory of Birdsby Zaina Alsous, u know how much i hate being alone insocial situations// by Stephon Lawrence, NastyNotes by Benedict Nguyen Gossypiin by Ra Malika Imhotep (I have been repeatingtheir line from the book: "Never baby/Just Doll" because it is socunty and a praise reclamation of one's self) and This is your receipt and is not a ticket for travel by danilomachado.

12 - What fragrance reminds you of home?

Nag Champa! However, currently at home we have this burning. Amber and Vanilla will nevernot be a potent combo. I love heady, deep and warm fragrances like vetiver,sandalwood, leather, magnolia, and jasmine. I also like to wear Bohemian Reves''Desert Fleur' or Tom Ford's 'Tobacco Vanille'. My mom used to wear Gucci 'Rush' and that always reminds me ofher.

13 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, butare there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music,science or visual art?

Of course! I was obviously quite excited by the science news of thenew photos of a black hole. As I wrote in A Beauty Has Come

"the blackness that holds space and time together
Blackness as congealed time."

Also becamevery excited that our own galaxy has a black hole at the center of it, and how it literally holds our realitytogether. The news about our galaxy not being "locally real" also really encouraged me to think cosmically. The concept ofinfinity and spooky actions at a distance all feel comforting to me. That thetime and space we exist in is infinite but we are not, is very grounding for mepersonally. That the time we have in this moment isn't even encapsulated in anexhale of our galaxy. We are part of a cosmic churn. We become cosmic compost,constantly being remade and unmade. Folding and unfolding. The only reason whyany of us are alive is because a person decided that they wanted to participatein the cosmic exhalation and usher us into this plane of existence. We don'tconsent to it. We just arrived. A sigh is both a womb and a grave, after all. AndI'm of the Klienian belief that the only thing biologically essential aboutgiving birth and being birthed is that we do come ready to relate. Whateverthat relation is, we are soaking it in our tiny, expansive bodies throughintimacy. I'm using intimacy in the Spillers way, which is very dictated by thesensual reality of flesh.

That is whyI am communist, because I think it incredibly boring,violent and unimaginativethat the so-called normative belief that we come ready to think in binaries orcommodities. To spend our lives crouched and cramped determined by our laborvalue. Ugh yawn. Imagine all the things we could become while matching thecosmic samba.

I wasraised by horticulturists and went to high school to study landscape design andhorticulture (fun fact:I ranked 4th in Pennsylvania FFA for my horticultureknowledge). I'm named after a plant and I'm a Leo, so my love of nature wascharted for me. On certain days I prefer being non-verbal and hanging out withmy plants or the cherry tree in my backyard.

Music is also a given. Visual artis also impactful. The first drafts of ABeauty Has Come had Circe byRomare Bearden and Chitra Ganesh's Shethe question, as potential cover art ideas.

14 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, orsimply your life outside of your work?

I answered this above a little but by trade I am a therapist, so Itry to stay as abreast on the field. I've been really into what Psychoanalysis & History has beenputting out. I really liked the article "The Clinical Space as Quilombo" by KwameYonatan Poli dos Santos. We could all find a way out of recreating colonialwhite supremacist psychic notions by decentering the global north and lookingtoward the Quilombo form. Daniel Jose Gaztambide's People's Historyof Psychoanalysis is a great recentering of decolonialpsychoanalysis.  I like to go back andre-read Anti-Oedipus, Wilhelm Reich and a few vintage copies of anti-psychiatry journals.

This blog on libcom really was ahead of its timeand was very encouraging for me to become a social worker.

15 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?

I would love to create a film or create a soundtrack for a film. Ilove the soundtracks to films. They can really propel the film. Examples ofthis are Yojimbo by Kurosawa, any Gregg Araki film, Pariah by Dee Rees (Echelon by Honeychild Coleman is phenomenaland should be discussed more) and Mandy by Panos Cosmatos.

I'd love to get into oil paints or be a layman astronomer.

16 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what wouldit be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had younot been a writer?

I'd prefer a reality where labor wasn't structured by capitalistdemands. That would be my dream :)

17 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?

Probably spiritual possession. I just feel moved to write and Idon't try to question it. I often fantasize that if I could've been born at anyother time, I'd prefer to be a part of the Griot tradition, orating story andknowledge with my tongue and learning tongues of other teachers. "A sacredchild deserving of her cronehood" in the words of Junada Petrus.Or a member of the Dogon tribe staring up at Sirius and seeing myself, andself-fashioning my drum and hair in time with the cosmos.

18 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last greatfilm?

Palmaresby Gayl Jones and Andrei Rublev by Tarkovsky (but probably ) . However, my friend Van did introduce to me the joy of JunadaPetrus' Can We PleaseGive the Police Department to the Grandmothers?

19 - What are you currently working on?

I'm starting a band (ojalá), perhaps a choreopoem (ojalá) andreading and writing with friends. And being in love with my beloved and my ownself possession.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

Alycia Pirmohamed, Another Way to Split Water

 

ORIGIN OF WATER II

as a child    she wore a skirt of seagulls
and was afraid of thedark    called her mother god
because what else

could mother an ocean butgod?    she ate nankhatai
and plaited her hair    she smelled of cardamom

newly crushed andboiled    she split into spring’s tulips
carried a jar ofcondolences    just in case.

she was a daughter caughtpraying in the mountains.

she was stone through stone   melodic   a vase of trees
rattled by her name:water    like the roots that hold
the earth together.

ginan and its wovenstanzas    she is the sound of a
messenger calling foranother bird    another

metaphor for god   as a child   how was she to know
what to call beloved?

I’mboth struck and charmed by the slow progressions of lyric observation and philosophicalinquiry throughout “Canadian-born poet based in Scotland” Alycia Pirmohamed’sfull-length poetry debut, Another Way to Split Water (Portland OR: YesYesBooks/Edinburgh: Polygon Books, 2022). “I see the wind pull down the tautness /of trees and the swans at the lagoon part / through the wreckage.” she writes,as part of the poem “MEDITATION WHILE PLAITING MY HAIR,” “Each one is anothertranslation for love / if love was more vessel than loose thread.” There issuch a tone and tenor to each word; her craft is obvious, but managed in a waythat simultaneously suggest an ease, even as the poems themselves areconstantly seeking answers, seeking ground, across great distances of uncertaintyand difficulty. “Yes, I desire knowledge,” she writes, as part of “AFTER THEHOUSE OF WISDOM,” “whether physical or moral or spiritual. / This kind oflonging is a pattern embossed / on my skin.” It is these same patterns,perhaps, that stretch out across the page into her lyric, attempting toarticulate what is otherwise unspoken.

Thereis such a strange and haunting beauty to her descriptions, whether through howshe describes “each stammer of lightning” as part of the poem “NIGHTS /FLATLINE,” or, as part of the poem “I WANT THE KIND OF PERMANENCE IN / ABIRDWATCHER’S CATALOGUE,” as she offers: “Any birdwatcher will tell you / that wingedboats // do not howl through their sharp, pyramid beaks. // That sound clickingthrough / waterlogged bodies // must be the prosody of my own desires.” The languageof the poems across Another Way to Split Water delight in sparks andelectrical patterns, providing far more lines and phrases that leap out thanone can keep track of, beyond simply wishing to reproduce the book entirely. “Originsare also small memories,” she writes, as part of the poem “AFTER THE HOUSE OFWISDOM,” “and there is an ethics to remembering— / I hear lilting from belowthe evening green / that houses our episodic ghosts.” Two pages further, thepoem “NERIUM OLEANDER” offers: “How much of her skin / is a body of water? // Nerium/ because she is a flood // of rain as it falls / into a river, // because shesprouts / in rich alluvials.”

Autobiography

 

 

1.

Fora fraction of a moment,

thislayered barcode                     of homespunwisdom:
apinch of salt

tokeep new jeans   from dimming; kitty litter
ina tied-up sock

tomaintain an unfrosted             interior

overnightfront windshield. A remote source
ofany Ottawa winter.

 

2.

Astatement as quick                   asthe human heart.

Adept                     , and sensible,
webrace       against steel. Since I ambackground,

foreground,empty. Both pleasure and displeasure,
werevise, reorganize. Amend.

Wordle:of the day            , I’m dead.

 

3.

Mondaymorning’s tempest                   of circulated
Januaryair. Christine

isolatingin the girls’ room , solo            having
testedCovid-positive. Both of us boosted

,parenthetical.                             Daythree

ofa potential five.  

 

4.

Theysay there is a language

forevery season. Solitude, soluble. A trick

ofthe eye.    How a telescope can capturelight

estimated                at some fourteen billion years.
Adnan:I need to circle the mountain,

becauseI am water.                     As she knewthen:

becausethis continues to be                  aboutwho remains,
andwho                 might still advance. Andwhat

thedifference.

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Jamie Tennant

Jamie Tennant is a writer, author and broadcast(er) director based in Hamilton, ON. He has covered music pop culture both locally and nationally. His debut novel The Captain of Kinnoull Hill was released in 2016. Jamie also hosts the weekly books and literature program/podcast Get Lit . River, Diverted is his second novel.

1 - How did your first book change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?
It was the realization of a childhood dream, having a book published. That's indescribable. It also opened up doors to a new community of people - Canadian writers, publishers, etc., which has led to speaking engagements, substantive editing jobs, and the radio show I do, Get Lit, on which I interview authors (and others in the book world). I feel like my work hasn't changed too much; it's more of a constant evolution. I only have two books published and they're quite different, in my opinion, though readers may disagree. My second book feels different in that, while the protagonist is less like me, the story is more personal.

2 - How did you come to fiction first, as opposed to, say, poetry or non-fiction?
That's hard to answer other than to say I was always interested in stories. As a child I got so excited reading Richler's Jacob Two-Two Meets The Hooded Fang that I wrote what is essentially fan-fiction based on it (if you can call stealing the Child Power idea and turning myself into the Fearless O'Toole - or was it the Intrepid Shapio? It's been a while - fan-fiction and not simply outright plagiarism).
 
3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project? Does your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts appear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious notes?
It varies. I stopped writing fiction for about a decade, due to fatherhood and an overwhelming amount of freelance journalism. Since I started again, though, the ideas have been accumulating and there's always something to work on. The first two books were initially part of one long, impossible-to-write, even-more-impossible-to-publish novel. I separated them and finished them as separate novels. It's a slow process for me, though, because of the limited writing time I have. First drafts generally approximate the shape of the final novel, but the changes within that frame are often huge.

4 - Where does a work of fiction usually begin for you? Are you an author of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a "book" from the very beginning?
So far, it has always been a "book" from the get-go. I get ideas for stories and just kind of jump into them. Recently I had two ideas for a novel - one is well underway, while the other I've just started. Yet the newer idea seems to be giving me more inspiration, so I'm going with that one.

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
I wouldn't say they're part of the process, because I'm always hesitant to read works-in-progress. It's a confidence thing. As for readings in general, though, I absolutely love it. I'm a former theatre kid, and always appreciate a chance to "perform" especially if it's my own work.
 
6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the current questions are?
At this point I have not really delved into too many of the "big" questions. What might those even be? I don't know. There's so many of them, in this fouled-up world. I guess I think there are others who address the questions so brilliantly that I don't feel I'm the best person to approach them. I'm often trying to answer questions on a personal level; questions about an individual's existence within society. My first book was largely about the possibility, within an individual, to change who they are and how they behave in the world. My second was about nostalgia and memory, and the unreliability of knowing our own past.

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Do they even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?
Writers have many roles. I feel that mine is to tell stories that entertain but also reflect on what it means to wrestle with our inner demons (if I may use that over-used term). Reflecting society and addressing the injustices of our world is important. Connecting with readers - of any kind, in any number - is important. Connecting to a book is remarkably powerful for readers.

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
More essential than difficult. It's one thing to write and produce your own album, for example. If I wrote twelve songs, I could imagine honing those three or four minute chunks into something resembling a finished work. With a novel it's so easy to get lost in the woods because the words go on for what seems like forever.  Also, my grammar is questionable, so a copy editor is crucial.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
Think of writing as a practice, like yoga. Something you make time for and do every day (or close to it). This completely changes your attitude and even your goals. Writers write because we're writers. That sentence barely makes sense, but it's true. Writing is a part of us, not just something we do.

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (fiction to journalism)? What do you see as the appeal?
That's been easy for me. Certainly journalism has given me the tools I need to be straightforward and direct with my prose. Fiction, on the other hand, has always shown me the importance of turning an article into a true story instead of simply a bio and a re-worked press release.  

11 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?
I wish I had one! The day job and freelance work really messes up my attempts at routine. For a spell I woke up at 5 am to write, but my sleep is not the best, so that idea went by the wayside.  Now, I simply try to fit it in where I have the time. That's often at lunch or after work, and usually for no more than an hour, which is difficult but not impossible (somehow I have managed two published novels with this non-routine).

12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
I don't stall too much. I"m lucky that way. That said, I turn to art of any kind, or I turn inward. Taking a couple of days to go away somewhere and write isn't always possible, but it's very effective. Half that time is spent pacing the AirBnB talking out loud to myself.

13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
Incense. My spouse burns it, so no matter which fragrance it is, it reminds me of home.

14 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?
Fun fact: David was the first "real" writer to help me with my work, when he was writer-in-residence at the HPL in the '80s! I think all those things are influential. Everything is influential. Music has always been a big part of my life, as well as film, so they're fundamental. However I've been inspired by everything from friendships to chronic illnesses to 1970s television commercials.  

15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
I doubt I could pick anything recent, as I read about a book a week for the radio show. It builds up into one giant mass of influence. In my life, I'd have to go with Stephen King. He taught me how to tell a story, how to make a character real, and how to use the surreal/horrific (though I don't write horror both my novels have wee monsters in them). I'd also add that reading works from within my community (i.e. by people I know) is important to me because I often get to talk to the author about what they've done; I get to hear the ideas, inspirations and processes behind the work.
 
16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
Write the next novel. Ask me again in a decade, it'll probably be the same answer.

17 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?
Well, I probably would have ended up exactly where I am, running a community radio station. I do think, though, that I might have gone on to do more theatre, or possibly continued making music (I was in a band very long ago). Something creative or performative would have been in my life, no question.

18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
Habit. Love. Need. History. A love of books. A love of words. A day job, so I didn't need to make money at it :D

19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
I truly enjoyed Andrew F. Sullivan's The Marigold. Satire, horror, humour, all in my wheelhouse. The last great film was probably Everything Everywhere All At Once .
 
20 - What are you currently working on?
That depends on the day. I've been messing with my Hamilton rock'n'roll opus for a while, but it's coming together in segments and I'm finding it difficult (maybe it's too close to home?). Either way, I shelved it for now, and started on another novel instead. It's about two boys who become friends; one is a disturbed creative genius while the other has a secret gift. It's about friendship and forgiveness and fake religions and magic powers. I think of it as a cross between A Prayer For Owen Meany and the film Rushmore. Now that I write that down, it sounds entirely wrong! Still, if it ended up being one thousandth as good as either of those, I'd be happy.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

Allison Blevins, Cataloguing Pain

 

When my legs slowlyparalyzed—heavy rain, wood, stone—I spent hours holding tight to the kitchentable trying to lift each knee into the pressing air. An editor once asked inan encouraging rejection letter why the manuscript had to be so depressing. (“CataloguingPain as Marriage Counseling”)

Andso opens Minnesota-based Allison Blevins’ latest collection, Cataloguing Pain (Portland OR: YesYes Books, 2023), the first poem in an opening ten pagesequence of one short prose stanza per page. Following Slowly/Suddenly (Vegetarian Alcoholic Press, 2021) and Handbook for the Newly Disabled, A Lyric Memoir (BlazeVOX, 2022), Cataloguing Pain holds echoes of Torontopoet Therese Estacion’s recent poetry debut, Phantompains (Toronto ON:Book*hug, 2021) [see my review of such here], both of which approach details toarticulate living with and through relatively recent physical disabilities,from the experience of living with chronic pain to the physical needs and requirementsof the body. As she writes as part of the sequence “Fall Risk”: “I want to askyou // to touch me, but it is Wednesday—shot day—and you’ve already loaded /the injector, swiped in outward concentric circles, pinched my stretched // andmarked skin between your thumb and forefinger. / I want to fall less in love withyou.”

“Itrack pleasures through color and sound.” she writes, as part of the sequence “ACatalogue of Repetitive Behaviors,” “When we wake the morning, our love is likean alarm blaring—pink-orange-morning-blues swirl and striate like cream incoffee. Love wakes the body like cologne lingers on the neck: this chair aproposal, this shirt a birthday surprise dinner.” There is such an intimacy tothese poems, and an interesting way that the narration occasionally shifts fromthe main narrator to the voice of their spouse, offering the poems a broaderportrait of how the changes affect them both, from pain into care, fromparenting and pregnancy into attempting different ways to expand their small family.“My wife writes a letter to our son every year on his birthday.” she writes, aspart of the sequence “A Catalogue of Repetitive Behaviors,” “In the days afterthis diagnosis, the rhythm of footfalls and the running washer across our housekeep me awake and safe. I hear the clocks’ ticking in every room. I know thesmell of her neck so well—lift me from the bed, help me with the socks.”Or, as the final poem in the six-part sequence “During the Days After MyOfficial / MS Diagnosis” reads:

I can’t casually discusswhat is coming for me. Our marriage won’t survive you explaining long term careinsurance again. Today, in your group: a cousin in diapers, paralyzed child,incoherent texts from a sister in an assisted living facility, blind mother ofsix. Tonight, I will kiss our sleeping children in their beds. One last kissbefore I turn off the living room light and walk across the house to ourbedroom. I’ll brush my teeth. I’ll undress. I’ll climb into bed.

Blevinsfocuses on the form of the prose poem, including the prose sequence, to holdher accumulative insights; utilizing the form as needed, whether as bluntinstrument, emotional force or as something more fine-tuned and precise, evenliquid. “You ask how I feel.” she writes, further into the opening sequence, “CataloguingPain as Marriage Counseling,” “This is a trap. If I say my body hurts, not inmy skin or fascia but in the spreading of pain along my nerves from my mother tomy daughters. If I say inside me pain learns something new: how to web into thesmall and wet, loiter in the old rooms of diving and blue. You will reply, I’msorry. I’d rather argue.” The poems in Cataloguing Pain areremarkably powerful through their subtlety, and deeply intimate across an arrayof notes, effects and difficulties catalogued alongside all that still remainspossible, whether despite or through, pushing this as a collection that readsas fiercely optimistic, structurally dense and emotionally open. Everything aboutthis book offers it as required reading.

Jenny Molberg, The Court of No Record

 

REDIRECT EXAMINATION BYTHE
ALPHA’S ATTORNEY

The MeToo poem wasshocking, was it not? This was her dogged power of persuasion and not youractions, correct? The accused has written a poem about your treatment of her,has she not? And the poem, though it does not name you, leads people to believeyou are the abuser because the whole world is watching, correct? She takes yourprivate statements wildly out of context in this poem that details her experiencewith “abuse,” does she not? Though you did none of these things, you recognizeyourself in the poem, correct? You are baffled, are you not, to have beenMeToo-ed? This causes you great emotional and professional harm, yes? her poemsexceed the boundary of creative expression, yes? And the other woman, sheaffirmed the false claims of this poet, did she not? She is a liar too, is shenot? And all the other women, liars as well, correct?

Missouri-based poet Jenny Molberg’s third full-length collection, following Marvels of the Invisible (winner of the Berkshire Prize, Tupelo Press, 2017) and Refusal: Poems (Baton Rouge LA: Louisiana State University Press, 2020), is The Court of No Record (Louisiana State University Press, 2023), a collectionof lyrics composed as an exploration of violence, with a focus on gendered domestic/partnerviolence and abuse. Set with opening poem, “MAY THE STARS GUIDE YOU SAFELY HOME,”and three sections of poems—“EXPECTING,” “THE COURT OF NO RECORD” and “WHATLOVE DOES”—Molberg composes a narrative thread of violence and its effectsacross a sequence of first-person lyrics, writing from domestic violence into asecond section entirely focused on and around a court system that often accomplisheslittle beyond re-traumatizing any accuser. “Her thighs— / out of nowhere,” thepoem “EVIDENCE” writes, “purple blossoms surfaced. / Eruptions, as if no onehad / struck her.”

Whilethis is the first collection I’ve seen of Molberg’s, I remember discovering herwork in an issue of Ploughshares back in 2018, struck even then by theno-nonsense swagger of her lyrics, a poem from which I suspect might sit in thiscurrent collection (I’m unable, naturally, to find my copies of the journal toconfirm). The poems in The Court of No Record offers a crash andstagger, a clear through-line and fierce lyric, writing on power and ourfascinations with violence, examining how such fascination might actually bedoing little to diminish either the possibility of violence or its oftendevastating effects. “After I call the cops to ask for a protective order,” shewrites, to open “MAY THE STARS GUIDE YOU SAFELY HOME,” “I read about thegirlfriend of a serial killer. What she knew, // what she didn’t. how it seemswe’re always punished / for asking questions. America is watching a show //about a man who is fascinating. His eyes ice / behind the fog of his glasses.// Such a nice guy. Such a quiet guy. The flooded house. / I don’t careabout him.” She writes of violence, and of desperation. “My neighbor held a gunto his own chest / and with the other hand, his son,” she writes, to open thepoem “SHOOTING AT OAKBROOK APARTMENTS,” “captive for being his son.”

Molbergwrites of power, and it is interesting to be moving through this collection inlight of the recent E. Jean Carroll verdict, held as yet another example of thedifficulty of holding certain individuals to account. In The Court of NoRecord, the notion of power is also one of balance, from white privilege tocycles of abuse to the blatant depictions offered of women as liars and manipulatorsagainst young men too often seen as something wholesome, almost holy. “Perceptionis in / the eye of the beholder.” she writes, in the poem “OUR ATTORNEY’SCLOSING STATEMENT,” “To a hammer, everything looks like a nail. It’s got / tobe anything but the hammer, he thinks. Not me, he thinks.” Molberg’s poems offerwitness, and are forceful, even brutally stark, composed in a manner that providesits own power, through her clear eye and stunning lyric. “The sky isstrangulation blue.” she writes, near the end of the poem “RECESS IN BROKENMIRROR COUNTY.” As the piece ends:

The November air says I belongto the earth and not the court. Guard your heart, a poet friend tellsme. By abiding with those who have not been accompanied by our systems ofjustice, you are on the side of the angels. The newly planted lacebark elmswhisper the court’s atrocities. They push through their concrete dividers. The childof me held by security at the gate.

 

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Anuja Varghese

AnujaVarghese (she/her) is a Pushcart-nominated QWOC writerbased in Hamilton, ON. Her work appears in The Malahat Review, Hobart,The Fiddlehead, and Plenitude Magazine, as well as the BestWomen's Erotica Volume 6 and Queer Little Nightmares anthologies,among others. Anuja serves as Fiction Editor for The Ex-Puritan Magazine ,as well as a board member for gritLIT, Hamilton’s literary festival, andco-host of LIT LIVE, Hamilton’s monthly reading series. Anuja holds a degree inEnglish Literature from McGill University and is currently pursuing a CreativeWriting Certificate from the University of Toronto, while working on a debutnovel. Her short story collection, Chrysalis (House of Anansi Press,2023), explores South Asian diaspora experience through a feminist, speculativelens. She can be found on Instagram, Twitter and TikTok (@anuja_v acrossplatforms), or by visiting her website www.anujavarghese.com. 

1- How did your first book change your life? How does your most recent workcompare to your previous? How does it feel different?

Mymost recent work IS my first book! It feels different from having storiesincluded in literary magazines or anthologies because it’s very recognizable asMY book. It has felt a little life-changing to have the book out in the worldat book stores, festivals, events, etc. and to meet and hear from readers whoare connecting with the stories and characters in different ways.

2- How did you come to fiction first, as opposed to, say, poetry or non-fiction?

Iam in awe of poets and the alchemy of poetry, but it’s not where I hear my ownvoice. I’ve published a few creative non-fiction pieces here and there, but Ifind it really hard and draining – especially if I’m trying to tell the truth(or some version of it) about my own life. Making shit up has always been wherethe creative energy is for me.

3- How long does it take to start any particular writing project? Does yourwriting initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts appearlooking close to their final shape, or does your work come out of copiousnotes?

Mostof my stories start with a very clear moment, or particular voice/character,and flow from there. Sometimes that unfolding of the story in differentdirections comes very quickly and I’ll have a first draft in a few days. Othertimes, I’ll get stuck somewhere along the way and it can take weeks or monthsto figure out where the story wants to go (or if it has anywhere to go at all).I tend to edit as I go, so by the time I have a completed first draft, it’susually pretty close to the final shape of the piece, although it always takesa few subsequent drafts to finetune.

4- Where does a work of fiction usually begin for you? Are you an author ofshort pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working ona "book" from the very beginning?

WhenI first started sending out my work and getting published in literary magazinesand anthologies, I wasn’t thinking about putting them together in a book. Mystories weren’t connected in any way, and some were what you would call“literary fiction” while others were “speculative fiction.” I was very lucky tohave Farzana Doctor as an early mentor and she was the first to look at my workand say, “Maybe there’s a book here?” Once I gave myself permission to collapsethe walls between “literary” and “speculative,” Chrysalis really startedto take shape as an intentionally genre-blending book.

5- Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you thesort of writer who enjoys doing readings?

Ilove it! A lot of my stories have elements of fable and fairy tale in themwhich lend themselves well to being read aloud. For me, the work comes alive ina new way when I get to read it to an audience.

6- Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds ofquestions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think thecurrent questions are?

Moreand more, I’m seeing conventional genre distinctions as outdated and elitist,in terms of both content and form, so I’m interested in exploring questionsaround writing beyond genre constructs and how we can blend or subvert genreexpectations to create new stories and ways of storytelling.

7– What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Dothey even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?

I have an art piece commissionedfrom artist and writer Hana Shafi (@frizzkidart on Instagram) that features thequote “The role of the artist is to make the revolution irresistible.” - Toni Cade Bambara. I believe thestories writers tell, the characters we allow to be heroic in big and smallways, and the possibilities we put on the page for the way the world could be areall part of the role we play in shaping/changing the culture.

8- Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult oressential (or both)?

Ihave been fortunate to work with really excellent editors, both for Chrysalis,and for individual stories that have been published in other places. As thewriter of the work, I’m sometimes too close to it to see it clearly. A goodeditor can look at the piece as a whole and ask the right questions to fill ingaps, clarify ideas, create tension, and cut dead weight.  Overall, I think the editorial process hasbeen essential to strengthening my work.

9- What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to youdirectly)?

Iwas in a workshop with Silvia Moreno-Garcia and she said “Publishing is atreadmill, not an escalator, so you better learn to walk.”

10- How easy has it been for you to move between genres (literary fiction,speculative fiction and erotica/romance)? What do you see as the appeal?

Forme, moving between genres isn’t just easy – it’s necessary. For a while, I wastrying to be very disciplined and only write “Capital-L-Literary” fiction andthe work felt so forced and stilted. Now, I always have a few different writingprojects on the go – whether it’s a short story, a bit of fanfic, a script, orprogress on the novel, and being able to move between genres/projects helps tokeep me in a generative space.

11- What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one?How does a typical day (for you) begin?

Inaddition to my writing practice, I have a full-time job, two kids, and my workas Fiction Editor with the Ex-Puritan Magazine. So… the short answer isthere is no routine. I write very much in the spaces in between the rest of mylife. Sometimes, the best (and quietest) window of writing time for me is12-3am. I do take myself on a few weekend writing retreats a year, where I’llhole up in a hotel room, order room service, and be allowed to get lost in thework in a way that everyday life doesn’t allow.

12- When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack ofa better word) inspiration?

Igo back to books or movies, or sometimes, particular scenes in either, thatevoke emotional or sensory cues that relate in some way to what I’m trying towrite. I also try to write where the energy is – so if I’m stalled on onewriting project, I’ll move to something else, and often one will inspire newdirections in the other.

13- What fragrance reminds you of home?

Jasmine.My mum always has jasmine plants growing in her kitchen. It’s also a scent Iassociate with Kerala, where my dad is from. It’s not my home, but it was his, andthere are memories of heat and food and dust and family tied up in that.

14- David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there anyother forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visualart?

Musicis a powerful influencer for me and I tend to have very specific playlists dependingon what I’m working on. My current WIP is historical fiction/fantasy/romance(love that genre blending!) based on medieval India and the music that has beenthe background of this work is a mix of Carnatic music, arrangements for kathak(a form of Indian classical dance), and soundtracks.

15- What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply yourlife outside of your work?

Ursula K. Le Guin’s writing has been hugely important and influential for my own work,and her approach to infusing her writing and her life with feminism,imagination, empathy, humor, and balance speaks to the values I try to beguided by, in terms of my creative work, my work as a partner and a parent, andmy work as a member of my local and literary communities. As a short storywriter first, I also consistently go back to masters of the craft like Alice Munro and Jhumpa Lahiri. Every time I read their work, I come away withsomething new, which in turn inspires and sharpens my own writing.

16- What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?

Writea novel that inspires a slew of (preferably smutty) fanfic, voice a video gamecharacter, adapt something I’ve written for the screen, sleep under the starsin the Sahara.

17- If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or,alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been awriter?

Mymother still holds out hope, I think, that I may one day be a lawyer and Ithink I might have ended up doing that if I hadn’t been lured into a life ofcreative pursuits.

18- What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?

Idon’t know how to do anything else!

19- What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?

Ijust finished Lindsay Wong’s new short story collection Tell Me Pleasant Things about Immortality and it’s fabulous – so weird and funny and sharp. Ithink the last film that really moved me was Everything Everywhere All at Once. Again – super weird in so many ways, but also weaves together allthese beautiful threads about family and survival and hope amidst chaos. Plus,Michelle Yeoh is just a fucking treasure and I would watch her in anything.

20- What are you currently working on?

A novel thatwill hopefully inspire a slew of (preferablysmutty) fanfic!

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

Arc: A magazine of poetry and poetry criticism #1 (spring 1978)

My short write-up on the first issue of Arc: A magazine of poetry and poetry criticism (spring 1978) is now online at the Arc Poetry Magazine website, as part of the celebrations around Arc Poetry Magazine #100!