Sarah Marcus is the author of They Were Bears (2017,
Sundress Publications), Nothing Good Ever Happens After
Midnight (2016, GTK Press), and the chapbooks BACKCOUNTRY (2013) and Every Bird, To You (2013). Her other work can be found at NPR’s Prosody, The Huffington Post, McSweeney’s, Cimarron Review, Spork, The Establishment, Cosmopolitan.com, and Marie Claire.com SA,
among others. She is an editor at Gazing Grain Press, a spirited VIDA: Women in Literary Arts volunteer,
and the Series Editor for As It Ought To Be’s High
School Poetry Series: Gender, Identity, & Race. She holds an MFA in poetry
from George Mason University and currently teaches and
writes in Cleveland, OH.
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
chapbook, BACKCOUNTRY (Finishing Line Press, 2013) followed a
tumultuous relationship and felt raw and maybe even reckless sometimes, but
most importantly, its publication gave me the confidence I needed to continue
writing after my MFA program. Soon after, I published another chap, and three
years later, my first full-length, Nothing
Good Ever Happens After Midnight came out with GTK Press in 2016. Nothing Good is a journey through
surviving sexual assault and how that type of violent trauma gets coded within
us. Certainly all of my projects have themes in common: trauma, loving people
we shouldn’t, survival, the wilderness, drug addiction, and bears, but with
each book my narrator grew more confident and assertive and insightful. The
relationships between my narrator and self, her lovers and family, and nature
grew more complex and nuanced, I think.
I feel as though my next book, They
Were Bears, out with Sundress
Publications in February 2017, is the most cohesive of these collections. Rachel Eliza Griffiths writes, “They Were Bears gives
us a world that is intimate, complicated, and lush in its raw, brutal
meditation upon the complexities of Nature, both within and beyond our grasp as
both human beings and animals. These poems by Sarah Marcus channel what the
world demands of us, and our bodies as we are guided through a startling
cartography of desire, trauma, and memory that is both refuge and wilderness.
Marcus writes, ‘I want to say that there are places I have to go, and you have
to follow me…through all this orange light, every version of the color red, we
betray ourselves for miles.’ With stunning craft and intuition, Marcus places
her lyric power against the beautiful, terrifying bones in us where words often
feel broken and impossible. Her poems expand through their stark and luminous
discoveries to reveal a natural and psychic world too complex to ignore. Marcus
gives us sacred breath in which to claim that world when she writes, ‘We
inscribe the rocks/with our names, wanting a sign,/want the sky to say:/This is
mainland. Solid ground./The place you’ve been looking for.'”
2 - How did you come to
poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?
Maybe
I came to poetry first because I get bored easily. The fun of poetry is
resisting closure. When I write fiction and nonfiction, I never feel quite
“finished” with the story. With poetry, even the first line wants to be
complete. Poetry has always felt more accessible to me, even as a child.
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?
Initially,
poems tend to come quickly. They are usually quite flawed in this form. It
takes many drafts to let the poem say what it means in the simplest way
possible. Other projects tend to require endless disconnected notes or long
inner-monologues while I’m driving and unable to write anything down.
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’ve
never started with a book length project in mind. This is way too overwhelming
a prospect. Sometimes I feel like I’m just writing the same damn poem over and
over again, so it all ends up being connected in the end.
5 - Are public readings part
of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys
doing readings?
I
don’t think they impact the process itself. For me, readings are a lovely way
to connect to other readers and writers. They exist for the sake of community
and support. I enjoy reading very much, especially when I am paired with
writers who hold very different aesthetics. This is how I’ve come to know and
appreciate many of my peers.
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?
I
am constantly struggling with the ideas of survival and revival. I guess the
question is what’s the point of it all? Why are we here in this unforgiving
landscape where other people are so close and yet so far away? I like thinking
about all the ways we attempt communication with others and with a Higher Power
and all of our miscommunications and good intentions. I am always questioning
what it means to be a woman and who gets to decide. Who dictates experience?
Can people recover? Is life just a series of moments that we might miss if
we’re not paying enough attention?
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?
Writers
should be advocates for inclusivity, diversity, and justice. The act of writing
is a political action. We are responsible for cultivating and creating safe,
open spaces for people to experience free thought and art.
8 - Do you find the process
of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
Most
things that are essential are difficult. I worked closely with an editor on They Were Bears. At first, I was pretty
overwhelmed by the amount of feedback I received, but after stepping back, I
was able to process each new perspective and question. I am so grateful for
Sara Henning’s thoughtful and insightful edits and ideas. My book is absolutely
better because of her guidance. It also helps when your editor is incredibly
patient, professional, and kind. So, I feel very lucky.
9 - What is the best piece
of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
Use your experience to empathize with others.
“Every difficulty in your life builds up your mental library of what it's like
to go through hard times. And every mistake enables you to empathize with
others who also make mistakes. And every time you become frustrated or angry,
you gain a better understanding of others who feel this way.
Make note of all your worries and your fears.
Make note of your uncomfortable or embarrassing moments. These -- together with
every injury, illness, and wound -- help you to become more sensitive to the
suffering of others.” From Rabbi Pliskin's book, Kindness.
10 - How easy has it been
for you to move between genres (poetry to fiction to critical prose)? What do
you see as the appeal?
Somehow
I find poetry and nonfiction to be more fluid. My poetry, though certainly
fictionalized, often takes on a confessional tone and so I find it fairly easy
to write personal essays or profiles. I have a much harder time with fiction. I
am always so impressed with writers whose imaginations allow so many
intersecting narratives to flawlessly come together. On the other hand, it
could be argued that even vignette, memoir, or confessional work is always to
an extent fictionalized depending on the owner of memory.
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?
What
is a routine?
12 - When your writing gets stalled,
where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
I’ve
been turning to Women Who Run with the Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype by Clarissa Pinkola Estés,
which is excellent and motivating in every way.
13 - What fragrance reminds
you of home?
Autumn.
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?
So
much of my writing is centered on surviving and being wholly present in the
wilderness. I am influenced by backcountry hiking and camping and by the act of
trying to return to a simpler, more connected way. I’m not sure it’s possible
to not be influenced by music. It’s a part of everything we do—human made or
the sounds of nature—we are infused with music.
15 - What other writers or
writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
So
many writers are important to me: Adrienne Rich, Joy Harjo, Lucille Clifton, June Jordan, Pam Houston, Louise Gluck, and countless others. The
writers that have helped me simplify my life are Cheryl Strayed, Paulo Coelho,
and Don Miguel Ruiz.
16 - What would you like to
do that you haven't yet done?
Write
a memoir. Hike in Alaska.
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?
Something
in advocacy or social justice. I was a Rape Crisis Counselor and Victim
Advocate in college, and it was one of the most important jobs I’ve ever had. I
currently work in urban education. I am always interested in finding ways to
support underserved communities. In another life, I could’ve been a wilderness survival
skills instructor.
18 - What made you write, as
opposed to doing something else?
It
never felt like a choice. I just always had to. I can’t not write even when my
focus should perhaps be elsewhere. I minored in Middle East and Islamic studies
as an undergrad and my first job out of college was doing communications and PR
for a political nonprofit. Before I graduated, one of my favorite Creative
Writing Professors pulled me aside and said, “Never forget that you are a
poet.” I had no idea what he meant at the time. I thought it was a strange and
intense thing to say. I get it now. I carry that voice with me still.
19 - What was the last great
book you read? What was the last great film?
I
am in the middle of teaching The Alchemist. It gets better and better each time I read it. Also, if you
haven’t watched the documentary MissRepresentation
yet, you should.
20 - What are you currently
working on?
Various
personal essays and poems. I’m always working on letting go of other people’s
expectations and being my most compassionate self.
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