I’ve been working on this*, alone and quiet, all day, and I am seeking some validation (someone see my lonely work!) working-student-who-is-also-a-writer life has been getting me down a little. Just— the compression of time. I wrote about this, in rosier terms, for the blog tour. It is hard. It is hard to think, sometimes, I should have been/should be just a writer. But that’s not my path, I have always felt the overlap and tension of different pieces more so than a single identity, so here I am taking personal days* to do homework and then spending my saturday editing a manuscript 3 years in the works.
*full disclosure I have also been working on a presentation entitled ‘Creative Housing Solutions for Domestic Violence Survivors’
*full disclosure on my personal day I also got a massage and took a nap.
Tamryn Spruill tagged me last week…
1. what are you working on?
I’ve recently had some crossover from the social work notebook to the subterranean (SEE: key for genogram with names obscured, above), every morning at seven notebook. a family autobiography (defined roughly, defined barely)— the things i’ve built in the gaps and glitches of my dead grandma’s story; the ghosts in the china cabinet, the girl who went away. this is: “fiction.”
I’ve been working on this project for three years, since I graduated from Goddard in 2011: a thing about the girl in the family, about how sex develops and what we don’t learn in the home, about what dies with one person, about how we love those who we fear will kill themselves. and grammar, it’s about grammar too, what it means to say “I,” what it means to say “she” or “the girl” or (my favorite) “we.” It’s a lyric novel, which means there’s clinical language and lists and dreams and obnoxious asides.
2. how does your work differ from others’ in the same genre?
It’s not as good. It’s not as good as the people I love who are writing weird ass amazing shit that is is and is not sentences, OR, that are sentences that hurt your throat. Rebecca Brown, Bhanu Kapil, Douglas Martin, Megan Milks, Renee Gladman. These are some prose writers that I love, that I look up to.
3. Why do you write what you do?
I’m still trying to figure this out. I hate all those glib explanations of why a person writes hybrid or experimental work, a pretentious claim that “genre is really limiting and I can’t really define my work” or whatever. I can define my work: I write about family and shame and privacy and sex and gender, which is not the same as being Into Gender in a gender studies way, which I am decidedly not, i could never figure out how to be cool enough, to get into that club, to be enough one thing or another. I write about weird girls and women and being a weird woman. I write these things because I am and am not a fiction, because there are many things that did and did not happen to me, there are many unremembered things and unknown things and things that can’t be known or gone back to. I write about longing.The things in dreams that have to have come from somewhere. It’s about God, I write about God.
4. how does your writing process work?
Practically, I rise three hours before I need to leave my house each morning. I prepare coffee and write, longhand, in a graph paper notebook. On a good morning I might write three or four pages of my novel. On a bad morning I write about a stupid dream and how I wish I made more money and something I’m resentful about the day before or whatever. Because I have a non-writing job that is rather demanding, my writing is (must be) compartmentalized. I don’t usually pick up where I left off, I start a new section, chapter or anecdote the next morning. It’s necessarily fragmented, both because of my time constraints and because I don’t, actually, know how to write a novel or narrative arc. Once a week or so I type all the bits into an OpenOffice document. Every few weeks I print out the new pages and leave them on my desk in a pile, cut apart where the page breaks ought to be. I probably ought to re-read them and edit them, but I haven’t yet.
Now I tag…
Gina Abelkop, Megan Milks, and Valerie Wetlaufer. I hope you will tell the internet about what you’re working on now.
The power of a fellow writer’s inquiry into my writing practice is amazing for three reasons: 1) It reminds me I am a writer; 2) It reminds me of the projects I’ve started; and 3) It forces me to recognize the distance that has widened between me and my projects. I’m talking canyons of space, with…
check out what friend and Unthinkable Creatures author Tamryn Spruill is working on…
~~ 50 STRAIT HITS (AND 10 GAY ONES) ~~
after an uncountable number of conversations about how I Drive Your Truck (and Austin, and Whatever She’s Got, and Somethin’ Bad) is about a different kind of lovin, we’re fixin to do something about it. Ranger Rick + Vic Tuff are now accepting submissions for a project near and dear to our hearts, aka staking down the intersection of our love for country music and our love for gay stuff. Send your thoughts on queer/country identity, camp, masculinity, history, performance and What A Truck Can Be to tellgoodstories @ gmail.com before september 1st, i KNOW you have them, i can hear you croonin in yr sleep.
Watercolor journal 6/28
(thanks to Lynda Barry and Oliver Bendorf for the inspiration to paint my words)
You can now pre-order my second book of poems, I Eat Cannibals, from coimpress! It will be out this fall with that spooky, gorgeous cover, featuring everyone’s favorite “bird,” the Cassowary. Read poems from the book here, here, here, here, and here. Pre-orders will come with a limited edition letterpress broadside made by me!
Go Gina go, and congratulations!
Unthinkable Creatures is a little side project, and I’ve been busy with life the last few months, which is why I haven’t published anything recently. Thanks for your patience and for continuing to read, send submissions, and support the small press community in the meantime.
Later this summer or…
Updated the etsy page with a pre-order link for quiet in the body's second print run (cleverly timed for tree's residency at poetry school), as well as a listing for my 'may mini-books' project. (if i already told you i’d send you some, they’ll go in the mail tomorrow. finally made it to the copy shop…)
The last few months life has gotten in the way of publishing, which is okay. i always knew unthinkable creatures would be a break-even side project, and i’m proud of the books i publish…i just wish i had an extra 20-40 hours each month, so i could do more. and make more art. and get more sleep. and lift more weights, and train for a half-marathon, and churn my own butter and buff my nails every night and write personalized thank you notes for every act of kindness and actually learn to read the tarot…
my daily writing practice and time alone is so important to me, i’m working on a sort of fictionalized/imagined family history right now. it feels like a return to what writing was for me when i first started, in middle school— a chance to imagine what could happen. a chance to daydream. for years now i’ve been writing mostly in the register of…journalistic/documentary early adulthood poetry: this happened to me, i had a first kiss, i moved away from home, i saw this strange thing. (obviously this is a generalization, the story of ruth and eliza is daydream, but is also nightmare: the inability to touch)
other stuff is happening too. i go to school now, i’m a student social worker, thinking about case studies and ethical dilemmas…which is and is not the opposite of writing, more about that later.