As long as we’re in lingering in professional dystopia, it seems appropriate to consider once again that yearly pilgrimage to AWP, wherein we shall tender our scrip. When you think about it, the world of poetry could arguably be compared to one big company store. All profit, effort, and professional reciprocity sort of stay within the compound, as it were. It’s a profoundly closed system.
[This might not seem so surprising when viewed in the light of a line from David Bosworth’s “The Cult of the Adolescent”: “Imagine the consequences for a readership bequeathed a generation of authors who believe that ‘language only refers to itself...’”]
Of course, unlike past corporate megaliths, aside from a tiny trickle, our product doesn’t actually flow into the outside world. Oh, and we don’t get machine-gunned in the dead of night. So that’s a plus.
[In case there’s any doubt, this is not meant to be a serious metaphor, as even teaching 5/5 at East Jesus State College--while potentially wildly incompatible with a happy and carefree writing life and the performance of extracurricular higher cognitive functions--is clearly not on par with Third World suffering and Banana Republic atrocities.]
The latest dustup about the legitimacy/relevance/absurdity of AWP makes for amusing reading. Does anyone really believe that the conference is the Death Star of creative writing? Of course, there seems to be (understandably) a lot of bad feeling around it due to recent events. [Upon hearing that the conference was sold out, I entertained myself by trying to follow the metaphor through to the end. It’s not like there are only 5,000 poetry widgets, or widget booths. The notion of an author’s content “running out” is kind of a neat idea.]
I find myself neither a partisan nor an advocate, but as one who goes and finds writers behaving exactly like other conventioneers (though without the red fezzes or tiny cars): getting drunk, hooking up, schmoozing out of habit, reflex, or sheer performativity, but mostly talking shop. Despite the sentiment above, an excuse to talk shop for three solid days without the overt sense of violating social norms of conversation is pretty cool, even if by the end I begin to wish I was an accountant.
[Though the ability of the creative writing subculture to comment on itself is perhaps unsurpassed by other subcultures, unless you make the leap to cults (who tend to somewhat uncritical.) I suppose this is a form of honesty.]
And there’s all sorts of accidental bonuses, such the time I went to see one of my favorite authors on a panel. As another panelist was holding forth, said author slowly lowered her head until she was face down on the table. I couldn’t tell if it was despair, exhaustion, or reverie, but I enjoyed the gesture nonetheless.
January 30, 2008
“It’s fully operational...”
January 27, 2008
Some girls' presses are smaller than other girls' presses
We've given a fair 'mount of attention lately to the small press. If you want more, yet more, check out this Washington City Paper profile of some small presses in the DC area, incl. Big Game Books, No Tell Books, and Vrzhu Press. The editors talk about their reasons for starting a press (generally, to publish work they love that isn't getting published) and how they pick their manuscripts. Big Game editor Maureen Thorson, e.g., is a sucker for robots.
Even better reading: Joe Massey's recent rantifesto on the stupidity of publishing via contests vs. small presses or self-publishing. He'd like to believe that "poets are people who walk their own road, do their own thing, instead of herding along the same old boring path of what's considered official and legitimate." I.e., check yo'selves, establishment sheep.
And thirdly, AWP is this week! And pshares will be representing with a table at the bookfair. Do stop by and say hullo.
January 24, 2008
If You Want Something Burned......
You better do it yourself. The decision whether to destroy Nabokov’s final manuscript, The Original of Laura, has now fallen on the shoulders of his son, Dmitri—who’s apparently conflicted between honoring his father’s request that the manuscript be torched and the hunger of the literary world to see the final writings of one of the greatest literary minds ever.
Slate has a good piece on this controversy, pointing out that “Dmitri's predicament goes beyond Laura. It's one that raises the difficult issue of who ‘owns’ a work of art, particularly an unfinished work of art by a dead author who did not want anything but his finished work to become public. Who controls its fate? The dead hand from the grave? Or the eager, perhaps overeager, readers, scholars, and biographers who want to get their hands on it no matter what state it's in?” This reminds me a little of the Carver situation—not so much the questions of motivation and all that, but the issue of artistic ownership. I don’t think Nabokov’s work should be made public against his wishes, but a part of me feels like it would be a shame for the manuscript to be destroyed, which is a kind of slippery distinction in itself, like is it okay to violate someone’s final wishes for their work just a little bit?
January 22, 2008
Quickie Interview #31: Andrew Kozma
Andrew Kozma received his M.F.A. from the University of Florida and his Ph.D. in English Literature and Creative Writing from the University of Houston. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Lilies and Cannonballs Review, Iron Horse Literary Review, Agni Online, and a non-fiction piece will soon be published by The Iowa Review. His first book of poems, City of Regret, won the Zone 3 First Book Award and was released in September of 2007. Find out more (or less) here.
Congrats on the recent publication of City of Regret with Zone 3 Press! You won their first book competition, correct, and it was also the first time they’d run this contest—how did you decide to take a chance on such a brand new publisher?
First, I have to note that I’m technically a co-winner, the other being Leigh Anne Couch, with her wonderful book Houses Fly Away. There was only supposed to be one winner, but the judge, Richard Jackson, liked both of our manuscripts so much that he recommended they publish both; luckily, for Leigh Anne and me, Zone 3 Press agreed with him.
But, you’re right, choosing to publish my first book with an unknown publisher (of books. Zone 3 Press has been publishing a magazine for years) and an untested contest was a big decision. It actually took me several days to come to a decision, but the advice of friends helped, and so did talking with the editors. It helped ease my mind that I knew people who knew one of the editors (Blas Falconer) and had only good things to say about him.
What it came down to:
A) An established contest and book publisher has a reputation, and that carries you far. However, as a writer, you don’t exist much as an individual anymore, you are simply one in a chain. If you’re lucky, you get some choice in book layout and design, or support in marketing, but, as with New Issues, your own design choices may be trumped by the book design of the series as a whole.
B) An untried book publisher and contest means that you’re intricately tied with the publisher… your success has a large impact on whether or not people at large will take the contest seriously. This also has to do with the book quality as well, and Zone 3 was gracious enough to give Leigh Anne and me a lot of input into how the books looked. In addition, they provided a lot of author copies, sent off a large number of review copies, have set up readings, have called bookstores to place our books there, and are very supportive in our own promotional efforts.
The whole effort is still young, but this publishing experience has been all I hoped for. Sure, I didn’t win the Yale Younger, but in a way it’s better, in that Leigh Anne and I get to start something new and (I don’t know why this feels like a bonus) it’s partly on our heads whether we flail or fly.
You are living in Poland now? Why? And how, if at all, does living there influence your writing?
Well, living is the correct term, if it gives the wrong impression. I came to Poland for two months, to write and do research for writing, and I might end up back here for the summer or for a year, depending on how job searches in the U.S. go.
As to Why Poland? I’m not sure I have the answer yet, though countless people, both Poles and otherwise, have asked me. The easiest explanation is that my “in” to the country was easy, established through Adam Zagajewski, a Polish poet and my professor at the University of Houston. Through him, Edward Hirsch, and the university, a fellowship was established that allowed ten graduate student poets to go to Kraków for a poetry conference every other year or so. While in Kraków, I fell in love with the city, and have returned twice—the current span being my second.
One influence on my writing is pretty direct, in that my current project is involved with government oppression, with one of the touchstones being the government of the U.S.S.R. Poland, and Poles, obviously experienced that first hand. The other influence is simply the time to focus on writing to the exclusion of all else, something that I’ve not been able to do in Houston for the last two-and-a-half years with finishing my doctorate and preparing for the book’s release.
What’s with all these writers and publishers and journals having MySpace and Facebook pages these days? Do you have one? How’s that working out for you?
Cheeseburger. By which I mean I think it’s an advertising tool. I had a website built for that purpose so that I could be cool, like Neil Gaiman, but I don’t think it’s working. Maybe you have to be popular first?
Yes, I have a Facebook page (but I tend to try and add only real friends, only people I know directly), and I used to have a MySpace page until they turned all corporate shill on us. MySpace was always less impressive, anyway, because it never really kept you up-to-date with friends, it was simply an advertisement for yourself. Facebook, even if I don’t do anything myself, provides a distant lens to the lives of those I care for. And it’s working out for me fine, thankyouverymuchforasking.
Now that your first poetry collection is out and about, what’s next for you in terms of writing projects? You also write plays and stories, right? How does working in multiple genres affect your poetry, or does it?
The book of poems about repression and resistance is the most immediate writing project, but poem manuscripts often weave themselves around other projects. Namely, these other projects: finishing a play I’ve been working on for seven years, writing science-fiction stories, and finishing a novel I’m co-writing with my friend Jason Myers.
As for the second and third parts of the question:
Answer 1: I get bored easily. In terms of repeating myself as a writer, not as a person living in the world. I could stare at the fireplace all day and watch the play of reds as the logs turn to coal, but in writing I can quickly become bored, so I try and challenge myself. This is probably why I’m attracted to form in all genres.
Answer 2: I realize I haven’t quite addressed your question: I definitely believe that writing in multiple genres affects my poetry, just as writing poetry affects my fiction and my plays. As to how, I don’t rightly know. I know that ideas I have often are for a particular genre, not simply something that could be a play or a story; each genre provides a different challenge and a different form of expression for me. I suppose one of the results of working in different genres is that it frees me from trying to shoehorn all the qualities of them into one: for example, I don’t need dialogue in a story or a poem, I don’t need plot in a poem, I don’t need images in a play—each genre becomes more and more itself. But that’s not true, really, as my stories are infested with imagery, my plays are noticeably poetic, and the poems… well, I have been trying to work back into narrative, just to prove to myself I still can, though that’s been failing.
Answer 3: Apparently, working in all genres has resulted in my being incoherent in everything, e.g. the above.
You earned your M.F.A at the University of Florida and your Ph.D. at University of Houston—what made you decide to go ahead and get both?
Ah, an easy question: It was to have time to write.
The reason I went into both my M.F.A. and my Ph.D. programs was because its pretty much the only place where you are paid to do what you want, where the demands on your time are all subservient to the writing—and your employers agree!
Granted, I learned an amazing amount through both my degrees, and my writing wouldn’t be the same without those experiences, but all that learning was a surprise to me, since I didn’t expect to learn anything from the schools themselves.
Also, note that my venturing to Houston was against the advice of my thesis director, William Logan, since he warned that most people going on lose themselves in the work and leave the writing behind. Luckily, that was never the case for me… even during exams I managed to strip poems from my mind.
First Car?
My first car was a blue Ford sedan (boxy) that I destroyed in 1994 in desperation to get back to my home from my magnet school in order to take part in a soccer game. The oil light went on, but I ignored it, and so fused the engine. Luckily (not for the car), I stranded myself near the intermediate school where I could ride a bus with the JV team.
My first real car, that I bought and owned, was Charlotte. She was a Saturn stationwagon, blue, and hardworking. Named after a character in Making Fiends, she was nice, but a bit clueless. I bought her after about a week of searching in Gainesville since I was told I needed a car in Houston, and I had to convey all my stuff there. She was a stickshift, and I didn’t know how to drive manual at the time, but enjoyed, nonetheless, a straightforward drive to my new home with only a few stalls. Sadly, she’s retired.
What was your favorite book and band in high school?
Ack, so long ago. Is a favorite book one that you read over and over again (which I’ve never done, with consistency. Closest comes with those books I teach because I love) or just the one that doesn’t leave you alone, keeps nagging you, tapping on your shoulder? I’ll say that I first read James Morrow in high school, even though it may only have been my first two years of college, and claim This is the Way the World Ends as the favorite book. It’s science fiction in a magic realist vein.
My favorite band in high school would be Depeche Mode, though that was a strange evolution from my basis in heavy metal (Metallica, Anthrax, Iron Maiden, and Megadeth).
Which crowd did you hang out with in high school?
The gamers. I played AD&D and Warhammer (the miniatures-based wargame, not the role-playing game; for me the latter was all Dungeons & Dragons, with some Toon, and a little Marvel Super-Heroes thrown in) throughout intermediate and high school. Hell, I’d play them now if I knew enough people and could sacrifice the time to make the experience worth it. Anyway, some of those friends became popular, so I was somewhat accepted into the larger popular group of kids as I reached senior year, but I was mostly a nerdesque outsider.
First job?
Working as a reshelver in the York County Library. It didn’t last all that long… maybe a year or so. It wasn’t that boring, since I would often pause to read the backs of books and scout out what I next wanted to read.
Car now?
Nada surf. I’m walking and biking it.
Favorite book now?
The Gulag Arcihpelago by Aleksandr I. Solzhenitsyn. There are other books that are favorites for different reasons, but I’m in the midst of reading all 1600 or so pages of his non-fiction epic and it’s hard not to be moved again and again.
What's new on your iPod or CD player?
Newest is Regina Spektor’s Begin to Hope and Daft Punk’s Discovery. I bought the former after hearing a song on the radio and then YouTubing her videos. I’m in love.
Daft Punk’s Discovery was a result of their animated movie Interstella 5555, which is great, grand, fun, and beautiful. The story: An alien musical group gets kidnapped by an evil American, and they have to find their way back home. You can watch the entire thing on YouTube, but I recommend buying the movie… it’s cheap, and the quality is much better.
What's the best DVD you've rented of late?
John Carpenter’s In the Mouth of Madness. This “of late” is circa late November because of Polandus Interruptus. I love John Carpenter, even when he makes crappy films (see Ghosts of Mars… um, well, don’t see Ghosts of Mars), and this movie I like a lot. It’s the best translation of H. P. Lovecraft to film I’ve found, even though (or because) it’s not based on a Lovecraft work.
Anything coming out soon?
I’ve an essay (my first non-fiction piece in print) coming out in the The Iowa Review and poems springing forth from Agni Online, Iron Horse Literary Review, and Lilies and Cannonballs Review. Also, I’ll have a review on Rattle’s online section soon.
What are you reading that's fun?
Soon I’ll be reading a collection of two of Tom Stoppard’s short teleplays, Every Good Boy Deserves Favor and Professional Foul. I love Stoppard. He and Christopher Durang and Eugene Ionesco are my main dramatic influences. I’ve just read Campus Sexpot by David Carkeet, which was a quick read and quite entertaining. Poetry-wise, I’m working my way through James Merrill’s collected works, a mammoth book.
What's your favorite a) writing exercise, and b) physical exercise?
a) If you want to consider it a writing exercise, since it’s pretty much my main method of writing, it’s this: take a quote that triggers some emotional response and write a poem based off it. I’m using based in a debased manner, or in a broader sense, since the resulting poem often has little to do with the inspiration—at least that’s what people in workshops have often said in way of critique (following the helpful comment, Why don’t you drop the epigraph?).
b) Soccer.
What's your favorite piece of clothing?
T-shirts. Specifically ones designed by John McAllister at Scary Go Round, his webcomic, which is also quite good.
What are some of your guilty pleasures?
Some of them: Webcomics, reading the Onion AV Club every week, playing video games, postponing writing, and Blue Öyster Cult.
Favorite recipe (please be specific, like so we can cook it if we want)?
Cajun Gumbo, via my mother
1 cup flour
½ cup oil
8 to 9 cups of water
2 lbs. meat (I usually use chicken, or a mix of chicken and sausage, but sausage alone will do, andouille in particular)
1 green bell pepper
1 large red onion
1 large yellow onion
1 1b. sliced okra
1 can of diced tomatoes
1 bunch of green onions
5 or 6 garlic cloves, diced
(also, I’ve recently been adding about a cup or two of sliced carrots, but that’s out of the normal range of things)
Brown meat with diced pepper and onions. Put all, including juices, into bowl.
In same pot (it’s gotta be big) create your roux. You do this through burning the flour in oil. Yes, burning. It’s a slow process, and best done in the presence of somebody who has experience making roux. My mom now does this part in the microwave, because it’s way faster, but since I enjoy the process of cooking I do it slowly on the stove. The longer it takes to brown the roux, the better. It infuses love (or frustration, or simply your sweat) into the roux. So, directions: put the flour in the pan. Pour the oil over the flour. Turn heat on the burner to high and mix the flour and oil with a wooden spoon or scraper. You need to stir/scrap constantly, as the mixture burns on the bottom in a thin layer, and you want to mix that in with the rest. This is what makes the roux brown. The darker the roux, the better, but it should never be an uncontrolled burn. After it’s dark enough, and the smell is right (something like burning), you turn off the heat and mix in the water, one cup at a time, stirring continually.
After all the water is in, turn on the heat and bring it to a boil. Usually, I get impatient and once the water seems somewhat hot I put in the meat/onions/pepper. Add tomatoes and okra. Dice garlic and add. Dice carrots and add.
After the gumbo gets to boiling, put it on the lowest setting you can (I have a gas stove, so I’m often watching the flame to make sure it doesn’t flicker out). You want the gumbo to be just below roiling. Then…
You wait. It takes about an hour and half to cook, though if you can wait longer, that’s better. A half-hour before you’re ready to serve, cut the green onions and throw them in. Also, if you’re cooking seafood (I suggest just shrimp), you should put that in a half-hour before serving as well. This makes about 12-14 servings.
NOTE 1 (which wouldn’t be necessary to tell someone from Louisiana. Which I’m not, but my mom is, so there) is the rice: You should have freshly steamed rice to serve with the gumbo. The rice is put into the bowl first, then you ladle two, um, ladlefuls of gumbo onto the rice. Mix, add Cajun seasoning, and you’re off.
NOTE 2: I generally add a lot of Cajun seasoning to the gumbo as I’m cooking it so that adding more when serving is generally unnecessary.
What’s on your desk?
Currently, since I’m in Poland: My laptop, various poetry and fiction books in Polish, a few books in English, various video games (the Polish versions), a Polish-English dictionary and it’s counterpart, a 1.5 liter bottle of water, once-a-day vitamins, my new digital camera, my cell phone (for Poland only), an unrevised essay on three rides at Disneyworld (circa 2001), the unfilled legal notepad containing the second act of Waiting for Engines, and Eric Basso’s Catalfalques that I’m supposed to review for Rattle (since they sent me the book for free; I’m in the midst of reviewing his book The Catwalk Watch).
Stones or Beatles?
Beatles. Unless you’re talking about The Stone Roses, in which case that song, that I can’t remember right now cause I’m away from the internet, trumps everything for nostalgia value. You know that song. The one with the words, and the beat? Right?
Actually, according to Mr. Internet, I was thinking of The Smithereen’s “Blood and Roses”, so there you go.
So sometimes we ask: Fitzgerald or Hemingway. Feel free to answer that too, but I’d also like to know: Ashbery or O’Hara?
This reminds me of graduate school, where I felt that everyone was much better read than me (and since I’m still surrounded by grad students, that feeling continues).
I’ll say Fitzgerald, though I’ve only read the novel everyone has, The Great Gatsby. I’ve read more Hemingway, and I greatly respect his concision, but I think Fitzgerald has a greater hold on the heart of the reader.
And here my ignorance is laid bare: Ashbery who? Okay, that’s not true, I know who Ashbery is, but have read so little of him it might as well be nothing. So, O’Hara it is. Logan would probably call both of them Minor Poets, with the idea that a Minor Poet is one who is uncopyable, who can’t generate a real school of followers. But, to actually answer the question, O’Hara calls to me more because of his ability to take the mundane and make it affecting, to transmute lived experience into poetry.
Porn name (first pet's name + first street you lived on)?
Gray Old Dominion. Not too shabby, eh? Or, if you want to use the name we ended up using for her, since my friend and roommate, at the time, refused to call her Gray (since she was a gray cat. But, really, I wanted to call her Gray because my first inclination was Gandalf, and his moniker was always Gandalf the Gray. There you go. Satisfied?), so we ended up with, after weeks of not coming up with another name, Incognito. Until we found out she was a she.
Incognita Old Dominion!
January 20, 2008
The New Sincerity: Not the same as the old boss.
Over at Jacket, Jason Morris discusses some of my favorite contemporary poets. Joe Massey, one of them, weighs in. Here's a nugget of the article:
A lot of the best poetry in which there seems to be a drive toward a kind of sincerity also seems intelligently aware it is always already arriving too late. It is a kind of sincerity putting on its hat as it runs out the door: an “impotential” sincerity — a sincerity cognizant of its own “teleological ineffectiveness” — a modal sincerity — a sincerity “too late” to have effected (itself). Like a deer in the headlights, it stands dumbstruck at the onrush of these threats, even while casting an honest glance into the rearview mirror, looking back to see whether or not the inevitable crash has already occurred.
January 16, 2008
IQ’s Icky Thump
Malcom Gladwell cites the following as an example of just how fusty old Western cartesianists blunder on in search of the data most pleasing to their ears:
“The psychologist Michael Cole and some colleagues once gave members of the Kpelle tribe, in Liberia, a version of the WISC similarities test: they took a basket of food, tools, containers, and clothing and asked the tribesmen to sort them into appropriate categories. To the frustration of the researchers, the Kpelle chose functional pairings. They put a potato and a knife together because a knife is used to cut a potato. “A wise man could only do such-and-such,” they explained. Finally, the researchers asked, “How would a fool do it?” The tribesmen immediately re-sorted the items into the “right” categories. It can be argued that taxonomical categories are a developmental improvement—that is, that the Kpelle would be more likely to advance, technologically and scientifically, if they started to see the world that way.”
It strikes me how much a poem is an experiment in taxonomy. The way a poem eats an object, subsuming it into a lyric (or pickling it in irony) seems quite similar to the pairings of the Kpelle. What is wisteria for? Miscarriages. Dusk is for alcohol, and ammonia for fever dreams. The nouns that you bring together in a poem reveal your sense of “rightness,” and how psychic necessity solves the world in a synaptic flash.
January 14, 2008
My 4 y.o. does better with stickers
OMG, y'all, some people take scrapbooking really. seriously. Take it from Kristina Contes -- she was "like the Lindsay Lohan of scrapbooking" until it all came crashing down like so much papier-mâché. Named to the scrapbooking Hall of Fame by, I guess, some scrapbooking outfit, her title was revoked when the public discovered she'd (unintentionally(?)) broken one of the sacred tenets of scrapbooking -- TOTAL originality -- by using a friend's photograph as part of her collage arts. This came out after she called the outfit herself to try to get her friend a photo credit. Then? Scandaltown, U.S.A.! People called it "Hall of Fame-Gate," they compared her to Martha Stewart and Barry Bonds. 'Cause she totally cheapened the sanctity of the laminated page! NOT okay.
January 11, 2008
His hope is so....audacious.
We have two best-selling authors who are front-runners for the Democratic presidential nomination, but of those two, Barack Obama might be a front-runner because he’s a best selling author. The success of his two books, Dreams from My Father and The Audacity of Hope were two of the earliest and most concrete signs indicating his prospects as a presidential hopeful.
Cokie Roberts pointed out on NPR’s morning edition on January 7th, 2008 (the day before the Barackstar got narrowly defeated by Hillary in New Hampshire) that one of the reasons Obama is so attractive as a candidate (besides the above photo--zing!) is because he is reminding voters that words have meaning and power, and that they can be backed by action. So in some sense, now we have a writer running for president in a way not seen since Kennedy , or maybe even Lincoln.
What is appealing about the idea of a writer as president? Is it nostalgia for the days when things were simpler—when candidates wrote their own speeches (and the speeches were good? Or is there a larger point to be made here about the president’s role as the national story-teller—the person who spins a narrative that allows us to understand ourselves as ourselves? Like we are tired of the lying, damaging stories W has spun about Americans and now we want to hear the story (that Bill Clinton has implied may actually be a “fairytale”) about how we are kind and smart and full of hope and the capacity for good and noble things?
Do you have a crush on Obama? Is that why?
January 9, 2008
Quickie Interview # 30: Felicia Sullivan
Felicia Sullivan lives in New York City and holds an MFA from Columbia University. A two-time Pushcart Prize nominee, her work has been published in Swink, Post Road, Mississippi Review, Redivider, Pindeldyboz, Ballyhoo Stories, Publisher’s Weekly, the anthologies, Homewrecker–An Atlas of Illicit Loves (Soft Skull Press, 2005) and in Money Changes Everything (Doubleday, January 2007), among other publications. An excerpt from her memoir was a notable essay in The Best American Essays 2006 collection. Algonquin Books will publish her memoir, The Sky Isn't Visible From Here, in February of 2008. She has been awarded fellowships from Tin House magazine & SLS Literary Seminars. She is the founder of the literary journal, Small Spiral Notebook, and is also the co-founder of the Non-Fiction series at KGB Bar in NYC.
How long did it take you to complete your debut memoir, The Sky Isn’t Visible From Here? What was your process of writing the book like?
In some way or another, I’ve always written about my mother. When I was eight I published a haiku that likened my mother’s voice to thunder. She’s always been my subject–I can’t really recall a time in which my work hasn’t revolved around her–the one person I couldn’t, but desperately wanted to, understand. For years I was working on a novel of lifeless, unlikable characters that did mildly interesting things. I was writing a safe book because I was afraid to commit my memories, this horrific life lived, this very unsafe book, to paper. I was ashamed of my past, of living in poverty, of a mother who loved and terrorized me. I had lived a life of my own invention for so long, I couldn’t imagine otherwise.
At one point the weight of these two lives–the accomplished, in-control professional and the frightened child who never really mourned the loss of her mother–were becoming difficult to bear. Something had to give. One afternoon a friend of mine and I were trading stories about our mothers and we realized that we had both been shamed into secrecy. We were made to feel shame by our mothers, our impoverished upbringing, and a culture where not loving your mother is unthinkable. And in 2004, I felt brave enough to start Sky.
Writing the book from both a personal and craft perspective was incredibly difficult. Personally, I was trying to come to terms with what I had experienced as a child while also struggling with a drinking problem, all the while trying to achieve what every writer sets out to do–write a good story that is wholly their own.
In your memoir, you traverse some very difficult territory, namely addiction and your mother’s disappearance prior to your college graduation. From a craft perspective, what was the most difficult part of shaping this material into a book?
The most difficult part of writing this book was piecing together the structure. Writing the memoir was the easy part–finding a way to present the story in the way it needed to be told was tricky. I knew I couldn’t tell a linear story because, for me, the past is very much the present and vice versa, and I needed to find a way to move through time to evoke the feeling of fractured memory, without completely confusing the reader. It was a delicate balance that involved moving chapters around, making deletions, additions and revisions, revisions, revisions.
What has your experience with Algonquin been like?
I am so humbled to have a home with Algonquin Books. To call them a second family is an understatement. From an editor who consistently raised the bar and cracked the whip to a smart, hardworking publicity team to a marketing crew that is the best in the business, I feel confident that my debut book, one that is so dear and personal to me, is in very capable hands.
My fondest memory is a day when my editor spread out a draft of my manuscript across an expansive conference room table. We walked through the book, page by page, moved chapters around, made notes, scribbled in margins, kept lists, and for six hours we talked only of my book and how to make it a better one than it was. Lately, we’re inundated with stories that agents are the new editors, that editors don’t edit but are merely intermediaries between marketing and sales, however, I’m privileged to have worked with such a meticulous, caring and careful editor. And that’s what you get at Algonquin. First class treatment for first class books. I couldn’t have found a better publishing home.
For a number of years, you edited and published the very successful literary journal Small Spiral Notebook, though you recently announced that as of December 2007, SSN will cease publication, with a final print issue scheduled for 2009. What influenced your decision to stop publishing SSN?
Folding Small Spiral Notebook–after six years of publication, articles in major newspapers and magazines and solicitations from top agents and publishers (which have helped our writers score agents and book deals)–was a very difficult decision for me to make, however, it was one that I felt was best for me and the journal. In 2001, I debuted SSN as a means of celebrating and publishing writers who had a difficult time publishing their work in mainstream print publications. Publishing online granted writers immediate exposure and gratification, and more importantly, it created a free marketplace where readers from all over the globe could discover new voices without having to travel to their local library or bookstore.
Never would I have conceived that not only would the journal be successful, but also it would shape how I value literature, and the process of craft to publication. And I never imagined that our readership would be loyal and global.
However, for me, the journal had run its course. While I reveled in the journal’s success, with growth comes an overwhelming amount of work. Print issues became incredibly costly to produce, and the review and editorial process became all too draining for me. And although I had a terrific, dedicated staff that worked for SSN on purely a volunteer basis, I couldn’t ask them to commit hours of editorial work without payment. In short, the work became unmanageable for the team.
Yet, I feel we’re closing on a high note. In 2001, online publications were scoffed at, however, over the years, with readers consuming more of their entertainment online and literary magazine editors setting a high standard for work, the prestige of an online journal has increased. When SSN launched, there were a few players. Now, in 2008, there are hordes of wonderful magazines–the number of journals seemingly endless.
You’ve run your own blog for quite a while as well, which can be found at www.feliciasullivan.com, where you share amazing recipes, life news, updates on your forthcoming book, cultural commentary, and much more. What role do you think writerly blogs are playing in the literary landscape? Do you think it’s important for an author to have a strong presence on the web?
My day job involves marketing authors online, I’ve published a critically acclaimed online literary journal, I launched an online business in 1999, and I’ve been blogging for over six years. Suffice it to say, I believe in the online space, and authors can only benefit from authentically involving themselves in it.
What was your favorite book and band in high school?
Bullet Park by John Cheever; Depeche Mode.
Which crowd did you hang out with in high school?
Oh god. I was the equivalent of band camp. When I first moved from Brooklyn, I had my fifteen minutes of fan, which were quickly eclipsed because I didn’t know how to navigate the backstabbing drama that was suburban high school replete with underage drinking, friends who routinely betrayed each other and girls who existed as objects for the lacrosse players who loved them.
Favorite book of the moment?
Yukio Mishima’s Sea of Fertility cycle.
What are you working on these days?
Retaining my sanity.
What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever gotten? The worst?
Best: No one is eagerly awaiting your book, so play it as it lays.
Worst: Stories that revolve around families are cliché. You have to focus on the architecture of the sentence.
What are some of your guilty pleasures?
Television dramas that revolve around the scandalous lives of the rich, spoiled elite, i.e. 90210, The O.C., Gossip Girl–I’m utterly shameless in my consumption of these shows.
I know from your blog that you’re an awesome cook! What’s your favorite recipe? (the more specificity the better, so someone could make it if they wanted)
Without a doubt, it has to be my chocolate chip pumpkin loaf. I have yet to find someone who hasn’t sobbed in joy after eating a slice of this perfection. The recipe is easy-breezy: http://feliciasullivan.com/?p=723
What's on your desk at the moment?
Presently, I’m up at Bennington College on an invitation to speak on a panel. This is the first time I’ve slept in a dorm room in over a decade and I love it!! Communal showers! A lounge! Stacks and stacks of wood for the fireplace! My desk is a hurricane! A copy of Bon Appetit, my iShuffle, a Bennington College folder, Tom’s toothpaste, a hardcover copy of my memoir, and my ubiquitous fuzzy red hat. The hat’s reputation precedes itself.
Stones or Beatles?
Stones. “Gimme Shelter” is a mainstay.
Hemingway or Fitzgerald?
Hemingway.
Porn name (first pet's name + first street you lived on)?
Princess 42nd.
January 7, 2008
A Non-Quickie Interview w/ Peter Jay Shippy Pt. 2
12. How do you feel teaching helps or hinders the life of a poet?
Teaching has enhanced my writing. No question. In real life I’m a lazy, indiscriminate reader. I move from poem to poem, play to graphic novel, article to essay with little sensitivity or reflection. Teaching, especially teaching literature, forces me to isolate what I believe and explicate those charms to a curious, dear horde. Last semester I was paid cash money to thrash out Anne Carson and Haruki Murakami, Jennifer Knox, Linh Dinh, Harryette Mullen, George Saunders, Kelly Link, Caryl Churchill and Borges. Plus, the schedule and labor cost (the outlay on soul and body) (even as an adjunct) tolerates poetry. I grew up on a fruit farm, so I know what it is to work, to labor and toil. After 12 hours of picking and loading apples, one does not wish to climb Robert Frost’s two-pointed ladder and feel the boughs bend. One wishes to go to the Stone Jug and drink beer and feel the boughs break.
13. I kind of love that answer...I think a lot of poets (myself included) do a lot of whining. A ton of poets I know work in a cubicle, so I find myself wondering how poetry has changed now that our daily lives are so disconnected from the physical world. Even our writing is virtual...while most poets I know jot down ideas/thoughts/lines in a notebook, there aren't too many that draft long-hand any more (though a poet friend I just talked to says he still drafts in cursive because he'd been told that writing in cursive was one of our most stimulating and complex activities...kind of like piping Mozart into the womb to smarten up the fetus (or...in your case...fetuses...feti?). How do you see poetry and the business of poetry being changed by our hermetically sealed contemporary way of life?
And virtual interviews. From start to finish, it’s taken me almost 4 hours to complete this answer (2 1/2 feedings, 2 diaper changes, 3 loads of laundry, 1 aspirator session (or water boarding, as my wife lovingly calls it), tummy time, and dancing (to Moby’s Bourne theme—it drives Stellatrix (see #14) insane with delight).
I love reading about writer’s habits—what pens/software they use, what music they listen to, Helvetica vs. Courier. Each generation seems to have its technology bugaboos—fingers to bone to quill to nub to Remington Portable. Back to W.C. writing his poems on typewriter (although, I love that fictionalized scene from his episode of Voices & Visions where he’s scrawling a poem on a prescription pad at dawn as the sun rises over the distant silhouette of New York). Are Remington skull portals are next. Was it Carolyn Forché who advised her students not to compose on computers? She was worried (I think) that the discoveries made when one makes errors, would be lost. Or that early drafts might be lost? Of course, for many young writers the idea of not composing on a computer would be insane. The quality/content wouldn’t seem to be an issue—writers have always been airtight. I may be off, but there appears to be a lively face-to-face scene, too, especially in Boston. The reopening of Grolier’s Books is exciting.
14. How has fatherhood affected your writing?
I think this is an answer I’ll be editing my whole life. For those who don’t know, my wife Charlotte and I are the deliriously happy parents of twins—Stella and Beatrix (Stellatrix! (branded by Kathy R)). I’m learning to be flexible—taking the free minutes when they come and not fretting when they don’t. When FedEx makes a delivery, I let them hold a baby for 5 minutes and knock off a rondeau or two. Next week my wife returns to work—so everything changes again. When the girls hit 3 I plan to farm out most of my writing to them. Actually, I’ve already started to read poetry to them, which is a great joy. I have a wondrously strange children’s book by Gertrude Stein: The World is Round. I can’t wait for them to read it to me, “Once upon a time the world was round and you could go on it around and around.”
15. You mentioned the scene in Boston...how has it changed over the years. How has it stayed the same? How does it compare to the NYC poetry scene in your experience...or does it even? What would you like to see happen that would improve the Boston poetry community?
I don’t think I can compare & contrast with any accuracy because beyond what happens at Emerson, I’m not really part of the scene: Old, old, I wear the bottom of my trousers rolled! Or is that my scene? The unique advantage that Boston has over other cities is the embarrassment of colleges, each with its poets, readings, and after-reading parties, where the real education begins. A big difference between now and then is the number of MFA programs. In the early 80s there was only BU’s. Is there any cross-pollination? Do Emerson students (and alums) go to BU events? Do Terriers go to UMass-Boston? Pine Manor? Lesley? Probably not—Boston is so tribal, and proud of it! Do non-academics go to readings at Harvard? Do non-poets go to any poetry readings? Do all the wonderful magazines have regular readings? That might be something that could help—an on-line message board to keep poets aware of readings and book-signings. Is there one already? Back in the day, we’d go readings at the Blacksmith House, Grolier’s, the Woodberry, and Stone Soup readings. Ploughshares had readings/benefits, too. I often attended a series at the Watertown public library hosted by Stephen Dobyns—that was very valuable to me. Also, bookstores actually invited poets to read. (Although, Shippy-plug: I’ll be a part of a Redivider benefit organized by Brian Foley at Brookline Booksmith). There were readings at bars, open mic nights, but not yet a slam scene. I have no experience with NYC—I’ve never lived there, except for one eventful summer (1982) living on Avenue A when Avenue A was Avenue A!
16. If you will, introduce our readers to Isaac Makepeace Watts, the hero of How to Build the Ghost in Your Attic. Start with his name and go from there. How do you relate to Isaac?
My book, to quote Publishers Weekly, is: “Told by a resident of a very modern-sounding Thebes, the poem presents itself as a Bizarro-world remake of the Oedipus cycle.” His name is spot-lit in the opening lines: “I am Isaac Makepeace Watt— / The lamb / of light. / / Believe you me.” He’s a braggart, comparing himself to Melville’s Ishmael and the son of Abraham. That swank may remind one of Oedipus. But Isaac is painfully self-aware, reflexively reflective—to the point of stagnation—like all us 21st century Americans, more and/or less. That’s not Oeddy. Watt and light hit on Sophocles’ use of counterpoints—light and blindness, knowledge and ignorance, Apollo and Dionysus, Pepsi and Coke. Makepeace? Well, as the great Tom Andrews put it in “William Makepeace Thackeray Follows His Bliss” (from his sublime hybrid masterpiece 25 Short Films About Poetry (from Random Symmetries (Oberlin College Press))): “Assembled passerby (in chorus): Oh boy! Thank you, William Makepeace Thackeray, possessor of one of the strangest middle-names in history!”
17. Why Thebes...why did you feel it necessary to create resonance between that world and our contemporary one?
Attic drama is so compelling to me—the ritual, the tableau. And the masks, of course. After 9/11 so many people returned to the classics to find solace or answers—riffs in time. Contemporary writers have always found a plinth for their work in the Greeks, from Jean Anouilh’s Antigonê to Charles Mee’s recent Iphigenia 2.0. I’ve been enjoying the stupendous Beckett on Film DVD Set, and you can really see the influence of Greek drama on his latter work, especially something like Play. That’s why I overjoyed when I received permission from Beckett’s Estate to use excerpt from Ghost Trio as an epigraph.
Hear Peter Jay Shippy read: Saturday January 19th 7pm Redivider Launch Party @ Brookline Booksmith
January 2, 2008
Good Gray Prose
Y’ever wake up some days and feel absolutely indicted? Christina Nehring wants you to know that you are what’s wrong with the American essay, specifically the Best American Essay series. You with your venti latte and your second-hand car and your precocious college years. Simply put, the contemporary American essay has made a virtue of being boring. Anecdote recollected under sedation. She makes the case that the cautious, ruminative voice that passes for literary meditation is a sensibility that is all-too safely circumscribed, middle-aged, and middle-class. That is to say, pathologically averse to transgression. (In fairness, I should point out that Nehring also thinks that readers are part of the problem, or represent a problem in themselves, though others disagree.) While there are plenty of essays that are clearly made by and consumed by someone who devoutly wishes to be part of the leisure class (or a reasonable facsimile thereof), there are other pieces out there I could name from Best American Essays which are a little less languid. And while I think we should all dial down the polite recollection in personal essays, saying the American essay is moribund because some of its practitioners skew toward the anesthetized, is like saying Maya Angelou cancels out C.D. Wright.
