12 or 20 (second series) questions with Amanda Merpaw
Amanda Merpaw
(she/her) is the author of
Most of Allthe Wanting
(2024) and
Put the Ghosts Down Between Us
(2021). Her poetry, playwriting, and nonfiction haveappeared in Arc Poetry Magazine, carteblanche, CV2, Grain, Prairie Fire, Plenitude, with Playwrights CanadaPress, and elsewhere. Amanda was a finalist for Arc Poetry Magazine’s2022 Poem of the Year Contest. She is currently a contributing editor at
ArcPoetry Magazine
and a member of the editorial board at Anstruther Press.
1 -How did your first book or chapbook change your life? How does your most recentwork compare to your previous? How does it feel different?
Inthe years before I published my first chapbook, Put the Ghosts Down Between Us, I was feeling especially insecureabout my writing. Finishing the chapbook helped me realize that I was capableof doing the work that I wanted to do. I felt more grounded in my work, and Istarted to trust myself more. Working on my debut collection, Most of All the Wanting, was anamplification of that, a real internal validation of myself for myself,regardless of what happens next with its readership or reception.
2 -How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?
As akid, I was drawn to fiction first. My earliest memory of writing is a series ofshort stories about a superhero who was pretty obviously just an extension ofme. As a teenager, I started to read more poetry, and that’s when I startedwriting poems pretty obsessively. Poems were more aligned with how I processedthe world and language—I felt more myself in the writing of poems and in thealchemy of reading them. I’ve only recently returned to writing fiction, aftera long time believing that it wasn’t “for me” anymore (whatever that means!),and it’s been fun to play in that world again. I also write nonfiction andplays, but I don’t have the executive functioning (or the time!) to be workingin all of these forms at once, so these are not currently as central to mypractice. I’m sure I’ll reconnect with them when they’re the right form for astory or question I want to explore.
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?
I’m a slow writer. Sometimes a first draft will arrive quickly and then sit inmy notebook for weeks or months or longer. My mind moves slowly through thosedrafts, and while a poem’s final shape is sometimes similar to its first draft,I only arrive at knowing that something is done by spending a long timeconsidering the words, the lines, the turns, the breath, the form. I type up mydraft, play around with those things, and often have many variations of a poemliving in one document. Often many notes, too—my own questions and potentialedits, research about relevant topics, thoughts on including arts and culturereferences, etc. Larger writing projects sometimes feel clear to me early on,especially if I have particular themes or preoccupations in mind—that’s how itfelt with Most of All the Wanting. Andsometimes the larger projects aren’t apparent to me until I’ve done morewriting and can consider how all the writing might exist in relation.Regardless of what I’m working on, part of my slowness also comes from managingsome chronic health issues and the impact of my anxiety on my writing/thinkingprocess. Producing work quickly and frequently isn’t possible for me, and Idon’t aspire for it to be.
4 -Where does a poem usually begin for you? Are you an author of short pieces thatend up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a"book" from the very beginning?
Mypoems begin all over the place: a line that I can’t stop turning over, an image(real or imagined) that persists, overheard dialogue, a moment of connectionwith art, a question I can’t easily answer. With Most of All the Wanting, I was working on a book from thebeginning, and I knew that I wanted to explore my relationship to a specificset of experiences: my divorce, dating in Toronto as a bisexual woman, findingmy way to a relationship again. I knew I wanted the book to go there becausethe work I did in my chapbook helped me to figure that out. I’m working onpoems for my second collection now, and I don’t have a sense of any central“aboutness” or connectedness quite yet, if it ever arrives. I have some ongoingpreoccupations and questions, and I’m just writing towards those in eachindividual poem until I see how they come together.
5 -Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you thesort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
Ireally enjoy reading my work aloud. I read it aloud to myself constantly whilewriting—it’s a central part of my process in achieving rhythm, musicality, andfinding the right words. So it’s a joy when I finally get to read them toothers, when I get to consider how poems might come together to build a sort ofset list and an experience for the audience. I desperately do not want readingsto be boring, so I think a lot about anecdotes to share alongside the poems—theevents within them, my relationship to them. I think about how I can make theaudience laugh. Making the audience laugh between poems or during apoem—reminding them poetry doesn’t have to take itself so seriously all thetime—is sometimes the best part.
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?
Inthis collection, I’m working through questions about intimacy and how we existin relation to one another and ourselves. How do we make and remake ourselvesin our relationships (and in their endings)? How do our relationships impactour experiences of time? What is relational grief? How do I experience myqueerness in private and in public space, with and without others? How does myqueerness shape my desires, how do my desires shape my queerness? I’m alsointerested in questions of the conversational and of dialogue, how voice andform and content meet, and how they can make space for, represent, or makestrange how we speak to one another and how we speak to ourselves.
Assomeone with lived experiences of disability and madness, I’m always thinkingabout how I can use language and form to communicate that, too—what it is liketo have a disabled body, a doubting and anxious mind. These concerns are morepresent in the poems I’m working on now, towards a second collection.
7 –What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Do theyeven have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?
Lately,I've been thinking a lot about James Baldwin, who said “a writer is bydefinition a disturber of the peace…he has to make you ask yourself, make yourealize that you are always asking yourself, questions that you don’t know howto face.” Be they questions about ourselves, our close intimate relationships,our relationship to the world and the systems that we maintain or that we workto dismantle—the questions and their disruptions are central to myunderstanding of what writers do. I do not see writing as apolitical, even whenI’m writing a poem about love. Even when I’m focused on aesthetics. Isn’t lovepolitical? And its absence? What about aesthetics? Audre Lorde told us thatpoetry is not a luxury, it is “a vital necessity of our existence”—a place forour feelings, our dreams, our hopes to survive and to change, “first made intolanguage, then into idea, then into more tangible thought.” Naming somethinghelps us imagine the possibilities of that thing in the world.
Ibelieve, too, that writers are historians—our work creates a robust archive ofour questions, emotions, experiences, and of the emotional, cultural,relational, political, linguistic, etc., experiences of our times.
8 -Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult oressential (or both)?
I’vehad the opportunity to work with Jim Johnstone on both my chapbook andfull-length collection, and it’s been essential. I can get caught in a lot ofdoubt—these spirals of overthinking in the editing phase. I get stuck for areally long time on a question of a single line break or word choice. That’swhen I know I’m too far into a conversation with myself about my work and am inneed of an outside perspective. Jim is a perceptive and thoughtful editor, andgenerous with his energy and time. I always appreciate his suggestions. Evenwhen we’re making difficult choices—cutting entire poems from the collection,changing language I’ve become attached to—I know it’s bettering the work, theproject, for us to consider these choices, and for me to figure out myrelationship to them. Jim gets my intentions, my voice, my aspirations for theprojects, which builds a lot of trust. And the process also helps me be lessprecious about holding on to anything too tight, becoming too deeply embeddedin my own stuff.
9 -What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to youdirectly)?
Oneof the best pieces of advice about writing I’ve heard recently is from Kirby,in a fantastic workshop they ran earlier this year based on their book, Poetry Is Queer. I mean, the wholecollection feels like you’re being wrapped up in good advice about living andwriting and finding joy as a queer person. Something I’ve carried from thatworkshop is Kirby’s reminder to arrive at the page considering the poem wedon’t know how to write yet. To practice the non-habitual. What kind of writingdoes that lead to?
10 -How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to theatreproductions)? What do you see as the appeal?
Ilove moving between poetry and theatre—they ask different things of me, and Iappreciate that. I like that theatre begins from a place of imagining theliveness of the experience, the energy exchange between performers andaudience. You’re creating something that feels both intimate and shared,public. Something that requires extensive collaboration with many artists andtechnicians performing, directing, costuming, lighting, designing, etc. Youhave tools beyond language at your disposal! So many perspectives beyond yourown! Sometimes that feels like a relief. When producing theatre, I like thatthe project management/event coordination aspects are organized andconcrete—it’s so satisfying. And I really love that poetry isn’t satisfying inthat way. It’s more nebulous and quiet and interior. I like imagining asingular reader having a private experience with the work. I like the relief ofsitting with a single stanza or poem for as long as I want, and that nobody(hopefully) is counting on me to finish it so they can also do their jobs. I’mgrateful to be alone when I’m working, and that the tool at my disposal islanguage (or the absence of language, the space of silence)—that’s probablywhere I feel most at home as an artist.
11 -What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? Howdoes a typical day (for you) begin?
Itreally depends on my health and associated energy and focus levels. I gothrough periods where I’m able to wake up and write for an hour or two beforemoving on to my full-time job, and other periods where that’s impossible.During the latter periods, I focus on jotting down ideas when I can, reading asmuch as I can, and editing existing material rather than generating new drafts.I’ve been lucky to take part in really wonderful online writing workshops overthe last few years, and I try to participate in those regularly so that I haveongoing writing dates with myself where I’m engaged with craft and activelydrafting. I sometimes go long periods without touching my notebook or laptop,periods when the work is the living and observing and thinking and feeling. Therest and the taking care. I try to give myself grace. Regardless of myrelationship to writing at any given time, I always start my day by walking mydog and then eating some breakfast.
12 -When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of abetter word) inspiration?
IfI’m feeling stalled with my writing, it means I need to take a break to doliterally anything else. I go for a walk or put on a record or watch some goodor very, very bad TV. Reading helps a lot—sometimes something new, or returningto an old favourite. Like, oh yeah,that’s how Sharon Olds opens a poem. Good to know. If I still can’t getunstuck, I skip over what’s not working and just keep writing beyond it, orinto another piece entirely, and I make a note to come back later.
13 -What was your last Hallowe'en costume?
WednesdayAddams. I was a middle school teacher for a long time, so I have Halloweenedfar too close to the sun. Wednesday is a great sustainable/repeat costumebecause it’s just a cute dress with some Mary Janes that otherwise live in mycloset anyway. Add some braids and you’re giving macabre girl energy.
14 -David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any otherforms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?
Thiscollection is definitely attuned to and in conversation with nature—weatherpatterns, the climate crisis, landscapes, non-human animals, etc., they’re allthere throughout, they’re on my mind all the time. As someone who grew up in amusical home, music has a deep impact on my sense of rhythm, movement, wordchoice, sound, etc., in a poem. There are musical references throughout thecollection. Film, TV, and theatre influence my work too, the content and thelanguage of it, especially where narrative or dialogue or the epistolary comesin. I’m also currently working on a series of ekphrastic poems for my secondcollection in response to visual art by and about women, specificallyportraiture.
15 -What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your lifeoutside of your work?
Inaddition to the writers I named in previous answers, I’ll add: Hanif Abdurraqib, Nicole Brossard, Sophie Calle, Emily Dickinson, Mark Fisher, Louise Glück, Donna Haraway, bell hooks, June Jordan, Ada Limón, Gwendolyn MacEwen,Lee Maracle, Wajdi Mouawad, Frank O’Hara, Sharon Olds, Erin Shields, Mark Strand, Virginia Woolf, Kate Zambreno.
16 -What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
I’dlike to write for TV. Something funny, like BaronessVon Sketch. I’d like to travel the country by train in all directions—akind of writing residency, maybe.
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?
I spent nearly a decade working as a classroom teacher, and I still work ineducation now, outside of a school setting. I could see myself being atherapist too. Maybe that’s cliché and all the millennial queers see themselvesas potentially good therapists.
18 -What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
Ever since I had the realization as a kid that people wrote the books I wasreading and maybe I could be a person who writes books too, I’ve been writing.I’m sure it had something to do with being a sensitive, anxious, highlycommunicative kid who was always taking shelter in books or talking to myselfor writing in diaries, etc. I just can’t imagine not doing it.
19 -What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
Earlierthis year, I devoured Olga Ravn’s My Work(trans. Jennifer Russell and Sophia Hersi Smith). I recently watched andloved The Holdovers. These days Iwatch more TV, though—I just binged KillingEve, which finally became available to stream. Sandra Oh and Jodie Comer? Adream!
20 -What are you currently working on?
I’mworking on poems towards a second collection. And I’m slowly working on myfirst novel.
