Showing posts with label Collier Nogues. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Collier Nogues. Show all posts

Thursday, December 31, 2015

12 or 20 (small press) questions with Ravi Shankar on Drunken Boat



Drunken Boat, an international online journal of the arts, is one of the world’s oldest electronic journals of the arts. It publishes works of art endemic to the medium of the web, such as video, sound, hypertext, digital animation, web art, and multimedia/cross-genre works of art and letters, alongside innovative works of prose, poetry, translation, reviews, interviews, and photography. We focus on work that stretches form, irrespective of aesthetics. We include special folios on such subjects as Native American Women’s Poetry, Aphasia, and the Black Mountain School, among many others.

Drunken Boat has published established artists and writers such as DJ Spooky, Norman Mailer, Franz Wright, Kay Ryan and Sol LeWitt as well as emerging artists and writers. We are also very invested in international art and literature and have a large worldwide readership. In addition to the magazine, we have published three books, including Collier Nogues’ The Ground I Stand on Is Not My Ground and Lisa Russ Spaar's Hide-and-Seek Muse: Annotations of Contemporary Poetry.

Ravi Shankar (1975-) is the founding editor and Executive Director of Drunken Boat, one of the world’s oldest electronic journals of the arts. He has published or edited ten books and chapbooks of poetry, including What Else Could it Be (2015), the 2010 National Poetry Review Prize winner, Deepening Groove, called the work of one of America’s finest younger poets by CT Poet Laureate Dick Allen, finalist for the Connecticut Book Award Instrumentality (2004) and Autobiography of a Goddess a forthcoming collection of translations of Andal, the 8th century Tamil poet/saint, co-edited with Priya Sarukkai Chabria. Along with Tina Chang and Nathalie Handal, he edited W.W. Norton’s Language for a New Century: Contemporary Poetry from Asia, the Middle East & Beyond, called “a beautiful achievement for world literature” by Nobel Laureate Nadine Gordimer. He has won a Pushcart Prize, been featured in The New York Times and the Chronicle of Higher Education, appeared as a commentator on the BBC, the PBS Newshour and NPR, received fellowships from the Corporation of Yaddo, the MacDowell Colony and the Connecticut Commission on the Arts, and has performed his work around the world. He is currently Chairman of the Connecticut Young Writers Trust, on the faculty of the first international MFA Program at City University of Hong Kong and a Professor of English at Central Connecticut State University.

1 – When did Drunken Boat first start? How have your original goals as a publisher shifted since you started, if at all? And what have you learned through the process?
The conception for Drunken Boat began in 1999 and we published our first issue in 2000 and the quantum leap that our incipient vision took from where we began to where we are now would have been inconceivable to me then and still remains remarkable to me now. We began as a kind of one-off side project between two old friends, the architect Mike Mills and myself, and we thought we’d showcase the work of those writers and artists we admired who we thought weren’t being widely seen, just for our own pleasure. Little could we have anticipated what publishing online would mean, for soon after the launch of our first issue, we began receiving work from places as far-flung as Australia and China. Now Drunken Boat has a staff of over thirty individuals worldwide and we now publish books. So we could not have foreseen what we would become and our original goals have certainly shifted in time. Fifteen years in, it’s time to become self-sustaining and my own real prerogative is to insure that Drunken Boat has a life well into the future. What I’ve learned through the process of creating the journal is too immense to distill briefly, but primarily I’ve learned about managing different personalities and how to sustain a long running art endeavor on a shoestring budget, all of the splendor and frustration it entails. Clearly the former outweighs the latter or I wouldn’t still be doing it.  

2 – What first brought you to publishing?
A frustration with what I was seeing published, for one, where the most innovative and challenging works of art were being ignored, but also a sense of the consanguinity of the arts. Artists in different media share a curatorial space with writers too infrequently, so we hoped to change that by creating a garden for true cross-pollination. Having started Drunken Boat with a visual artist, I really hoped that we might try to use the magazine as a forum for those kinds of works that couldn’t exist in print. Because our ethos has always been publishing works of art endemic to the medium of the web, we wanted to publish multimedia work, work that used the digital as part of its compositional strategy and we were never interested in replicating the paradigm of the page. Really we still aren’t. However in 2010, we were brought an interesting project, which was the posthumous poems of Reetika Vazirani and that was the kind of project we just couldn’t turn down. That led us down the path of publishing more books and we plan to do a title or two a year from here on out.

3 – What do you consider the role and responsibilities, if any, of small publishing?
Small press publishing is vital to our overall health as a culture. I see an analogy in the role of microorganisms in the human body. Of course we are always concerned about those larger vital organs, the liver and the heart and the spleen, but the body is not an island; instead it’s a complex ecosystem where bacterial cells outnumber human cells nearly 10-to-1. Microbes, the flora of the body, are vitally important in everything from our immune system to our respiratory system, even though you can’t really see them working. Similarly small press publishing lies under the surface of our culture, nowhere nearly as vast and recognized as the machinations of mass media, and yet the work that is done there is vital to creating the environment necessary to complicate those homogenous, stereotype-reinforcing romantic comedies and party anthems that pass for shared culture. I think small press publishing gives voice to the voiceless, allows for experimentation outside the marketplace and ultimately evolves thinking in a way hard to quantify but impossible to deny.

4 – What do you see your press doing that no one else is?
Since its inception, Drunken Boat has always pushed on the boundaries of the status quo, and so I feel like we have always wanted to collapse the distinctions of genre, of aesthetic school, of self-replicating vision. Drunken Boat was among the first journals to combine literary arts with multimedia expression, and I still believe we are one of the few venues where web art, sound art, video, hypertext, interactivity, photo, translation, reviews, poetry, nonfiction, fiction, and design all converge. We are constantly looking for those works of art that exist in the interstices between what we might consider normal literature, for those works of art that either transcend the printed page or ask difficult questions of the reader/viewer/participant in the meaning making process. I also believe that our dedication to global literature is unique; we’ve published writers from Korea, Eritrea, Australia, India and from various Native American tribes. We also have focused on issues such as aphasia and exploration that have not found an outlet in other literary venues. Finally we are dedicated to the egalitarian distribution of the arts, which includes publishing the work of outsider artists, spoken word poets, true mongrels of the spirit, alongside Pulitzer Prize winners.

5 – What do you see as the most effective way to get new chapbooks out into the world?
We haven’t published chapbooks, but full-length collections and I think the best way to get these out in the world is to use technologies like print-on-demand and also ask that our authors do their best in promoting their collections, giving readings, helping send out review copies, etc. We also love to foster synchronicity between platforms, so for instance when we published Lisa Russ Spaar’s The Hide and Seek Muse http://www.spdbooks.org/Producte/9780988241602/the-hideandseek-muse-annotations-of-contemporary-poetry.aspx, a collection of her incisive columns from the Chronicle of Higher Education’s Arts-and-Academe blog, we also published a folio dedicated to the collection that included audio of the poets she was reviewing reading their work and some of the essays from the collection:  http://www.drunkenboat.com/db17/hide-seek-muse. Our most recent book by Collier Nogues, The Ground I Stand On is Not My Ground http://www.spdbooks.org/Producte/9780988241626/the-ground-i-stand-on-is-not-my-ground.aspx has its own dedicated website where you can peruse the source texts that Nogues used to make her erasures: http://thegroundistandon.com/. We think that kind of back-and-forth helps the books to have a vigorous life inside and outside of print.

6 – How involved an editor are you? Do you dig deep into line edits, or do you prefer more of a light touch?
Again it depends; sometimes if we see something that has a lot of promise but doesn’t quite work, we will work closely with the author to make it resonate better. Our genre editors are terrific at doing this kind of work. In those case, we might suggest not just line edits but also a different ending, a place to elaborate or excise, or a new direction to pursue. Other times, we are very light and just fix typos or lineation issues, but always in consultation with the author.

7 – How do your books get distributed? What are your usual print runs?
We used Small Press Distribution http://www.spdbooks.org/ and though it depends, we do print runs from 500-1000 copies and are always willing to reprint.

8 – How many other people are involved with editing or production? Do you work with other editors, and if so, how effective do you find it? What are the benefits, drawbacks?
We have a fairly large staff of about 30 individuals from around the world and we often work with outside Contributing Editors. We love doing this because we can tap into their expertise which often varies from our own. So for instance, Kristin Prevallet edited our Trance Poetics folio http://www.drunkenboat.com/db16/trance-poetics in one of my favorite issues; Jean Jacques Poucel put together the OULIPO compendium http://www.drunkenboat.com/db8/oulipo/feature-oulipo/, which still stands as a monumental look back at the past and future of creating under constraint; and Kalela Williams put together a folio on the Affrilchan Arts for us http://www.drunkenboat.com/db20/affrilachian-arts. Without the influence of those outside editors, we never would have had those rich, diverse folios. The only drawback is that we have a very specific editorial and design process, and often times it is difficult to get them acclimated to our process. Sometimes having outside editors creates a lot of extra work for our staff but we are getting better at streamlining it.

9– How has being an editor/publisher changed the way you think about your own writing?
I have internalized my critical eye and I am constantly amazed by the variety of what is being published. And so if I wasn’t an editor/publisher, I think I might have been more content to settle into a comfortable groove doing the same kinds of things over and over again, writing some version of a familiar lyric poem, but because I’m constantly being confronted with such a welter of unexpected approaches to writing that challenge by own preconceptions, I find that I am forced to evolve in response.

10– How do you approach the idea of publishing your own writing? Some, such as Gary Geddes when he still ran Cormorant, refused such, yet various Coach House Press’ editors had titles during their tenures as editors for the press, including Victor Coleman and bpNichol. What do you think of the arguments for or against, or do you see the whole question as irrelevant?
Well I have always written the Editor’s Message to each issue of Drunken Boat, but that’s the extent of it, save for exceptions like when I translated Hervé Le Tellier and Jacques Bens with Laurence Petit for the OULIPO folio http://www.drunkenboat.com/db8/oulipo/feature-oulipo/translators/shankar/shankar.html. I don’t think taking back the means of production is bad thing and indeed there’s a long history of pamphleteering that’s currently making a comeback with small presses and blogs, but just personally, I prefer having the quality of my work judged by someone other than myself and like Epictetus, I believe we have two ears and one mouth so that we can listen twice as much as we speak.

11– How do you see Drunken Boat evolving?
After having run the magazine for 15 years, I’m thinking stepping back to concentrate on Development and let an energetic new Executive Director take over. We need to become self-sustaining and concretize what we have laid the roots for over so many years. Doing book is new for us and we’ve also had conversations about releasing a sound arts primer with recordings from our live events from around the world. Perhaps we’ll release this digitally….and on cassette tape. In all seriousness, the magazine has moved to Drupal and we have a consistent design team for the first time ever and that will allow us to concentrate on providing a forum for those works of art that explore the frontiers of form.

12– What, as a publisher, are you most proud of accomplishing? What do you think people have overlooked about your publications? What is your biggest frustration?
To have started on a whim an endeavor that has persisted for so long is of great pride to me. Much of that is owed to all of the amazing people I have worked with over the years, each who had their own style and sensibility which is reflected in the pages. In some ways, our magazine traces our own collective digital lineage from the infancy of those early lo-fi artworks, those pieces created in Shockwave and Story Space, to more sophistication. I think what may be overlooked about Drunken Boat is how much we’ve accomplished on so small a budget and how much more we could accomplish with a bigger budget. We are a 501(c)(3) non-profit organization and we depend upon reader support to survive. Not having consistent funding has been a source of frustration.

13– Who were your early publishing models when starting out?
There simply weren’t any so we just made it up as we went along. Once we realized that we were actually not just a one-off project but an actual online literary journal we looked around and realized there were others of us—Alt-X, Eclectica, The Cortland Review, Big Bridge, Failbetter, and soon after us, Tarpaulin Sky, Blackbird and wordforword, Softblow and QLRS from Singapore, Jacket from Australia. So we began to be aware that others were doing something similar to us. My own editorial experience was certainly shaped from being a reader at the Paris Review when it was in the basement of George Plimpton’s Eastside brownstone and I has influenced by the seminal work, particularly with writers interviews, that the journal was doing. But otherwise we discovered where to go by going.

14– How does Drunken Boat work to engage with your immediate literary community, and community at large? What journals or presses do you see Drunken Boat in dialogue with? How important do you see those dialogues, those conversations?
Drunken Boat is part of a large network of interlaced literary and artistic production. We share an affinity with those early online publications such as La Petite Zine, Exquisite Corpse, Blackbird, Memorious, Failbetter, and Jacket, who importantly offered us in a model similar to our own with respect to international and innovative poetics. We see affinity with BOMB, for their work crossing over into the visual art world; Aesthetica Magazine, for their work with sound art; Tuesday for what they do make materiality happen; and our new Executive Director’s production Anomalous, for their investment in translation and experimental literature. We dig the work in A Public Space, Canary, Lana Turner is Dead, The Iowa Review, Harper’s, Subtropics, Tin House, A Brooklyn Rail…the list is endless but the important thing is that we feel those connections deeply. We have co-hosted events with Ugly Duckling, Les Figues, Rattapallax, The Dalkey Archives, Midway, and hosted performances in arts spaces, outdoor parks, and people’s homes. One event, “Recharging the Sensorium” was hosted at the New Britain Museum of American Art and Torp Theater, drawing nearly 1,000 people over the course of a weekend. We hope to expand the idea of literary community can be, speaking both to the neophyte and acolyte alike. 

15– Do you hold regular or occasional readings or launches? How important do you see public readings and other events?
Think I just answered that, but I will add that we do try to have launch events and try to represent at book fairs and festivals. We have recordings of sound artist Cary Peppermint at Pete’s Candy Store doing some improvisational avant bubble gum pop he deemed somewhere on the spectrum between Brittany Spears and John Cage and photographs of members of the Oulipo convening for dinner in Brooklyn. These are testament to the sense we have of art and literature being a living organism.

16– How do you utilize the internet, if at all, to further your goals?
This one is self-evident, no? Digitally born and bred to spread new forms: Drunken Boat.

17– Do you take submissions? If so, what aren’t you looking for?
 Yes we do. We are currently on an editorial hiatus as we transition our staff but have a number of exciting folios coming up including on the OuTransPo, Sardinian culture and the Glass House Shelter Project, a remarkable program bringing college accredited classes to homeless shelters. We are open to almost everything that is quality, well-conceived and executed, regardless of aesthetic bent or school of ideation, but we don’t want un-ironic cowboy or Jesus, unreconstructed pap, overwrought and un-transfigured confession, or arbitrary experiment that could be just as arbitrarily reordered. Do send us things we are not expecting: interviews, collaborations, mixed media, archival projects, global and transnational lyricism, and much more. 

18– Tell me about three of your most recent titles, and why they’re special.
This one is easy because we only have three titles published so far. Our first book Radha Says are the posthumous poems of the remarkable and tragic figure, Reetika Vazirani, a manuscript meticulously reconstructed through an act of literary forensics. Our second, Lisa Russ Spaar’s Hide-and-Seek Muse collects the best of her columns from the Chronicle of Higher Education’s Arts-and-Academe blog on contemporary poetry. Pithy, wise, and insightful, Spaar’s essays take on everyone from Charles Wright to Brenda Hillman. Our most recent book won our inaugural first book prize and was chosen by Forrest Gander. The title is Collier Nogues’ The Ground I Stand on Is Not My Ground and is a provoking collection of erasures with an interactive website to accompany it. Our fourth collection will be out this fall and it is “Union,” the best of 15 years of Drunken Boat and 50 years of Singaporean literature and it will be co-published by Ethos Press. We hope to continue doing a few titles a year in addition to putting out a magazine that explores and exhibits the best contemporary art and literature.

Monday, September 14, 2015

Collier Nogues, The Ground I Stand On Is Not My Ground




The road at early dawn is still here—

I am in the future.

                                    I move my hand
                                    to raise its flag
                                    in the yard. The
                                                quietness

on the surface is breaking

bringing about the form of a person

the nation in

his ear. (“A Book of Patriotic Movements”)

American poet Collier Nogues’ second poetry collection, The Ground I Stand On Is Not My Ground (Chester CT: Drunken Boat, 2015), winner of the 2014 Drunken Boat Poetry Book Contest as judged by Forrest Gander, is a curious reclamation project in a series of recent reclamation projects. One could point to Vancouver poets Jordan Abel, Reneé Sarojini Saklikar and Cecily Nicholson as comparable examples of poets utilizing varying degrees of erasure and documentary to re-claim a series of lost histories, disasters and cultural spaces, for works such as The Place of Scraps (2013) [see my review of such here], Un/inhabited (2014) [see my review of such here], children of air india (2013) [see myreview of such here] and From the Poplars (2014) [see my review of such here]. Nogues, a creative writing teacher in Hong Kong and poetry co-editor for Juked, utilizes erasure and a deft hand to step lightly from phrase to phrase, poem to poem, exploring the nature of and the direct result of a specific armed conflict. As she writes as part of her too-brief opening note: “This book is a hybrid of poetry and digital art. The poems erase historical documents related to the development and aftermath of the Pacific War, especially on the island of Okinawa.”

Towards the worst. In that battle-field
a hundred women.

                                    Women, again.

We dreamed of going to wash their
whole bodies

their modesty crowded in and out of
bed

uncovering skin.

            The illusion was typical,
                                          base.


Luxurious to be thieves of virtues
bound to submit to the knife

with open arms,
welcoming all unfortunates. (“Across the Plains”)

In one of the blurbs on the back cover, Craig Santos Perez presents us with information that might be seen as important for the context of the collection: “Collier Nogues, who grew up on a U.S. military base in Okinawa, explores how war has shaped the island of her childhood. Taken together, these poems not only express a desire to erase violence, but they also attempt to map the topography of islands and nations, caves and embrasures, weapons and flags, grace and dread.” As the notes at the back of the collection inform, she extracts her poems from works such as Gladys Zabilka’s Customs and Cultures of Okinawa (Revised Edition) (1959), Robert Tomes’ The Americans in Japan (1857), Kwaidan: Stories and Studies of Strange Things (1904), Aikoku Undo Nenkan (Yearbook of Patriotic Movements) (1936), Edgar Rice Burrough’s Tarzan of the Apes (1916), A Japanese Interior (1893) and Robert Louis Stevenson’s Across the Plains (1902), attempting to explore “the discourses of empire” to reclaim a space, using, quite often, the words of the oppressor directly in opposition to their original purpose. “I / will explode any day now.” she writes, in the poem “Dear Grace.” There is such a lovely lightly touch across Nogues’ lines and phrases, skipping across the surface of reclaimed text while retaining and repurposing an incredible depth.



Wednesday, June 10, 2015

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Collier Nogues

Collier Nogues is the author of The Ground I Stand On Is Not My Ground, selected by Forrest Gander as the winner of the 2014 Drunken Boat Poetry Book Contest, and On the Other Side, Blue (Four Way, 2011). She has received fellowships and grants from the MacDowell Colony, the Ucross Foundation, Vermont Studio Center, and Fishtrap, and holds an MFA in Poetry from the University of California at Irvine. Recent poems have appeared or are forthcoming in At Length, Matter, The Cincinnati Review, The Literary Review, Another Chicago Magazine, Tongue, Pangyrus, and the Lost Roads Press anthology Hick Poetics. The title erasure from The Ground I Stand On was featured in the 2014 SALTS Gallery exhibition The Printed Room: read the room / you’ve got to in Basel, Switzerland. She teaches creative writing at the Chinese University of Hong Kong, curates Ragged Claws, Hong Kong’s English-language poetry craft talk series, and edits poetry for Juked.
 
1 - How did your first book change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?
The biggest effect of my first book was that it made me feel I had done right by my mom. She was a middle-school English teacher who had always wanted to be a writer, and she was very supportive of my own writing. My book came out five years after she died, and I was surprised by how deeply I felt I had fulfilled something for her as well as for myself.
 
My new book, The Ground I Stand On Is Not My Ground, is nothing like the first book, because this one is all erasures of historical documents related to the Pacific War. It’s about a much more public world, about imperialism and violence, where my first book was comparatively intimate. But at the same time this book also comes out of my personal history, from my upbringing on a military base on Okinawa.
 
2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?
I took a few fiction workshops in college, and every teacher told me I sounded like I should be writing poetry. I wrote these two-page-long, mournful stories loaded with what everyone agreed was ‘vivid imagery.’ My teachers were right; those weren’t stories. They were the under-plotted fleshy outerclothes of poems.
 
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?
Usually I think I am doing one thing and I realize halfway through, after months or years, that I am doing something else. So once I figure out what I am actually making, I’ve got quite a lot of it done, but that first part takes forever.
 
The process of drafting has worked differently for erasures than for other poems, though in both I’m looking for a sense of friction between several lines or images. When I’m writing conventional poems, I look for scraps in my notebooks, and see what happens when I put two interesting pieces of language next to each other. Or I’ll take a piece of borrowed language and rework it, maybe feeding it through Google Translate a few times or riffing on its sounds, and when something catches I’ll put that little piece next to something else. I don’t get a sense of a poem happening until three or four chunks start to feel like they’re balancing something among them. With the erasures, it’s a treasure hunt: finding the few vivid metaphors in a political manifesto and going from there, or looking for a first-person pronoun near crisp, standout verbs. In either case, nothing ever ends up looking much like its original shape.
 
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?
It depends. I’d been wanting to engage with the complicated situation of Okinawa, and my growing up there, for years, so I had been gathering ideas for a while. It seemed like at least a book-length project. I started working on it seriously about four years ago, but it wasn’t going anywhere until I started messing around with erasures, which happened because of Ezra Pound. I read a few of his Radio Rome broadcasts, in which he uses the word “she” often, to mean “democracy” or “France” or other abstractions. Maybe once he uses it to mean a particular person. That, combined with the extreme racism and anti-Semitism in those rants, made me want to interfere with his language. I’d been looking at Tom Philips’ A Humument, so I tried erasing. The result was a narrative about a single imagined “she” at home, listening to the radio during the war, maybe even listening to Pound.
 
Writing that poem was extremely satisfying, and I started to look for other historical documents that were frustrating to read for their jingoism, or their political grandstanding, or their utterly shuttered perspective. The early Western visitors to Okinawa, like Basil Hall and Commodore Perry, for example, have all the expected 19th-century colonialist things to say about the people they met, or didn’t bother to meet, when they anchored in Naha Harbor and charged ashore. Repurposing their words felt like a fitting way to engage the larger context of my own experience living there as part of the U.S. military more than century later.
 
The book found its final shape when I realized that the erasures alone, without the original poems I had planned to include, would make the book. The final version is half-print and half-digital: the poems exist online, in interactive versions, so that the original document’s language appears when you touch each line of a poem. And so in a sense this book is many books—a miniature library about how U.S. and Japanese and Okinawan history have intersected.
 
5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
Readings are like rollercoasters. They terrify me, but I also love them once I get almost all the way through. Then I want it to be my turn again.
 
I also love readings because they’re a good place to discover other writing I like. And especially, seeing what other poets do when they turn their poems into performances, into voiced sounds, is great. I like reading with other people because there’s a solid chunk of time where I can just enjoy what’s going on.
 
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?
Yes, though I don’t think I’m trying to answer questions as much as ask them. I am interested in what gets dismissed as “natural,” and why, whether it be femininity or cruelty during wartime or a supposedly fundamental goodness of ‘human nature.’ How does language figure into our negotiations around what we think of as ‘natural’? For example, part of the process of rationalizing inhumane actions during war (or any time, really) involves deploying metaphor to transform other people into beings naturally deserving of or able to bear that cruelty. I’m interested in what happens to someone, to her relationship to language and to other people, when she uses words to dehumanize or objectify someone else, and how language itself can seem complicit in how we turn words to that purpose. In The Poetics of Imperialism, Eric Cheyfitz quotes Abraham Fraunce explaining in 1588 that a metaphor is when “a word is turned from his naturall signification…so convenientlie, as that it seeme rather willlinglie ledd, than driven by force to that other signification.” That "rather willinglie" sticks with me.  
 
7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Does s/he even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?
I think writers should engage in our writing with what we perceive to be pressing questions. I also think we should engage with those questions in other ways, since literature can only do some work. Teaching and activism are some obvious complements to what a writer does in her writing life.
 
I admire writers like Ta-Nehisi Coates and Mallory Ortberg, who synthesize riveting writing and razor-sharp political critique on a daily basis. They are so quick, and every single thing they write is good. They’re models of how writers can play an activist role in larger culture. 
 
8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
I haven’t done it very much. I would like to—when I have, it has been tremendously helpful. It depends on the kind of writing I’m doing, too. With this book of erasures, an editor could help with organization, but maybe not so much with content.
 
9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
“It’s not about you.” A friend told me this (she phrased it much more kindly) when I was worried about not having brought an appropriately formal coat for another friend’s mother’s funeral. Of course she was right. It is hard to remember this but it is almost always true, and usually it is a relief even if it stings my ego.
 
10 - 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 like lists. A typical non-teaching day will begin with making to-do lists and then crossing off what I’ve already done (of course!). And then begins the struggle to do the writing before I do the things which are easier to cross off: the necessary other work (class prep, student emails, etc.) and the totally mundane (cleaning the bathroom). Breaking down my writing projects into tiny, doable steps and putting them on the list usually works: “Item: complete the second sentence in draft of poem X.” I feel undeservedly clever for having figured this out.
 
11 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
I go read contemporary poets who are doing wonderful, strange, sharp things with poetry as a genre. Dawn Lundy Martin, Craig Santos Perez, Cathy Park Hong, Claudia Rankine, Bhanu Kapil, Ronaldo Wilson, Maggie Nelson. It helps me remember that if I can figure it out how to make it work for someone reading, I can do pretty much anything to a “poem”. So then I am problem-solving instead of trying to write.
 
12 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
River water and beer.
 
13 - 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?
Painting. History, if that counts as “not books.” But mostly books.
 
14 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
 
15 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
Have a kid. Maybe? (That’s why I don’t have one yet.)
 
16 - 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?
My whole family is small-town talkers and writers: English teachers, librarians, a couple of ministers. I would probably have been a librarian. That would be great.
 
17 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
I was working in advertising in my early twenties when my mom got sick, and I took time off from my job to take care of her. I don’t know what I’d be doing now if that hadn’t happened. The circumstance of her illness meant I had something to write about, and something I needed to escape, both.
 
18 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
 
19 - What are you currently working on?
Whatever it is, it’s still at the stage where I don’t know what it is yet. Here's hoping I find out soon.