Angel T. Dionne is an associate professor of English literature at the University of Moncton's Edmundston campus. She holds a PhD in creative writing from the University of Pretoria and is the founding editor of Vroom Lit Magazine. Her writing and art have been featured in several experimental publications.
She is the author of a full-length collection of short fiction, Sardines (ClarionLit, 2023) and two chapbooks, Inanimate Objects (Bottlecap Press, 2022) and Mormyridae (LJMcD Communications, 2024). She is also the co-editor of Rape Culture 101: Programming Change (Demeter Press, 2020). Her full-length poetry collection, Bird Ornaments, is forthcoming with Broken Tribe Press in early 2025.
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?
My first book, a chapbook of what I call “strange” flash fiction titled Inanimate Objects, gave me a big confidence boost. I remember getting the acceptance email and thinking, “Hey, maybe my work is worth reading.” That validation pushed me to send in my full-length story collection, Sardines and eventually, my forthcoming collection of surrealist poetry. I feel less constrained by self-doubt.
2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?
I came to fiction first. I toyed with poetry here and there in my late teens and early twenties, but fiction always felt like home. It wasn’t until I became interested in the surrealist movement that I began to seriously consider writing poetry. I love the freedom that surrealism offers. Before, I viewed poetry as more constrained and “stuffier” than prose. I write fiction, of course, but I have a much deeper appreciation for poetry than I did when I was younger.
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?
I call my first drafts dumpster fires because that’s exactly what they are – flaming messes. Over time, I’ve learned that this part of my writing process. If I try to write a first drafts that’s too close to its final shape, I become paralyzed by the idea of perfection. I usually write my poetry and prose in a fit of wild inspiration, followed by a much slower and more methodical editing process.
4 - Where does a poem or 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?
I’m drawn to short forms. My first book, Sardines, is a collection of short stories. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to stretch a story into a full-length novel. I focus on what I call “cramped” stories – stories that take place in limited settings, stories that have one or two characters at most, etc. It’s difficult to stretch this style of writing into a novel that people would want to read. It’s the same with poetry. I prefer shorter pieces. I believe there’s real beauty in brevity.
5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
Would it be wrong to call them a necessary evil? Public readings sell books. They give you a very important opportunity to meet people and network. The best readings are those that take place in bars and little cafés because the vibe tends to be more casual. I often try to advertise my readings as “open mic.” After I do my reading and sign a few books, I open the floor to other writers and musicians who want to come share. That takes the pressure off. I struggle with readings because I’m extremely introverted.
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?
With Sardines, I used fiction to explore the concept of unresolved, existential guilt. Martin Buber’s paper, “Guilt and Guilt Feeling,” was a big inspiration for this collection. The characters in the stories struggle with guilt in one form or another but are ultimately unable to resolve it in a meaningful way. Bird Ornaments is a bit more difficult to define. The poems the juxtaposition of unrelated elements to focus on the language of the body and the dream-like that exists within the mundane.
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?
Five years ago, I might have given a different answer. Now with AI being at our fingertips, I think the writer’s role is to be uniquely human. Sure, AI can generate text and visual images, but can it truly create? True art and writing necessitates lived experience and emotion. These forms of expression are ultimately going to separate human from machine.
I once had my students use AI to generate poems about loss. Then, they read a poem written by a former student of mine. All agreed that the AI poem lacked that human experience of what it means to deal with loss. At best, it was an empty husk of a poem. The role of a writer, and my role as I see it, is to show others that creation is necessary and that it forms the foundation of what it means to be human.
8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
I’m extremely fortunate to be working on Bird Ornaments with William Lawrence from Broken Tribe Press. He’s the head editor and working with him has been an absolute pleasure. He’s helped me refine my work without losing its essence.
9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
A good first draft is a done first draft.
10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to fiction)? What do you see as the appeal?
Since discovering surrealist writing, I’ve found it easier to move between poetry to fiction rather. I’ve also started experimenting with surrealist visual art, which nicely complements my writing. My fiction tends more towards the literary, while my poetry is almost always surrealist or experimental. I think my earlier attempts to limit myself to just “literary” writing might be why I struggled with poetry in the past. I don’t have much to say about the changing of seasons, but I can certainly tell you about flowers blooming from an infected gout toe.
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 a routine! I tell my students to try and find one, but I also tell them that some people work better without them. It’s funny because in my daily life, I thrive on routine. When it comes to writing, I work in spurts – weeks of nothing, then suddenly a burst of frenzied productivity.
12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
I don’t force it. I was once told that writing is a job. You don’t wait for the muses to descend; you sit down, and you write no matter what. That never worked for me personally. I’ve learned that trying to say something when I really have nothing to say is counterproductive. I need to trust my own process.
13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
Vick’s vapour rub brings me back to my childhood. I still use it when I’m sick, of course, but sometimes I’ll use a little when I’m feeling anxious.
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?
Visual art has over the years been a huge influence on me as a writer. I’m inspired by artists like Rene Magritte, Leonora Carrington, Unica Zürn, and Felix Nussbaum. I also think there are some wonderful young artists to discover on social media. Toby Ross, a young surrealist painter from the UK, has a knack for creating work that feels like a fever dream.
15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
For fiction: Bernard Malamud, Anzia Yezierska, and the philosophy of Martin Buber.
For poetry: the surrealists, especially Andre Breton.
I can’t forget my students, who are always willing to experiment with their writing. They each have something to teach me.
16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
I’d love to learn the violin but unlike my grandfather and my brother, I’m not musically gifted.
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’m a writer, but I’m also a professor, which has always been my dream job. If I wasn’t a writer or professor, maybe I’d be a veterinarian. I imagine it would be emotionally exhausting, though.
18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
My mother made me into a storyteller. I grew up in a challenging home environment, and she would tell me bedtime stories to make sure I went to bed with a positive mindset. She’d then have me make up my own stories. This helped develop my creativity and love of storytelling at a young age.
She always hoped I’d become a writer but when I started my undergraduate studies, I chose biology and pre-med. I ended up switching to literature and writing. She was happy that I switched, which is sort of the opposite reaction most parents would have.
19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
Rachel Yoder’s Nightbitch was a brilliant, disturbing read. I also recently reread Bernard Malamud’s The Fixer.
One film that I recently enjoyed was Hereditary. It’s an artfully done piece of horror cinema. I discover something new, like a small (yet meaningful) word etched into the wall behind a character’s bed, each time I watch it.
20 - What are you currently working on?
I’m working on another surrealist collection. It doesn’t have a title yet, but it’s coming together in in small bursts. It’s likely going to be a hybrid collection of surrealist poetry and prose vignettes.
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