12 or 20 (second series) questions with Tea Gerbeza

Tea Gerbeza is a neuroqueer disabled writer and multimedia artist. She has an MFA in Writing from the University of Saskatchewan and an MA in English & Creative Writing from the University of Regina. She is the winner of the Ex-Puritan’s 2022 Austin Clarke Prize in Literary Excellence for poetry, and has published widely in magazines including ARC magazine, Action Spectacle, The Poetry Foundation, Wordgathering, and Contemporary Verse 2, among others. Tea resides in oskana kâ-asastêki in Treaty 4 territory (Regina, SK) with her spouse, three dogs, and cat. How I Bend Into More is her first book. She hopes you spiral art from its pages.

How did your first book change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?

My debut, How I Bend Into More, changed my life in many ways, the biggest being that I finally articulated the experience that shaped who I am the most and learned so much from that process. This book was transformative for my style and voice as a poet because I discovered blending verse and art and making them work together is integral to my poetry. I’ve fervently been sketching in my notebook the possibilities of paper quilling and verse for one of my projects that is concerned with using the paper strips as modes of memory (postmemory, intergenerational trauma, cellular memory from mother to child) and reaching toward a past self to understand the aftereffects of war on a family.

How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?

This is a funny question because I actually came to poetry last in my writing journey, despite it being the first genre I published in. I wrote only fiction while in high school and early undergrad, and I dabbled with creative nonfiction in my Master’s program at the University of Regina, but once poetry seeded itself in me, I realized that the form that held the most space for my playfulness and experimentation was poetry. The rules were as I made them so long as the poem taught its reader how to read it.

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?

Everything I do is slow; I create in queer crip time. The writing happens gradually—I usually have a grasp of an idea for a poem and then I let that idea percolate until I’m able to get my journal out and write the first draft by hand, which then I’ll transcribe to my computer to continue working on it. I make copious lists in my notebook when trying to work out a poem, but typically after a few drafts on my laptop, its shape is usually figured out; though, sometimes the shape changes drastically if I have an epiphany while I’m paper-quilling and thinking about the poem. As someone with an unpredictable body, I invite unpredictability into my poems, too.

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?

My poems usually begin at the end. The ending line or feeling is the charm I hold close when I start, even if the original ending changes in revision. Endings make me consider “what needs to come first” before I can reach my desired destination. To answer the next question, I’d say I’m typically a project girlie—much of what I write is usually connected to an overarching idea or narrative, so I guess you could say I’m working on a “book” from the beginning. I am a long poem poet, so this tracks.

Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?

I love public readings. While I get intensely nervous and nothing brings out my imposter syndrome more than being in front of a crowd, the energy of a room really moves me. Once I get my rhythm going, I’m good. I adore hearing people’s cheesecake mmms when a poem resonates. Readings are intimate spaces, especially when I meet a writer I’ve never met before but get to read with—that is such a rich ground for friendship. I met one of my good friends, Spenser Smith that way when Spenser launched A Brief Relief From Hunger in Regina.

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?

Oh this is a tough one! Yes, I absolutely have theoretical questions behind all the work I do. I’ll let readers of my book determine the theoretical underpinings of How I Bend Into More, but I’ll give insight into some of the theoretical questions I’m working with in my current projects. I’m working on a few different projects right now—one is about my family and our experience during/after the Yugoslavian Civil War (a.k.a Bosnian War of the 1990s) and this work, so far, is interested in memory, notably intergenerational trauma and postmemory. This project’s current theoretical concerns explore what memories become stories in the child’s body from the mother and once I become a mother, what stories will be passed from me to my child, and all the complexities that live there. Another question I ask is: what traumas are imbedded in my body, in my mother’s, in my father’s, and how do these traumas affect us as we make a life here in Saskatchewan? How did/do we survive under so much pain? My other two projects center their questions around friendship and care, particularly queer disabled platonic friendships. I ask: what happens when spoons are low and our care networks aren’t expansive? What are the tensions in these friendships? What does care look like in a disabled queer context?

Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?

Definitely essential! A well-trained editor can pick out the places in a manuscript where the poem(s) don’t sing as strongly as those around them. It’s also especially helpful to be able to bounce ideas off of another person that has thought about your work intimately and thoroughly. I also love a good, ruthless cut. Revision is my favourite part of the writing process.

Working with my editor, Jim Johnstone, was magic. He was so attuned to my work that he helped me cut chunks of the long poem, in turn making the poem tighter, and lifting my voice to the surface. I couldn’t have done that without him and his keen editorial eye. There’s a richness in the relationship between writer and editor, and often the collaboration brings out the poetry in a whole new way that only strengthens the manuscript. It’s all very gratifying work.

What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?

My favourite writing advice came from Jes Battis, who told me to “write within my own rhythms,” and this transformed the way I thought about routine and practice. I actually have Jes’ advice written on a sticky note plastered to my wall beside my desk. As a disabled person with an unpredictable body, writing every single day is not possible. So what do I do? I figure out my own rhythms and work within them. I resent the ableist notion that to be a writer one must write everyday—that’s simply untrue. I think writing within your own rhythms and practicing softness is much more beneficial.

How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to fiction to visual art)? What do you see as the appeal?

I find it particularly easy because I’m constantly thinking in poetry and visual art and their intersections. My paper quilling is interconnected to my poetry in many ways (my conceptual work, especially, often explores similar themes to my poetry, so they are often working together to convey the message, as seen in How I Bend Into More). Fiction is harder for me and takes me much longer to finish a piece. I’m intimidated by fiction—and therefore less confident about the stories I write—but the genre excites me, and gives a different kind of space to explore some themes I’m interested in (like friendship, for example).

What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?

Again, my routine often is reliant on what my bodymind is like on any given day. What I try to do is use Friday-Sunday mornings as writing days, however the writing becomes. A Friday morning begins with making coffee, going to the couch in my pajamas and having my cat lay on my chest as I read a book. Coffee gone cold, I’ll get up and go make more and sit at my dining table or desk and write in my journal (or get to work on a poem that I’m in the middle of). Other times, after the coffee has gone cold, I’ll go to my favourite café and have an americano and work there for a couple hours. On Sundays, I meet with a group of friends to write for an hour in the morning (bodymind allowing) over Zoom. During the week, I work my day job and usually come home exhausted, so no writing gets done in the evenings; however, if I get inspired throughout the day I’ll make a note in my journal or email myself.

When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?

I consume stories, whether that be a book, a TV show, or a movie. If I’m particularly moved by something, that usually sparks me. Sometimes, it’s as simple as I need to do something else, so I’ll go and make paper-quilled shapes to make my brain work itself out.

What fragrance reminds you of home?

That very specific smell that dog guardians will understand of when a dog comes inside after being outside during a particularly cold day.

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?

Oh absolutely. Visual art definitely influences my work, but so does music (I’m always listening to music when I write). Nature impacts me because I feel the most calm when outdoors. I work through any of the day’s anxieties when on a walk, a bike ride, or sitting in grass under the sun. In the spring/summer, I begin each day in my backyard with my dogs and cat in the morning sun reading poetry. Friendship, as a form, is also a huge influence on my work.

What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?

Oh, there are so, so many people that I admire and whose work was important for this book and beyond. I’ll do my best to name some whose work really helped inform my book and my understandings around poetics, disability, pain, memory, and the bodymind. Among them: Raymond Antrobus, Courtney Bates-Hardy, Roxanna Bennett, Elena Bentley, Victoria Chang,  Leanne Charette, Chen Chen, Travis Chi Wing Lau, Meg Day, Sarah Ens, Therese Estacion, Laura Ferguson, torrin a. greathouse, Carla Harris, Johanna Hedva, Leah Horlick, Karl Knights, Diana Khoi Nguyen, Amanda Leduc, Molly McCully Brown, Arianna Monet, Walela Nehanda, Emilia Nielsen, Dominik Parisien, Nisha Patel, Jason Purcell, Rebecca Salazar, Jennifer Still, Jane Shi, Lauren Turner, Daniel Scott Tysdal, and Jillian Weise. There are numerous others that there’s just not enough room for me to name everyone!

What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?

I’d really love to put together a stand-up comedy piece and perform it.

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 think I’d always be a creative person, so I’d probably find myself as a hair stylist or florist, or perhaps, a dog groomer.

What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?

A feeling of immense joy followed by a sigh of relief. I also really love being playful in my interrogations and writing allows that. Writing also gives me the excuse to do ample research on random topics I’m interested in.

What was the last great book you read?

How to Tell When We Will Die by Johanna Hedva. Everyone should read this book.

What are you currently working on?

I’m working on two poetry projects: one is about mine and my parents’ experience during/after the Yugoslavian Civil War (partly a continuation of How I Bend Into More, but more focused on memory, trauma, and relationships), and the other is about disabled queer friendships (essentially love poems to my friends, haha). Then, I’m working on a fiction project that also explores friendship between disabled queer friends. All of these are in pretty early stages.

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