ongoing notes: mid-June, 2026: Joshua Wilkerson + Zoé Mahfouz,

We will see you at the ottawa small press book fair this weekend, yes? Reading on Friday at Anina’s Café and fair itself on Saturday at the Glebe Community Centre. Can you believe we’ve been doing this for more than three decades? There’s probably other stuff too. Oh, I’ve been posting a slew of interviews with above/ground press authors via the above/ground press substack, and starting to post sections of an extended journal from my week-plus at the Banff Centre back in May, so there’s that.

Brooklyn NY: From Brooklyn-based poet, editor and publisher Joshua Wilkerson comes the small chapbook FUME LAPSE (Brooklyn NY: Urizen, 2026), an assemblage of odd, quirky, first-person descriptive narrative poems and texts that shimmer, ever so slightly, against the light. Wilkerson’s lyrics are quiet, bubbling with wild energy just underneath the surface, offering a thinking in real time lyric sentences. “I remember my father woke me up from my tent to say the earth’s shape is curved, round,” he writes, as part of the second “Fuse Lapse” poem, of which there are several scattered through the collection, “like a stone column. I remember he said the earth rests on water, like wood, that the first animals were enclosed in thorny barks: cockles, moon snails, pear conchs, serpent stars, speaking and singing.” There’s a way these poems set underneath the skin, become hard to shake. “Everyone is obsessive / Just to different degrees,” begins the poem “Two Cities,” “That’s why the years went by so fast / Overhanging branches stroke the trains as they pass [.]” These are poems that pass through memory and intimacy, carefully set and considered, writing with the exuberance of considered youth, from only the slightest distance. Or, as that same, second, four-page sequence “Fume Lapse” ends:

I remember my father woke me up from my tent to show me
Alpha Centauri through the telescope – its four year old light
against my eyes. I read that somewhere, I overheard that, I made
that up, then furrowed it into the dull thunder of this painting,
which is a poem, which is another subway ride to work.

Chicago IL/Paris France: From acclaimed French writer Zoé Mahfouz (with a new book of short stories out this year, apparently) comes the chapbook Borges Must Be Rolling in his Grave (Chicago IL: dancing girl press, 2025), a series of intriguing constraint poems, most of which are held to the boundaries of four-line stanzas, with poems of three or four stanzas, most of which are centred upon the page. “Zero-gravity teardrop cocoon / No atoms to carry a sound wave,” begins the opening poem, “THE SUN BEARER’S POLLEN,” “The cataracts of the Nile boon / A cloudy-lens deprivation cave.” Form, as much as anything, seems to be the purpose here, and there’s even a haibun included, for good measure. Mafouz’s poems are propulsive, simultaneously energized and restrained. Composed as explorations of boundaries, and variations on constraint, but one that revels in a precise pattern of sounds and syllables, writing a lyric so tight not a wasted word, sound or stutter. These poems might just need to be heard.

BASAL GANGLIA DOMINION

Cheek by jowl, Hypnos with pink granite
Crumbling uranium, isotopes of potassium
Shadow-melding insectum plight
Coral keister befalls cysts, maelstrom. 

Foreign sycophant involving crawling
Like sand through a ravaged hourglass,
Oviparous, birthing bricks intestines,
Sun-blood trade, egest in flasks. 

Defer the harvest amidst matchboxes,
Scraping from under the dermis,
Chewing nutrients, anemia outfoxed,
Dry-cough Clozapine blunts. 

Insecticides tropho-goner,
Lethargic, excoriated palms,
Asclepius’ urinalysis qualms,
Delusional parasitosis collar.

 

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Dawn Tefft

Once Upon a Riot, Dawn Tefft’s first full-length poetry book, came out through Match Factory Editions in June 2025.  Dawn’s chapbooks include Gosling (Anhinga Press), Fist (Dancing Girl Press), and Field Trip to My Mother and Other Exotic Locations (Mudlark).  Her poems appear in Bennington Review, Denver Quarterly, and Fence.  She earned a PhD in English with a concentration in Creative Writing at University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, volunteers as an editor for Packingtown Review, and works as a union representative in Chicago.

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, Field Trip to My Mother and Other Exotic Locations, consisted of very short, lyrical poems that played a lot with language, sound, and repetition.  It was a project book focused on interrogating how my mother had come to live in poverty.  The length and style of the poems in my first full-length book of poems, Once Upon a Riot, varies a great deal, though it’s another project book, this one focused on the importance of resisting forms of oppression such as fascism and economic exploitation while also examining what it’s like to raise a child in our political moment.

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

 I suspect that I came to poetry first because I’m not a storyteller.  I prefer parataxis, ellipsis, juxtaposition, dreaminess, etc. over linear narrative.  I prefer suggestion over directness in writing.  I enjoy poetry because it’s a way of speaking that isn’t normally provided much space in life.  It’s a way of saying that is, when done well, always pushing at the borders of language, of what is sayable or knowable.  I think of it as being akin to theory in that it challenges the reader to co-author the piece by filling in the gaps.

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 used to spend a great deal of time revising poems, and I used to draw a lot on notes.  Now that I’ve been writing for so many years, it comes more quickly and requires less revision.  It always involves a certain amount of recursivity throughout the writing process, experimenting and changing things as I go, but the final revisions take less time now.  Having said that, I recently revisited a poem I wrote twenty-three years ago after moving to Seattle.  It’s stylistically different from what I write now, but I realized I still liked it.  I decided the end lines were in the way of the poem, so revised those, submitted it for publication and a few days later received word from LUNA LUNA Magazine, which publishes poems I love, that they were publishing it.  It’s up now in their December 2025 issue.  Sometimes you have to work on something for decades to get it just right.

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.  Both/and.

5 - 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.  Although I prefer poems on the page over poems read aloud, I love the way that reading a poem out loud changes the poem and draws out different elements of it.  It’s kind of like how if you use light to examine a particle, it causes the particle to move, so you can’t ever know the original location of the particle exactly since looking at it makes it move.  Once you read a poem out loud, the original poem on the page has been transformed into a different poem.

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?

As I said in an earlier response, I think of poetry as being akin to theory in that it challenges the reader to co-author the piece by filling in the gaps.  So my concerns would be not to state anything too directly, because I want the reader to be challenged, I want them to find many different things in the poem, I want reading the poem to be generative of a reader’s own creative processes.  When I’m writing, I rarely have specific things in mind that I want to say; I know it’s a cliché, but I write to discover, to play, to unearth things from my own mind and from the possibilities inherent in language, rather than to say “X.”  However, when writing as well as when revising, I do have a sense of what’s emerging for me as a reader, and I will lean into that, clarify certain things, etc.  So it’s not that there aren’t things I’m aiming for at times, there definitely are, but those things become evident through writing.

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?

I think writers bring beauty to a world in need of beauty.  Most of my favorite writing deals with painful or ugly subjects, but the writing itself sings.  It can also bring insight, foster empathy, and help us feel connected to each other and the larger world.  Art enriches the world, makes the world livable and even enjoyable at times for me.

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

I find working with an outside editor to be an easy process that strengthens my work.  Also, an editor is an audience, and it’s always helpful to know how an audience outside of yourself reacts to your work.

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

I don’t know if I’ve heard it as advice, but I think it’s important to write for both yourself and for an outside audience.  I always have my own pleasure and the pleasure of others in mind.  If I just focus on one or the other, I think the work tends to be less interesting.  I guess it’s important to balance your relationship with yourself, with others, with the larger world, with literary communities, and with language as a historical construct.  Not that you should constantly be aware of that balance, but you should resurface from time to time and dive back in with it in mind.

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?

My routine varies.  Sometimes I write when I feel compelled to write.  Other times, I make myself write.  I definitely don’t write creatively every day, though, and am pretty strongly opposed to the notion that one needs to write every day, which seems like it was probably more doable for more people back when the middle class was more robust. 

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

Other people’s writing, visual art, film, TV, the world around me.

12 - What fragrance reminds you of home?

Incense, candles made with essential oils, my child’s sweat.

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?

Yes, I love film, especially slow cinema.  Think Tarkovsky’s Andrei Rublev.  And now that there is finally a lot of what I consider literary-quality TV, I love that, too.  I think Severance is top notch.  I can’t fully grasp what’s going on in the surreal world of that show, and I love its elusive nature, though there is so much in the show that is of course familiar and grounds me in the world that they’ve created and which is, to an extent, a commentary on our working lives.  I love visual art and art that defies genres or is cross-genre.  I recently saw the Yoko Ono exhibit at the MCA in Chicago.  I’ve written some ekphrastic poems or poems just generally influenced by, or referencing, art.  It’s all part of the swirl that I’m moving through that is the context for my own writing.  And I think that both “high” art and pop culture make for great conversation partners.

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

Some works that I consider important: Dictee by Theresa Hak Kyung Cha, The Fire Next Time by James Baldwin, Snow Part by Paul Celan, shattered sonnets love cards and other off and back handed importunities by Olena Kalytiak Davis, Salvage the Bones by Jesmyn Ward. The Neapolitan Series by Elena Ferrante (starting with My Brilliant Friend) is hands-down the best work of literature I’ve encountered; it’s brilliant on both the micro- and macro-levels.  It’s just as attentive to nuances of emotional exchanges between friends and the inner workings of the mind as it is to global and regional politics and socio-economic systems.  And I’m loving the work put out by Match Factory Editions, the press that published my new book of poems. 

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

There are so many different project books that I’d work on if I had time enough.  I wish I could have hyper focuses for each book and work on them simultaneously.

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?

Well, I work as a union representative, and I used to be a college instructor.  I enjoy both of those occupations.  I’ve found that being a writer made me better at each of them.

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

I write because I’m compelled to write.  Because it’s both a need and a desire.  I like the intellectual and creative challenges it offers.  I like it as a form of expression, of exploration, of cognition.  I like how it problematizes the world as much as, or more than, it clarifies it.

18 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?

I recently read the following books, all of which I enjoyed: Crocosmia by Miranda Mellis, All Fours by Miranda July, All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr, Hood Witch by Faylita Hicks, Domestic Corpse by Paul Paul Martínez Pompa, and Concrete is More Beautiful Disfigured and Stained by Snežana Žabić.

19 - What are you currently working on?

Individual poems that come to me as they do.  Not sure what shape the larger projects will take yet, but I have a couple things in mind.  Currently considering writing a book of some very boxy prose poems and a book of some very airy lyric poems with lots of gaps to be filled in by the reader.  I want them to be very different projects.  I think most poets find a style and stick to it.  But I like to play around a lot.  I want to do all the things.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

 

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Jesi Bender

Jesi Bender is the author of the novel Child of Light (Whiskey Tit 2025), the chapbook Dangerous Women (dancing girl press 2022), the play Kinderkrankenhaus (Sagging Meniscus 2021), and the novel The Book of the Last Word (Whiskey Tit 2019). The Brooklyn production of Kinderkrankenhaus was a top-five finalist for the BroadwayWorld's Best Off-Broadway Play 2023.  Her shorter work has appeared in Vol. 1 Brooklyn, Denver Quarterly, FENCE, and Sleepingfish, among others. She also runs KERNPUNKT Press, a home for experimental work. www.jesibender.com

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?

I had a chapbook published in 2010 called Glossolalia by MFG Imprint Publishing.  I'm not sure how long they were around but I can't find any remnants of them online anymore.  It had a very small run and sold mainly to my friends and friends of my parents.  It was another nine years before my first novel, The Book of the Last Word, was published by Whiskey Tit, though I had begun that book at the same time as Glossolalia.  My novel felt more 'real'—it got reviews, had people besides my family read it.  But the most significant part of getting the novel published was that it connected me to many more writers.  As someone who thought it was more prudent to get an MLIS than a MFA, I've really cherish the community that came along with publishing with a small press, as I never had that before.

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

I'm interested in language, its melody and myriad meanings.  It seems to me that poetry is a more ready opportunity to play.  Poetry seems to have no rules, while fiction people really want to impose a lot of rules on you.  That's my experience, anyway. 

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?

My novel and plays follow the same path.  I start with a specific movement or event (Victorian Spiritualism for Child of Light) and do copious research on the elements and people involved.  From those notes, I etch out an outline.  Then, I fill each chapter in with notes and phrasings that I've come up with so far and flesh out each passage.  After that, of course, the editing begins.

4 - Where does a poem or work of prose 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?

The piece is almost always the piece, be it a poem or a novel, a play or a short story, from the get-go.  A single entity.  I very rarely piece separate items together to make one manuscript. 

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

I do readings after publication usually, though I am not the best reader in the world.  As a child, I was 'pathologically shy' so it has taken a while to feel comfortable in front of a crowd.  In a similar vein, I've loved having readings and performances of my plays—it is so energizing to hear the words out loud and see different interpretations.  I think every poet and writer should write a play and see it performed.  It will change you!

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, each work is asking a question and the novel or play or poetry collection is the product of my attempts to answer.  For Child of Light, a novel set in 1896 about a young girl trying to connect with her distant family through their interests (Spiritualism and domestic electricity), I'm concerned with meaning-making and epistemology and how they impact identity and reality. 

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?

Writers, a subsect of the larger 'storyteller' group, will be important as long as there are people around.  We critique, we document, we advocate and struggle—most importantly, we connect. 

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

I've yet to have a difficult encounter with an editor on a creative project (on academic articles, that's another story...).  Editors are essential for not only the mechanics, but as a litmus for how successful a writer has been with story, accuracy, and continuity. 

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

Invest in yourself.  I think this is an important thing for women to hear, in particular.

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

I love moving between genres.  My writing style and ethos makes it so I'm never really straying far from any genre, even when I'm working on another.  Child of Light is a novel but some chapters are poems or songs or visuals or dialogue.  They are always together.

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'm a mom and have a full-time job so writing happens 'where it will'—late at night, during lunch breaks, when I'm waiting at a doctor's office or my daughter's dance class.

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

I find arthouse films rejuvenating or I read small press books—I just picked up The Mothering Coven by Joanna Ruocco and The Maze of Transparencies by Karen An-Hwei Lee, both from Ellipsis Press.

13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?

I live in the woods, so leaves, grass, and dirt.  Rain and wildflowers.  If we're inside, popcorn.

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?

Music plays a big role.  I like books that 'sing' to you and hold a real musicality.  I also like modern art and breaking down form in new and unexpected ways.  I thought a lot about Victorian art movements while writing Child of Light, like the Pre-Raphaelites, Aestheticism, and Art Nouveau as well as burgeoning Impressionism, mirrored by phrasing and the use of Debussy's Clair de lune throughout.

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

Oh, so many.  I love Carole Maso, Thalia Field, Salvador Plascencia, Vi Khi Nao.  Kurt Vonnegut has been my hero since I was twelve.  I'm a Vonnegut expert. I love Charles Baudelaire, Rainer Maria Rilke, Amiri Baraka, Federico Garcia Lorca.  Finding Peter Weiss was revelatory for me.  So many. 

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

I'd like to film a full-length movie, probably from one of my plays.

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?

The other jobs I want would be like winning the lottery—I'd love to be a filmmaker or a curator in an art museum.  In more realistic alternatives, I think I would be a good support worker or autism advocate. 

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

I write, but I also paint, I make short films, I draw.  I'm an artist so I try out any medium that interests me.  But I think I keep coming back to writing because it lets me think. I feel like I can produce a more nuanced message in this form.  I can get close to expressing what I mean.

19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?

I have just re-read one of my favorite books of all time, Defiance by Carole Maso, for my book club.  I also read an incredible graphic novel from Fantagraphics, The N-Word of God by Mark Doox.  I've seen several great movies lately, too—Downfall has incredible casting (and is timely).  Sinners was beautiful and refreshing and I really enjoyed The Last Showgirl, too.  Pam Anderson does a wonderful job and I liked her character's complexity and single-minded approach to art. 

20 - What are you currently working on?

I'm working on finishing up a folk horror novel about Grace Brown.  Hopefully, there'll be a first draft by the end of the year.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Trisia Eddy Woods

Trisia Eddy Woods is the author of A Road Map for Finding Wild Horses (Turnstone Press, 2024.) A former editor for Red Nettle Press, Trisia’s writing has appeared in a variety of literary journals and chapbooks across North America including Contemporary Verse 2, The Garneau Review, and New American Writing. Her artwork has been exhibited both close to home and internationally, and is held in the special collection of the Herron Art Library. Currently she lives in Edmonton / amiskwaciywâskahikan with her family, which includes an array of four-legged companions. Her photography, including wild horses, can be found online at prairiedarkroom.com or IG: @prairiedarkroom

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 was a long form poem published with dancing girl press, over ten years ago now. I really loved it, it felt special and the poem still holds a lot of meaning for me. Although the setting is quite different, this current book is similar in the sense that I am exploring different layers of connection. However, I definitely see and feel where I have grown as a writer, and I feel more confident in my voice. This being my first full-length collection, I’m incredibly excited to see it out in the world.

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

I was encouraged when I was still in junior high school by my English teacher, Mrs. Leppard. I remember her putting together a compilation of pieces written by students, and when one of my poems was chosen I felt incredibly proud. I continued writing poetry throughout university, and after my kids were born. It wasn’t very accomplished or well edited, but poetry was a way for me to write in the brief spells of time I had in between working and mothering. As they have grown I have been able to spend more focused time, be more thoughtful and consistent. I’d definitely like to write essays or fiction; perhaps that is on the horizon.

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 am constantly writing things that come to mind, and collect them in notebooks or on my phone if I don’t have a pen and paper. I also often make voice memos to myself, and  transcribe them every couple of months. This particular project was done over several years, so I had a lot of disorganized pieces to go through and make sense of!

Lately as I have been dealing with the effects of long covid I find myself coming across snippets of writing, and I cannot remember when they are from, or the context under which I wrote them. So I am accumulating a collection of verses that are simply phrases I like the sound of, or evoke certain feelings, which is proving to be an interesting way to put together a project.

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?

I think that my ideas grow out of what I happen to be obsessing over at the time. I don’t purposefully create a book, but I do like to deeply explore concepts and get lost in research, so that seems to organically take shape as a larger body of work. Sometimes it feels as though the idea of putting together a collection is intimidating, as I have a few half-formed manuscripts that were supposed to be ‘books.’ In the last several years, though, I have become more comfortable with taking things apart and letting them go, whether it is individual poems or a collection.

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

Having helped organized readings in the past, I found them really quite inspiring and important in terms of hearing the work of others, as well as sharing my own. Poetry in particular has always seemed to me a kind of art form that enjoys being read aloud. I love hearing writers interpret their work in their own voice, I think you hear things that you might miss just reading from the page. With this book I have had a few opportunities already to read at different events, and it seems to bring a life to the project that is invigorating on a different level.

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?

That’s a difficult one. I don’t know that I have contemplated much in the way of theoretical concerns, aside from my own emotional processes. In the past I was often mired in wanting to say something ‘important,’ and I struggled with feeling reluctant to share my writing. Now I appreciate the fact that all of us have important experiences and perspectives to share, so perhaps I might say that one current consideration is to be generous with our reading and writing, and to make space for embracing a variety of questions and answers, especially from voices that are not traditionally heard.

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?

I work in a library, so I see first hand the influence of writers in people’s lives. It’s quite amazing, really, how many books circulate, and how attached people get to certain authors. How excited they are when their holds arrive, how disappointed they are when we don’t have something they are looking for on the shelf. How much they love to talk about a book they really enjoyed, with staff and with strangers. I think if writers could see the interactions we have with the public they would feel quite proud of the pivotal role they play in creating community.

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

A Road Map for Finding Wild Horses was my first opportunity to work closely with an editor, and it was a transformative experience. I was very fortunate to work with Di Brandt, and she asked a lot of questions that helped me clarify what I was wanting to convey in the manuscript. So in that sense, it was definitely both; difficult because I was confronted with the potential weaknesses in my writing, and at the same time essential, because I was able to dig deep to answer those questions.

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

When I was working with Di, at one point she told me ‘you need to trust your writing more,’ and I was really struck by that. I think there are a lot of moments (for myself, at least!) where second-guessing the words on the page becomes a habit, and the idea of giving ourselves permission to believe in what we write can be very liberating.

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to photography)? What do you see as the appeal?

In many ways I see both my visual art practice and my writing practice as a conversation—there are times when I don’t have much to say in writing, and I turn to photography or printmaking to express what I am processing at the moment. Other days writing takes over, and I will spend weeks without picking up my camera. There is a certain amount of comfort in knowing that if the words aren’t at my fingertips, I still have ways of finding a creative outlet. It also means I am looking at the world in a multi-faceted way: sometimes I see or experience a moment and words come to mind, while other times I am struck by the particular way the light is just so, and feel the need to create a photograph.

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?

It is really only in the past couple of years that I’ve been able to develop any kind of writing routine. In the past I always just found bits of time here and there, late at night when everyone had gone to bed, or perhaps during the odd retreat away from home. Now I am able to sit and focus more consistently, but it is definitely a practice I am still working on.

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

I had to kind of laugh at this question, because my writing has been a constant sort of journey of starts and stops. I’ve learned to find inspiration in little things, as that is often what life is composed of; unfolding moments that make you pause. Sunsets that take your breath away, music that makes you teary. Really appreciating small accomplishments, or even the ability to have the time to rest and breathe in between the bustle.

13 - What was your last Hallowe'en costume?

A witch, I think? I still have this fabulous witch hat I used to wear on Hallowe’en when I did library story times.

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?

Yes, all of it! Especially since much of what I write about is the interconnectedness of life, how loss of that connection spurs grief, how rediscovery of it can open us up in so many ways. All of these modes of expression are avenues for exploring our relationships with one another and the world around us.

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

I have always been buoyed by friends who are fellow writers. I think it has been that encouragement and support that kept me on the path, because there were many moments when I felt discouraged or ready to shove ideas in the drawer. Dear friends like Jenna Butler, Shawna Lemay, Marita Dachsel… reading their writing has been sustaining in some dark moments because it feels like having a conversation with them.

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

Oh gosh, so many things. Before I became ill, I was actually booked on a trip to Sable Island, to photograph the wild horses there. I still plan on doing that. I also dream of photographing Polar bears in the north; that trip definitely requires more planning, but the time I have to actually make it there feels pressing as our climate radically shifts. I also look forward to the day I go to Montreal to see one of my sons perform; he’s studying jazz at university and will be doing his final recital soon. That will be a proud day.

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 often think I would have liked to have been a teacher; my husband is a teacher and the stories he brings home have become a part of our family mythology now. I was always struck by what a difference he made in many of his student’s lives. But now my oldest son is also becoming a teacher, so I will live vicariously!

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

Writing was something I often turned to as a child. I had no siblings so spent a lot of time alone, immersed in creating other worlds, and writing became a sort of refuge. During the years of raising a family, writing was often the same kind of respite, but in the sense that I had a place to go and decompress, explore my thoughts while caught in the tangle of parenting and working and all the other things life entails.

19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?

Most recently I have been reading and thoroughly enjoying Jasmine Odor’s newest novel, The Harvesters. We just watched American Fiction which was based on the novel Erasure, it was really well done.

20 - What are you currently working on?

Lately I have had to focus on health and recovery, which has meant finding new ways to incorporate writing and creative expression, as it is difficult to sustain any kind of activity, mental or physical. I find being in natural spaces is one of the things that is truly healing, so a lot of what I am writing is based on my experience with trying to access those spaces while also being limited in my capacity. I also find myself writing about aging, the mother wound, and climate anxiety, capitalism and the politics of care, how to embrace beauty and love and being flawed.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Katie Naughton

Katie Naughton is the author of the poetry collection The Real Ethereal (Delete Press, 2024), and the chapbooks Study (above/ground press, 2021) and A Second Singing (Dancing Girl Press, 2023), and Debt Ritual (Bunny / Fonograf, forthcoming 2025. Her poetry has been published in Fence, Bennington Review, Colorado Review, Michigan Quarterly Review, and elsewhere. She is an editor at Etcetera, a web journal of poetry and poetics (www.etceterapoetry.com) and a doctoral candidate in the Poetics program at SUNY – Buffalo.

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?
I really liked having a chapbook (my first, Study, from above/ground press) because it gave me something to give to other poets when I met them. Incidentally, a lot of the work in my new book, my first full-length collection The Real Ethereal, predates the work in Study, which was both composed and published relatively quickly. The Real Ethereal is poetry, whereas Study is a kind of essay form.

2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?
I read a lot more fiction as a young person, and hardly any poetry before college, so it was a bit of an accident to become a poet. I found, though, that my attention was inherently attuned to detail, the momentary, and the sound of language, more than narrative or character.
 
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 tend to draft a poem fairly quickly and in a form close to its final version, but it takes me a long time (a few years) to figure out how to frame a collection. So far. I don't know how my next big project will start and am interested in exploring other methods. I've been inspired recently by reading Mei-mei Berssenbrugge's drafts for Empathy at the Beinecke Library and seeing how the poem emerges from notes, sustained and direct inquiry into them, and iterative drafts.

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?
I'm not necessarily working on a "book" from the very beginning, but I am thinking about the questions or possibilities a collection of short poems operate in and what else I need to write to fill out that line of inquiry.

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
I am moved by the hushed quiet of a room of people listening. I haven't done too many readings yet, but they feel like a good way to gather with other poets and bring the poems into the mouth.
 
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'm interested in perception, the relationship between thought and feeling, the relationship between language and experience, and how any of this can become relevant and present to others.

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?
I think writing can help expand the possibilities of perception and change, even if often only slightly, the way we experience the world and our lives. Writing can also be a friend, sometimes a funny one, to keep us company.

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
I think it's such a generous use of an intelligence to work as an editor. I appreciate that someone is thinking with me about what I've made and that I can use their attention and vision as a tool to refine or strengthen the work.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
Read more than you write; risk sentimentality. Both Susan Howe via Sasha Steensen, at least as far as I remember it.

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to critical prose)? What do you see as the appeal?
 My thought in poetry is never more strongly animated than when I am reading and writing critically, and my work as a critic is deeply informed by the experience of writing poetry. I do tend to have seasons for different projects, though, only because I like to place priority on one thing at a time to keep from feeling overwhelmed.

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'm not very good at routines, but I prefer the house to be put in order before I sit down to work. I have to clear a space, for better or for worse.

12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
Reading, bodies of water, but also, I just wait.

13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
Unfortunately at the moment, stale cigarette smoke that comes through our apartment walls from some untraceable source. I would prefer my answer to be warm pine wood, lake water, or traditionally milled French lavender soap.

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?
Other human structures, like money and cities. I like how visual artists often think iteratively about material or process and would like to emulate this but don't know if I do.

15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
Bernadette Mayer, Mei-mei Berssenbrugge, Lisa Robertson, Cass Eddington, Allyson Paty

16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
Surf (regularly/well)

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?
Maybe a historian. Which is still a kind of writer. All the other occupations I would have other than writer I do have (teacher, editor, arts administrator, grant writer, publicist . . .).

18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
It was what I was best at making, and it was thrilling to make something that I liked and that sometimes other people liked too.

19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
I'm currently reading Thomas Hardy's Far From the Madding Crowd, though it has moved away from Hardy-the-poet writing about sheep farming and deeper into the romance plot and I'm becoming less interested. Have been neglecting film recently, accidentally, though there are so many good theaters now that I am here in NYC. Enjoyed some Ernie Gehr shorts at the Met earlier this year, with the filmmaker in attendance, and seeing the parallel world of avant garde film and its audiences, glad to know they've been there all along, too, while I've had my nose buried in poems.

20 - What are you currently working on?
My dissertation -- on opacity as a component of experience, and how this is used in poetry.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Rebecca Hart Olander

Rebecca Hart Olander’s poetry has appeared recently in Jet Fuel Review, The Massachusetts Review, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, and elsewhere, and her collaborative visual and written work has been published in multiple venues online and in They Said: A Multi-Genre Anthology of Contemporary Collaborative Writing (Black Lawrence Press, 2018). Her books include a chapbook, Dressing the Wounds (dancing girl press, 2019), and her debut full-length collection, Uncertain Acrobats (CavanKerry Press, 2021). Rebecca teaches writing at Westfield State University and Amherst College, and works with poets in the Maslow Family Graduate Program in Creative Writing at Wilkes University. She is the editor/director of Perugia Press. Find her online at rebeccahartolander.com or @rholanderpoet.

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

Publishing my first full-length collection Uncertain Acrobats in November, 2021 has led to some great opportunities for me, such as being interviewed by you, for one, and getting to read with some folks I really admire at places at which I’ve been honored to read. For example, last year, the month the book came out, I was lucky enough to read with poets Doug Anderson, Tina Cane, and Rachel Eliza Griffiths at McNally Jackson Seaport Bookstore in NYC. Without a book, that would never have happened.

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

I’ve been told in the past that I should try writing fiction, but I’m entirely not interested in writing fiction, even though I love to read fiction. I wrote my first poem at seven, so I feel more like I’ve always been doing it than I “came to it.” My stepmother is the poet Christopher Jane Corkery, and so poetry was around me from a young age in a way that unquestionably influenced me.

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?

It really varies. There are those odd duck poems that arrive fully-fledged and almost ready to fly, but that’s only happened to me a handful of times. But my work also doesn’t come out of copious notes. I’ll either write when inspiration hits me over the head and forces the issue, or I’ll generate a draft through a prompt.

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 don’t generally have “projects” that would lead to a book from conception to birth. My first book was actually a project book, but it happened by osmosis vs. setting out to accomplish said project. I sort of pine for projects because I think they are cool, but for me I tend to write individual poems over a long period of time and then try to locate their confluences and relationships and work the project shape out of the material at hand vs. starting with a project concept.

5 - 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! It’s such a gift to have people come out to receive words I’ve written, and it’s really affirming to be able to interact with readers and also to listen to other writers read their work (so, I’d have to say my favorite readings are group readings). I love the surprise of an open mic, too, when you don’t know who’s going to read or what they’ll offer on a given night. Surprise is so important to good writing, and open mics kind of introduce that element to readings, I think.

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?

One of my main concerns is the passage of time and what that does to legacy, and memory, and even to living in the present moment. An awareness of transience is important to me, as is a desire to memorialize people and places and moments that have been important to me and that I think will have, or do have, some resonance for readers as well. So, I’m concerned with the tension between things passing and wanting to hold on to them. Hmm – for the last bit, do you mean what are the questions of the day, or what are MY current questions? I guess, either way, I believe in trying to be kind to others and affirming and inclusive when writing. So, good questions to ask ourselves when writing/publishing/performing would be who is being heard and who is being silenced? Who is being celebrated and what is being revered? What is being diminished or seen only partially or misunderstood? Generally I like playing with rhetorical questions when I write, and I do employ a lot of questions in my poems, but these are not rhetorical questions. These seem more necessary to ask and to answer when striving to be an ethical writer.

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?

Writers can ask those hard questions, and others, and model doing so through how they share their work. Writers can encourage empathy, by expressing stories that widen perspective and understanding. Writers can bring joy by reminding us to feel joy and gratitude, or by distracting us from the mundane. Writers help inspire imagination and creativity. They can foster community by inviting dialogue and voicing what is necessary and hard to say in other ways/spaces.

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

Essential, absolutely. Sometimes I have to sit with edits before embracing them, and sometimes I don’t take editorial advice, but for the most part I only feel deep appreciation when someone reads my work on a cellular level and wants to help me make it the strongest manifestation it can be.

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

Persist! Uncertain Acrobats was submitted something like 60 times before it was accepted. If I’d let rejection get to me, I wouldn’t have published this book, which is all the stronger for having been revised and reshaped over the course of those many rejections, and many years.

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to short stories to critical prose)? What do you see as the appeal?

I really love the idea of hybrid texts, so I think experimenting with writing different genres helps breed that eventual hybridized result. I no longer write book reviews because I don’t have the time—and I would write them with a LOT of care and time—BUT, writing them and getting inside the books of others in that critical way helped my own poetry writing without a doubt. When I have moved between creative genres, it has been less traditional genres. For example, I like to create collages with visuals and text, and I like writing in epistolary form and exchanging that writing. If I ever do shift genres, it feels fun and fruitful all at once. And I love collaboration as a method of creating. The appeal of that is the emphasis on play, community, and surprise, and it’s an avenue to openness.

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 don’t have a daily routine. My routine is more dictated by the seasons. Since I teach, I tend to have more time between semesters and in the summer. That’s when I make a point of creating routines so that I can milk every moment out of the possible time I have available to me.

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

Reading poets I admire is one steadfast answer. I also love traveling to new places, even local places I haven’t seen. Something about seeing new things tends to inspire me. Prompts also really work for me – I don’t tend to get stalled as a stop to my writing as much as I can’t find the time because I am otherwise over-committed. But when I have the time and want to write, I make it happen by going out in nature, reading, or responding to a generative prompt.

13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?

My original home is Gloucester, a small coastal city north of Boston, MA. So, when I smell salt water, especially the ocean, it always reminds me of home and also relaxes me and brings me joy, two feelings that, if we are lucky enough, are associated closely with home.

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?

Yes, this brings me back to my other answer about inspiration. I also love going to museums and writing ekphrastically, and sometimes science inspires me if I hear an interesting radio piece and learn something that blows my mind and makes me think about the world in a different way.

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

Even though I don’t write fiction, I think I get the most pleasure out of reading fiction vs. any other genre. I love the feeling of getting lost in a great novel and never wanting it to end and being totally absorbed in it. I can’t really read that way during the academic year while I am both teaching and running a small press, so those moments are saved for summertime and January. The writers that are most important to me are the ones I share writing communities with – the Perugia poets I publish, and the poets I am blessed to share writing groups and friendships with. It’s the sharing of work, but also the sharing of the writing life, that sustains me.

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

My first thought is travel to places I'd like to see that I haven’t: Greece, Turkey, British Columbia, and some of the states and places I haven’t seen here in the US, like Hawaii, Montana, New Mexico. I’d love to walk the Camino de Santiago in Spain/France/Portugal. It would be cool to snorkel, and ride on a glass-bottomed boat. I’d like to be a grandparent. I’d like to publish another book.

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 have two jobs besides being a writer now – being an editor and a teacher. I don’t usually think of writing as my occupation, but I also don’t think of it as a hobby. It’s my life, the way I breathe. I’ve always loved libraries and bookstores, and I dig organizing things, so maybe owning a bookstore or directing a library. Or something to do with travel.

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

There’s not an option – it’s how I navigate the world.

19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?

The last great book was Anthony Doerr’s latest: Cloud Cuckoo Land. I loved it in a deep, abiding way and it felt necessary, enjoyable, enriching, surprising, and sustaining all at once. I watched some pretty great films online in the “virtual cinema” hosted by my local movie theater during the pandemic. I really enjoyed Karen Dalton: In My Own Time, Beans, and Hive. Based on those picks, I guess I prefer protagonists who are women and girls, stories that are based on true events, and films that teach me something new.

20 - What are you currently working on?

I’ve just launched the annual contest for Perugia Press, which invites submissions of first and second full-length manuscripts from women-identified poets. We’re also about to release this year’s book, American Sycamore by Lisbeth White, so that’s exciting! I’m prepping my fall courses as I’ll be back teaching in a couple of weeks. For my own poetic work, I’m looking forward to going back at revising my second full-length collection, which I hope to submit for publication this fall.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;