Fast Five with Vicki Hellmer

“Poetry is everywhere these days if we are open to it.”

— Vicki Hellmer

Welcome to Fast Five, an occasional series in which I ask my favorite writers five questions as a way to open the door to know more.

Today, something different.

Every story needs a reader. Every poem, an appreciator. Thank goodness for Vicki Hellmer, who has spent decades amplifying poetry.

Every week for 21 years, Vicki has chosen a poem, researched and written a background on the poem and poet, and shared these treasures via email. To date, she’s shared over 1,000 poems — each hand-picked, thoroughly researched, and lovingly shared — for free.

She is not paid for her time and effort, and charges nothing for her work. She is simply, powerfully, fueled by the love of poetry. She’s not a writer; in fact, for years she worked as a legal secretary before attending law school at age 34. She then spent her career in commercial real estate finance law and retired in 2017.

Vicki lives in Denver, Colorado. An avid reader, she has served on the Denver Public Library Commission and the Denver Public Library Friends Foundation. A self-described “public library super-user,” she currently has six books checked out “and only 25 on hold!”

1.
You’ve shared poems and poets to hundreds of people every week for 21 years — for free!

How did you start this project, and why? 

I’ve read poetry for many years, since high school in the mid-1970s. It was mostly a solitary pleasure for years. Then I met a friend, Jon, who also loved poetry, and he curated a weekly poetry email list (no supplements, just poems). Back in May 2005, I “babysat” the list for a couple of weeks while Jon was on paternity leave. When he came back, I decided to start my own list. I mostly recruited friends and co-workers, but over the years many friends of friends (of friends. . . ) have joined.

Each year I ask people to confirm that they want to stay on the list; a handful of people usually decide not to continue (too many other demands on their time), but there are always emails saying, “I have this friend who’s interested. . .”

I started with maybe 35 people, and the list has hovered around 125-130 for the past handful of years. I started writing one-page supplements after a few years, when an ex-boyfriend said he was sure he wasn’t the only person who would appreciate some more information about the poems and the poets. I learn so much, researching for the supplements!

2.
While most poetry websites or social media poetry accounts are created by and for poets, your effort is unique; you are not a poet, and many of the people who sign up for your free service are not poets. How do you explain the appeal? 

 My list includes several poets, but also several people who don’t regularly read or write poetry. I think there are a lot of people in the U.S. who want and need poetry in their lives, but don’t know how to find it. This way, it’s delivered to their email inbox once a week, and they can choose how and when to read. Some people read each poem right away, some save up the emails until they have time to read a bunch of poems at once, some only sometimes read the poems; and at least a few people from my past have told me they just like seeing my name in their inbox once a week! There’s no pressure to read any certain way, or at all.

3.
Your weekly emails include a poem, along with a lengthy backstory of the poem and poet. What do you look for when you choose a poem and poet to share with others? 

I am always on the lookout for sources. Poetry is everywhere these days if we are open to it – there are references to poems all around us. I read many books of poetry (from the library), including anthologies, for myself and for the list.

Most of the poems I choose are contemporary. I try to send out some poems that are timely (politically or seasonally), or are likely to strike a chord with people on the list. I keep in mind specific people who are on the list, and choose poems that I think will resonate with them for some reason. And I strive to include diverse voices. Keeping in mind the range of people who receive these emails, I try to choose poems that are accessible yet not too simple.

4.
What’s a favorite poem and/or poet you've shared? 

Wow! I’ve shared almost 1,100 poems, and I have many favorites among them. The poets who’ve written the most poems on my list are probably Dorianne Laux (16 poems), Edward Hirsch (13), Jane Hirshfield (12), and Lucille Clifton (10), but I strive for variety.

One of my favorite poems (I loved it so much, I sent it out twice) is Joseph Stroud’s Manna:

5. 
What has surprised you about this project? 

One of the most interesting aspects, for me, has been to read poetry list recipients’ responses to the poems (most people don’t comment, but some do). It has made me realize how much the reader brings to the poem. Poems don’t exist in a vacuum. Each reader’s life shapes how she or he will read and respond to each poem.

* * *

To receive Vicki’s Free Weekly Poems, send an email to: vhellmer@msn.com

Fast Five with Kate Gray

photo by Jean Rosenbaum

“Writing in community is my kind of church.”

— Kate Gray

Welcome to Fast Five, an occasional series in which I ask my favorite writers five questions as a way to open the door to know more.

Kate Gray is author of the novel What We Carry; as well as two poetry chapbooks and two full-length collections: For Every Girl, published in 2019, and Another Sunset We Survive, a finalist for the Oregon Book Award.

For 25 years she worked as a writing instructor at Clackamas Community College in Oregon. She continues to encourage writers in individual and group settings — from correctional facilities to online writing salons where she serves as volunteer, collaborator, and coach.

She and her partner live in Washington’s Olympic Peninsula.

“What do I love to do? Write. Talk about writing. Dive into writing with others,” says Kate. “I’ve witnessed writing transform people, open them like time-lapse photographs of blossoms.”

1.
Why write?

Writing is resistance. At a young age a teacher gave me a journal with the following quote in it:

“To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.” 

I believe fiercely in this e.e. cummings quote, and for me, writing has always been my way to discover myself, grow, connect with others, create healing, community, and grace. Now, perhaps more than ever, we need to write and to resist the silencing, lies, denial, and destruction. We need the voices of love, joy, memory, the voiceless, the ones who sing in wind and water. We must write a new world.

From For Every Girl: New & Selected Poems by Kate Gray

2.
What do you enjoy about writing in community? How does this fill you?

Writing in community is my kind of church. I experience a collective effervescence, a communion with the sacred, and a sense of powers beyond ourselves. I’ve written in many, many different environments, from American Legion Posts to burlesque halls to Oxford University to monasteries.

When volunteering for Write Around Portland in Coffee Creek Correctional Facility, I heard the writers tell me they experienced the only quiet time they had in their week while we were writing. Think about that . . . They heard a clock tick only eight minutes a week.

During the time we had together over eight weeks, they also experienced a trust some had never had before, because we didn’t criticize or shame. We held up to the light what was good even if they couldn’t see it. They learned to see and value other women’s stories, and some learned to value their own. Being a part of their gaining empathy, trust, and confidence was so powerful for me that it was a big reason I decided to retire from academia.

3.
What’s the best — or worst — writing advice you’ve received?

One of the worst things a coach once did was monetize what she thought my unfinished manuscript would sell for. My dreams became tied to money rather than good storytelling.

One of the best lessons came from Ron Carlson, the fiction writer, who described his sons climbing one of the bunkers in a state park on the Oregon Coast. One son lifted up a hatch and shouted, “Dad, don’t you just love not knowing where you’re going to go?” and he jumped into the dark (and didn’t hurt himself).

If you let it, writing is like that, an adventure, a path you can follow with endless surprise and delight.

4.
What book (or poem) do you return to again and again?

I return to Robert Frost’s poem, The Star-Splitter, to learn to be a good neighbor; Jimmy Santiago Baca’s I am offering you this poem, to learn gratitude and generosity; Danez Smith’s a note on the body to learn new ways to love; Lucille Clifton to know joy, Joy Harjo to know patience, Li-Young Lee to know family, Sharon Hashimoto to understand patriotism, Brionne Janae to tiptoe toward forgiveness, and so many others.

5. 
I’m a word collector, and keeping a running list of favorites? What are yours? 

Some favorite words:

murmuration

inchoate

hallelujah

boom.

Excerpt from For Every Girl: New & Selected Poems by Kate Gray

Fast Five with Luisa A. Igloria

Gabriela Igloria photo

“The language of poetry is what I like to turn to, in order to process the information life / the world throws at me.”

— Luisa A. Igloria

Welcome to Fast Five, an occasional series in which I ask my favorite writers five questions as a way to open the door to know more.

Luisa A. Igloria is the author of 14 books of poetry, four chapbooks, and editor of three anthologies. From 2020 to 2022, she served as Poet Laureate of the Commonwealth of Virginia.

Originally from Baguio City, Philippines, Luisa lives in Norfolk, Virginia, where she is a professor of English and Creative Writing at Old Dominion University.

She has been lauded with numerous awards for her work, including the world’s first major award for eco-poetry, and a lifetime achievement award from the Writers Union of the Philippines.

Despite the many accolades and achievements, it was a quiet corner of the internet where I first found her work. Every day for 14 years, Luisa has written and shared a poem at Via Negativa.  

1.
Why write?

I can’t think of a good reason not to. Perhaps this is because I was raised in a book-reading, book-loving family, and developed an early appreciation for language. I recall my late father telling me that we may not have been wealthy, but he would see to it that I got a good education. Also, I’m more of an introvert, and it just seemed natural that I’d be attracted to things that could be done in solitude (reading, writing, making art, playing music). 

For the last 14 years + 3 months (and running), I’ve kept a daily writing practice (in which I write at least a poem a day). This has taught me a lot about myself as a writer— and I’ve come to realize that the language of poetry is what I like to turn to, in order to process the information life/the world throws at me.

2.
You have a full and prolific professional life. What do you enjoy about writing, teaching, leading?  

I love the way my practice as a poet and as a teacher (of poetry, creative nonfiction, and literature) engages language which has the capacity to immediately and deeply address the human in us. The language of poetry, of art in general, isn’t merely transactional. It allows us to access the beauty as well as vulnerability of human experience, and in so doing, feel connected to ourselves and to others. 

From Via Negativa, where Luisa A. Igloria posts fresh poems daily.

3.
What’s the best — or worst — writing advice you’ve received? 

Perhaps one of the worst kinds of writing advice: Write (only) what you know. 

One of the best kinds of writing advice: It’s ok to write into what you don’t (yet) know. That’s how discovery happens; how else could you get to wonder, except by admitting there are so many mysteries in the world that still have the capacity to floor you?

4.
What book do you return to again and again?

I love Federico García Lorca’s In Search of Duende — for his reminder that creativity is more than technical or mechanical mastery of skills. His theory of the duende taps into the importance of also cultivating a connection to more ineffable, intuitive, perhaps even archetypal energies. In other words, anyone can learn to be a good carpenter of language; but learning to make language sing is a different matter.

Another book that is formative and important to me is Magnificence and Other Stories by the Filipina writer Estrella D. Alfon (1960).

5.
What are you currently working on?

A new manuscript on the creation of a hill station in the northern part of the Philippines (where I am from) by the American colonial government, in the 1900s. History continues to fascinate me, as an archive full of narratives that could take on a different sheen depending on the point of view of their telling. Also, from this perspective, the past is not necessarily “over.”

Bonus Question: I'm a word collector, and keeping a running list of favorites? What are yours? 

Some favorites:

pine       cypress        mountain       archipelago        

From Caulbearer: Poems  by Luisa A. Igloria

Fast Five with Donna Henderson

“Poetry and psychotherapy are about ‘discovery’ and that requires me to become deeply curious about our experience of humanness — our wounds, longings, losses, regrets, and hopes.”

— Donna Henderson

Welcome to Fast Five, an occasional series in which I ask my favorite writers five questions as a way to open the door to know more.

Donna Henderson is a rare blend of creative accomplishment. She is a poet, writer, artist, singer, songwriter —and psychotherapist. Rooted in the arts, she is author of four poetry collections, two of which were named finalists for the Oregon Book Award. Her latest book, Send Word, published in 2022, is an evocative combination of poetry, art, and design.

Donna lives in Maupin, a town of 500 people situated along the Deschutes River in north-central Oregon.

1.
Why write?

I’m not sure I could have answered this question for the first few decades of my writing practice (that is, not with any answer that would not embarrass me to be connected with now!); all I knew was that I felt impelled to somehow, for (I understand now) the way writing organized and grounded something in me, from the very moment I began to be able to write words.

Writing let me feel seen in a family and a world at large in which I felt essentially unseen. I felt loved appreciated, to be sure, but not seen. And it wasn’t that I experienced writing as a way for me to be seen by others, I hasten to clarify: as a child, I didn’t share my writing anyway, and it wasn’t my purpose to. It was that writing gave me a way to hear my own voice, to register my own responses to the world (just as painting and drawing, which I also did from childhood, offered ways for me to see my own seeing). Like that, writing made it possible for me to see me.

Then, in 1975, as a student at Oregon College of Education (now Western Oregon University), I enrolled in a class in Craft of Poetry from George Slawson, in which I had a profound experience with language that I am still dazzled by, grateful for, and continue to be led and informed by in my poetry practice these 50 years hence. I remember that I was trying to render into a poem the experience of both being part of, and observing, women in the shower room after a PE class, when suddenly I felt language itself take over, the words as they arrived (“skin”…“steam”) plunging me more deeply into the pure experience and wonder of the moment than before language had been engaged. Such that the poem that resulted (slight as it was, I still like it!) was a record of an experience of that: of an experience of wonder and discovery, intensified and made more intimate by the engagement of language.

Which is when and why I felt in love with poetry, which has been my primary writing practice since (though the purpose of my prose writing is the same): not as a means of self-expression (whether that be of emotions or opinions), but rather an engagement with language that engages me more deeply with wonder and with the senses, to see what there is to be made and to be understood by way of that engagement.

Excerpt from title poem, Send Word, by Donna Henderson.

2.
You are an artist, singer, songwriter, poet and psychotherapist. What came first, and how did you develop and hone your skills?

Art came first, and was always there, and I credit my mother with that: she had five of us in quick succession, and while I experienced her as perpetually overwhelmed, and seeming to be more distracted than gratified by child-raising, creativity itself was her highest value (she herself was never happier than when writing, painting, playing the piano or dancing). So while we were expected to clean our rooms and help keep the house clean in general, the one place that never had to be cleaned up was the huge art table in the basement playroom, nor anyplace else that had to do with creative play.

Similarly, writing was just something we did in my family, (both my parents were journalists), so I suppose I started writing when I was given a diary at age five or so. And music was always a thing; mom played the piano, and both my parents loved music of all sorts, so I grew up listening and singing to music: it was just part of the water I swam in. So I really don’t remember a time that music, writing and art weren’t a part of my life, and I was fortunate that the public schools I attended valued and encouraged all of these also— I had some wonderful teachers! But I do think it is my mom to whom the most credit has to be given, and which was persistent throughout her life. I remember her unhesitating encouragement to me as an adult, when I was trying to decide whether or not to fork out the funds for a piano of my own (not really sure how ready I was to commit to actually playing it). “Of course you should buy it!” she told me. “Creativity, honey, it’s the most important thing.”

Later (and with each of the arts), I developed my skill by seeking out experiences of various kinds that would help me to learn the specific skills I wanted to learn. With poetry, I received that by attending summer writing workshops for many years, then an MFA (I graduated from Warren Wilson Program for Writers in 2006).

More recently,  after languishing for many years, my visual art has been experiencing a happy renaissance since the year of covid quarantine, when I started taking classes on Zoom with Eugene, Oregon artist Zoë Cohen, who has been an important mentor and teacher since. In fact, the two of us are going to co-teach a class at Sitka Center for Art and Ecology in the fall of 2025, involving language and art practices.

As for psychotherapy: I have always enjoyed listening to others, and especially to (and for) how people cope with difficulty and make meaning and connection in their lives. So it kind of felt like a natural, I guess, to choose a profession based on that, and I went about learning to do it in the usual ways: school, graduate school, supervision, licensure, and (most importantly) a lot of great mentorship, continuing ed, and a wonderful network of wise colleague-friends, over the almost 40 years since I began practicing.

The practice itself of psychotherapy actually feels very much like simply another genre of creative work, in the way I practice it anyway. Because while poetry is commonly thought of as being about “self-expression,” and the objective of therapy as being “self-improvement,” I actually understand both poetry and psychotherapy to be about “discovery.” And that requires me to become —and to remain—deeply curious about our experience of humanness — our wounds, longings, losses, regrets, and hopes — with my clients, and to engage in that curiosity through language. And while psychotherapy typically begins with the stories clients carry about who they are and why they are that way, the actual process of therapy involves inviting clients to step off from there into what is unknown and unseen: to become more curious than certain themselves.

So I guess that you could say that “seeing and being seen” is what art, writing and psychotherapy all engage in…and it’s why I got into all of them!

Excerpt from title poem, Send Word, by Donna Henderson.

3.
You co-founded Airlie Press, a collective poetry publisher. Why? And what have you learned through the process?

I’ll be briefer with this one (you’re welcome!): In the early 2000s, I’d been a member of a long-running writing group, most of the members of which had manuscripts of poems “circulating” (looking for a home).

But books of poetry are particularly difficult to place, since poetry does not make money for publishers, so there are fewer presses that publish it than that publish other genres. Because of that, a manuscript of poems, no matter its quality, has something like a 1% (or even less) chance of being accepted for publication by a press. On top of that, for poetry presses to even cover their costs of publication when they are unlikely to make much of a return, they charge a reading fee of around $25 for submissions. Given the number of presses one ought to submit to to increase the chances of an acceptance, a poet can (and we each did) easily spend $500 a year on submitting, with close to no chance of a bite.

So (to make a longer story much shorter) one of us proposed dedicating our time and funds instead toward starting a collective, shared-work press run by poets, based on the model of some others (Alice James, and Sixteen Rivers Press in particular), beginning with publishing each of our own completed manuscripts, and then opening to submissions by other poets who (if their manuscripts were accepted) would be willing to make a 3-year commitment to the work of the press.

It was a tremendously gratifying venture, and while I am no longer involved in the editorial work of the press (I currently serve on the Board of Directors) , I could not be more proud of how the press has thrived — it’s going on 17 years now, and continues to produce beautiful books of poetry (I think something like 40 titles to date), representing an increasingly diverse array of poetic voices.

Perhaps the biggest thing I learned from the experience was that the editors at Sixteen Rivers (who mentored and advised us) were right when they warned us not to try to start a press with fewer than seven initial members. Only four of us were up for it, so we decided to go ahead with it anyway and…well, burnout of the original members from active involvement was ultimately unavoidable, I think. A press is a LOT of work! I would not try it again with fewer than six compatriots, but oh what a splendid vision and venture it was, and (thanks to the dedicated work of the member-poets who have kept it going) and is!

 4.
What’s the best writing advice you’ve received (or given)?

Here are three pieces that come to mind: one is from one of my mentors in graduate school, Karen Brennan, and is particular to poetry: “Remember,” she said, “poetry is not made out of ideas, poetry is made out of lines.” which  advice keeps me grounded in letting language, and not concepts, lead.

Another great piece of advice comes in the form of the poem, Berryman by W.S. Merwin.

 And the third? In his book Mere Christianity (I think that’s where I read it) C.S. Lewis wrote, “I pray not because it changes God; I pray because it changes me.” That’s why I write, and what I urge other writers to focus on: the practice and the process, not the product. Paradoxically, the more I remember that, the truer (therefore better) my work becomes.

“Creativity, honey, it’s the most important thing.”

5.
I’m a word collector, are you too? What are your favorite words?

Here are a few: mimulus, gloom, cluster, pandemonium.

Also antidisestablishmentarianism, though only because it is (or was, when I was a child) the longest word in the dictionary, and because it gave my father endless delight that I could spell it (as I was often called on to do) when I was five, following his fervent tutoring to that very end.

Fast Five with Paul Nelson

“Writing ought to be a way to learn about the self. To build a soul.”

— Paul Nelson

Welcome to Fast Five, an occasional series in which I ask my favorite writers five questions as a way to open the door to know more.

Paul E. Nelson is a prolific poet, interviewer, broadcaster, and collaborator. As founder-director of the Cascadia Poetics LAB and Cascadia Poetry Festival, he has created and produced hundreds of events and interviews with poets and activists.

He co-created the Poetry Postcard Fest, an annual worldwide literary event and self-guided practice in spontaneous composition in which participants send 31 original poems on postcards to a list of recipients. Now in its 18th year, the Fest includes 600 poets from 52 states and 10 countries.

Paul has authored over a dozen books, including, A Time Before Slaughter, American Sentences, 56 Days of August: Poetry Postcards, and many more.

He lives in the Rainier Beach neighborhood of Seattle, Washington.

1.
How did you come to writing?

I was a broadcaster for 26 years and did writing for many of the jobs I had in radio from 1980-2006. After 1990 I produced a weekly radio interview program and in January 1994, I began syndicating that to as many as 18 stations a week. I wrote the introductions and questions and conducted the interviews. I also did post-production, wrote promotional announcements and underwriting credits. Once in syndication, I started interviewing poets, Allen Ginsberg, Michael McClure, Diane di Prima, Joanne Kyger, Wanda Coleman, Ed Sanders, Anne Waldman, Eileen Myles, Jerome Rothenberg, Victor Hernandez Cruz and many others. What a rush to put poetry on the air at major radio stations, though the time of day it aired was not the highest rated time slot. Inspired by these and other poets, I started writing poetry and attending the weekly Red Sky Poetry Theater open mic.

2.
Why did you create the Poetry Postcard Fest? 

I had participated in the 3:15 Experiment for a few years but found the time of writing (3:15am every day in August) inconvenient. I loved the notion of having a writing project that would be conducted in August and told Lana Ayers, who was in my weekly writing critique group, about wanting to do something with postcards and she said: “I’ll help.” She did and then August turned into 56 days from July 6 to August 31. I did it in part to give folks the experience of spontaneous composition, but the fest unfolds its depth year after year, from the making of cards, to the graphic experience, to the community aspect, to the love of stamps and support of USPS (a huge part of The Commons), to being an antidote to social acceleration, and many, many other aspects.

3.
Please tell us about organic poetry.

Organic Poetry is a term used by Denise Levertov and Robert Duncan in the middle of their 20+ year correspondence. In her foundational essay “Some Notes on Organic Form” Levertov wrote: “it is a method of apperception . . . recognizing what we per­ceive . . . based on an intuition of an order, a form beyond forms, in which forms partake . . . Such po­etry is exploratory . . . words which connote a state in which the heat of feeling warms the intellect.”

Similar concepts are known as “Projective Verse” and “The Practice of Outside.” These are all different takes on a spontaneous approach to poetry in which first take, or something close to the first take of a poem, is used and not extensive revision. Levertov noted that if extensive revision is required it is likely that the poem did not incubate long enough. How each poem written like this finds its own form is quite satisfying to me. My graduate thesis was a group of essays on the subject, which can be found here, along with other essays which in one way or another are related to this topic. The Poetry Postcard Fest is designed so people can have an experience of this kind, with deep attention to, and trust in, the moment of composition. It is a method which, at its best, allows for a connection to something larger than ego.

4. 
You’ve interviewed hundreds of poets, artists, and activists. What have you learned? 

I learned that Allen Ginsberg’s approach to composition was similar to meditation; that Jean Houston believes this is Jump Time and that we are “the people of the parenthesis” existing after the death of the old gods and before the birth of the new; from Joanne Kyger that we can learn how to write projectively; from Michael McClure that “if poetry and science cannot change one’s life, they’re meaningless”; from Bhagavan Das that our time is so potent that three days spent in meditation, or some other kind of devotional activity now, would have the same impact of 30 years of practice a century ago; from Father Matthew Fox that ritual will be a growth industry in the 21st century; from Nate Mackey that serial form in poetry may be the most open art form ever invented; from Brenda Hillman that we have permission to be strange; from Christina Baldwin that people gathering in a circle have access to the circle’s ancient powers; from Sam Hamill that our lives change when we take a Bodhisattva vow to poetry; from Peter Berg that we live on this land like invaders and that a bioregional ethos would change that, change our own selves and save the biosphere one bioregion at a time; and so on and so on . . .

5. 
What’s the best writing advice you’ve received?

Various versions of the notion that abstractions and generalizations are used to cover something up, in poetry, usually a deeper gesture. “Abstractions have to be earned,” said Ezra Pound. Charles Olson warned about “the dodges of discourse” and about how Western Culture has abstracted itself from the very land on which it exists, which is at the core of our climate crisis right now and again validates my interest in bioregionalism.

 Bonus Question: What do you wish I would have asked?

What is your ultimate goal in writing, or your reason for writing?

Writing ought to be a way to learn about the self. To build a soul. So many “award-winning poets” are unhappy, shallow or unpleasant people. I wonder why that is so? I suspect that by chasing fame, they strengthen their egos and, as Brenda Hillman said: “the ego project is doomed to fail.” What writing project is NOT doomed to fail?

I think the Saturation Job, the multi-decade research project, the project tied to place and tied to history of that place is bound to teach the poet something about the world and likely something about their own self. Poetry is so far out of the mainstream, to use mainstream (capitalist) objectives when considering the “success” of poetry, that is a tact that is doomed to fail.

Fast Five with Susan Blackaby

“Writing . . . is like a magic trick, and it never gets old.”

— Susan Blackaby

Welcome to Fast Five, an occasional series in which I ask my favorite writers five questions as a way to open the door to know more.

It’s difficult to visualize the vast number of books Susan Blackaby has authored. Even she’s lost count. “Hundreds,” she says with a quick wave of the hand. An Amazon search yields more than 90 titles, representing only a portion of her portfolio.

In a career spanning 40 years, Susan has written hundreds of fiction and nonfiction books for early and struggling elementary and middle school readers, along with numerous textbooks, workbooks, and school curriculum.

Her books have sparked enthusiasm among both young readers and literacy leaders. School Library Journal has called her work “endearing and delightful.”  In 2002, the Washington Post named Rembrandt's Hat one of the top ten picture books of the year.

A prolific author, some of Susan's notables include, Where’s My Cow, Brownie Groundhog and the February Fox, G.O.A.T: Simone Biles, Cleopatra: Egypt’s Last and Greatest Queen; and an award-winning collection of poetry, Nest, Nook & Cranny. 

Susan lives in Oregon, on a bluff overlooking the Columbia River. When not writing for work, Susan (Suz to friends) writes for fun. She’s a published poet, and is currently working on a young adult novel.

1.
In a previous interview you’ve said: “I’m always writing for the little kid in the back row who is afraid to raise his hand. I feel for the fourth-grade kids who can’t read at all — these are the kids who feel defeated by school and are about to slip out of the system.” Was school difficult for you, and how can we (as writers, readers, caring adults) encourage struggling students?

I struggled with numbers and met my Waterloo in 8th grade algebra, a disaster matched only by high school chemistry. I made up for my shortcomings with a knack for words, which eventually landed me a job in educational publishing.

When my daughter had trouble learning to read, I picked up a stack of trade books ostensibly designed to support early literacy and assumed that cracking the code was within easy reach. It wasn’t. For days we tested each other’s limits sentence by sentence, working along until one of us completely lost it. After a particularly brutal afternoon, I finally took the time to analyze the materials. The book she was trying to get through had a turtle on the cover, the demoralizing slowpoke indicating Pre-K, but the readability score on the text came in at a fifth grade reading level. One sentence on a page in oversized type was apparently the extent of the criteria used to arrive at an arbitrary and misleading standard, guaranteeing frustration and failure for kids who really require conscientious support. (This infuriating book is still in print, by the way.) I circled back to get my daughter resources she could use and switched professional gears at the same time.

These days, books bundled with basal reading programs, online resources developed by educational publishers, and books developed by school-library crossover publishers adhere to strict guidelines based on sound pedagogy, and many classroom teachers have handy access to these resources—you just have to ask for help. Understanding that brain development, maturity, physical health, experience, and exposure to storytelling are all factors in the learning process can help provide a critical foundation for a fledgling reader—and equal parts patience and chocolate milk won’t go amiss.

2.
What books, movies, songs, or people have influenced your professional life — and how? 

In addition to having some really special, gifted teachers along the way, I have been lucky enough to stumble into one snug after another populated by generous mentors—patient and exacting, kind and encouraging. Many of them have stuck with me long enough to transition from coach to colleague to cohort and are now among my closest, oldest, and dearest friends. Given that a deep appreciation for and understanding of talking rabbits is part of the job description, it is no surprise that the people who create books for children comprise an inherently merry band.

Even luckier, I came from a family of clever, silly, funny, sweet people who provided a firm foundation of mirth and curiosity, whimsy and joy. I owe them everything.

3. 
Your writing life is so rich and varied, from textbooks to children's books to poetry and more. What has been your highpoint, and why?

Everything about getting a book published is a pretty heady experience, and there have been some unforgettable moments. But the very best part is sitting down with your picture book and a bunch of little people, knowing that in a single page turn you can make all of them fall over laughing at the exact same time. It is like a magic trick, and it never gets old.

4. 
What’s the best writing advice you’ve received?

Dump a toxic friend.

A number of years ago, having been to dozens of writing conferences, I was not really paying close attention to the charming if predictable keynote speech when this surprising and transformative phrase rang out. The speaker went on to explain that these people crowd your creative energy and take up tons of time, two things that you can actually put to excellent and immediate use if you are carving out a writing life. Of all the million bits of wisdom I’ve collected and tried, this one actually works.

5.
I’m a word collector. What are your favorite words?

I’m definitely a word collector. Favorites tend to shift and jostle with context, season, and whim but perennial favorites include radiance, grace, clatter, faith, resilience, wander, conjure, thump, wink.

Bonus Question: What do you wish I would have asked?

What are your musts and favorites?

Strong, milky tea; narrow-ruled yellow tablets; extra-firm Blackwing pencils; Lamy Safari fine-tipped fountain pen; snail mail; stargazer lilies; corduroy pants; the perfect raincoat (ongoing quest); cool boots; road trips; Cheezits.

Fast Five with Alejandro Jimenez

“I believe writing, narratives, and stories can change the world.”

— Alejandro Jimenez

Welcome to Fast Five, in which I ask my favorite writers five questions as a way to open the door to know more.

Alejandro Jimenez is a formerly-undocumented immigrant, poet, writer, and educator from Colima, Mexico. As a writer, his work centers on the intersection of cultural identity, race/ethnicity, immigrant narratives, masculinity, and memory. He is the 2021 Mexican National Poetry Slam Champion, and a two-time National Poetry Slam Semi-Finalist in the U.S.

His work, and personal story, are the subject of the short documentary, American Masters: In The Making, a PBS series highlighting emerging cultural icons. 

Alejandro is author of Moreno Prieto Brown, a chapbook that explores growing up as an undocumented immigrant in the U.S. His first full-length poetry book, There will be days, Brown boy, was published in September 2023.

Alejandro grew up working with his family in the orchards of Oregon’s Hood River Valley, then moved to Denver, Colorado where he worked with youth. He now lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

1. 
Why write?

I write because it helps me to process and name feelings, experiences, and injustices that I see or have experienced. I write to not forget and not be forgotten. I write to connect with myself and others. I write because I feel alone and maybe through this I can connect with someone or someone will connect with me. I believe writing, narratives, and stories can change the world. I write because I want to really, really, really believe the last sentence.

2.
What books, movies, songs, or people have influenced your writing life — and how? 

Eduardo Galeano and how he tackles memory and historical amnesia is a huge influence of mine!

The movie, Ya No Estoy Aqui, cracked me open and made me feel so validated in how I experience and feel about Mexico and the US.

Layli Long Soldier is amazing! Her readings should be a bucket list item for all of us! 

3. 
What’s the best writing advice you’ve received?

I cannot remember who said this but, I try to be okay with not writing. The amount of writing one produces does not determine our worth as writers. For example, answering these questions is the most I have written in a while! Do not feel guilty for taking extensive breaks from writing!

4.
I'm a word collector — what are your favorite words? 

Here are some of my favorites, all in Spanish: acurrucar, apapachar, moler, murmullar, suspirar, parparear, flujo, and encender. 

5.
What question do you wish I would ask?

Why didn't you ask me about my favorite corrido, Drew?! My favorite corrido, currently, is Catarino y Los Rurales. It is fun to sing and dance to it and the actual story behind the song is equally as amazing about a campesino who fought against greed, capitalism, state sanctioned violence against poor people, and really set the stage for the Mexican Revolution of the early 1900s.

There will be days, brown boy by Alejandro Jimenez is available now. Buy the book here.

In his debut full-length poetry collection, Alejandro takes readers on a journey of self-discovery and introspection as he grapples with the profound concept of home.

Hanif Abdurraqib [ another of my favorite writers ] calls the book “a collection of enveloping tenderness.”

Fast Five with January Gill O'Neil

"Nothing fulfills me more than putting pen to paper.”

— January Gill O’Neil

Welcome to Fast Five, in which I ask my favorite writers five questions as a way to open the door to know more.

January Gill O’Neil is the author of three poetry books and is an associate professor of English at Salem State University. She was the 2019-2020 Grisham Writer in Residence at University of Mississippi and has earned fellowships from Cave Canem, and the Barbara Deming Memorial Fund. She serves on the boards of the Association of Writers and Writing Programs (AWP), and Montserrat College of Art. January lives in Massachusetts with her two children.

1. 
Why write?

I can’t imagine not writing. Recently, I was asked what are my hobbies, and while I think of writing and, specifically, poetry as a vocation, I couldn’t come up with any. Not really. I’ve tried baking and walking and birding. And while I like all of those activities, nothing fulfills me more than sitting down and putting pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard). 

[ Read In The Company Of Women here]

2.
What do you enjoy about writing and teaching?

Long ago, I decided that writing and family (in that order) would be at the center of my life. So the work I do is an extension of that. To talk about poetry for a living to students, to volunteer my time in the arts community, to mentor other writers — all of that fuels my writing. I may be one of the few who enjoys the business of poetry. 

The last few years have been about navigating my kids through their teenage years, which has been a joy and a pain. More joy than pain, however! It’s bittersweet to think that I am raising my kids to not need me. But I’m very proud of son Alex, 17, and daughter Ella, 15. They are finding their way in this world and I look forward to whatever their futures bring. 

As with many families, we’ve spent a lot of time together during the pandemic. In 2019-2020, we lived in Mississippi while I was on fellowship at the University of Mississippi in Oxford. It was an eye-opening experience, one that still influences our lives in Massachusetts today. 

[ Read On Being Told I Look Like FLOTUS here ]

3. 
Which non-literary piece of culture — film, tv show, painting, song — has influenced you?

Since my time in Mississippi, I have spent a great deal of time learning about the landscape, culture, legacy of slavery in the Deep South. Much of my most recent work has been about Emmett Till, a 14-year-old boy who was brutally beaten, lynched, and killed in 1955. His story grows with relevancy with each year. Till’s story is more relevant than ever before, and I believe the work of advancing racial equity through poetry and the arts is urgent and necessary.

I want to create environments of inclusion and equity on the page, in the arts, and in my local community. 

[Musically] David Byrne’s American Utopia got me through the uncertainty of 2020. Now I’m listening to Love & Hate by Michael Kiwanuka, and Cypress Grove by Jimmy “Duck” Holmes.   

4. 
Is there a book you wish you had written?

I don’t really think of books like that. I’m happy those great works are in the world. That being said, we need to decolonize the Canon.

[Note: What does this mean? Start here.]

5.
I'm a word collector — what are your favorite words? 

Let’s see . . . dark, circle, serendipity, pleasure. 

Also, Yo! and OK.  

Fast Five with Penelope Scambly Schott

"I believe that every person has a true landscape of the soul and that some of us are lucky enough to find that place.”

— Penelope Scambly Schott

Welcome to Fast Five, in which I ask my favorite writers five questions as a way to open the door to know more.

Penelope Scambly Schott is the author of over a dozen poetry books, a novel, and a “slightly fictional canine memoir.” She has earned an Oregon Book Award and numerous other literary achievements. She splits her time between two Oregon towns: the city of Portland to the west, and the small farm town of Dufur to the east.

1. 
Let’s start with your most pressing and poetic theme: Dufur, Oregon.

I have a love affair with the small (population: 623) central Oregon town of Dufur. I’ve had my house here for ten years and each year I become more attached to the community. (I’ve bought a plot in the local cemetery so that even though I wasn’t born here I can be dead here.) I’ve published a chapbook called Lovesong for Dufur and, just this spring, On Dufur Hill, a full-length collection of poems about the cycle of a year here.

[ Read excerpts from On Dufur Hill here.]

I believe that every person has a true landscape of the soul — be it beach, mountains, whatever — and that some of us are lucky enough to find that place. I grew up in New York City as a free range child (remember those?) but have never again felt so at home as I do here. When local kids see me walking with my dog Sophia they yell out, “Hi, Penelope,” and when the dog and I step into the post office past the “No Dogs Allowed” sign, Sophia stands up at the counter and Dave or Mike will give her a biscuit.

2.
Why write?

Because I can’t help it? Because when I was a tiny child just learning to speak I stood up in my crib and spoke sentences? Because it’s too lonesome to have words in my mind that I can’t share? I could say that I write, as in putting the words on paper, because, unlike Homer and other bards, my memory isn’t good enough to compose and recite without a crib sheet. And that’s not just a joke; I am obsessed with the sounds of language. Most of my poems originate with a line or two coming into my head as I am out walking, usually climbing Dufur Hill which I do every morning. Something about the rhythm of walking triggers spoken language. I repeat the line or lines all the way down the hill and then when I get home I write them down and continue with the rest of the poem. Maybe writing is my way of coping with noticing and feeling.

3. 
Tell us about your professional life. What do you enjoy about teaching?

I got my Ph.D. as a union card. I was a single mother with two kids and I had to do something to feed them. It was only when I started teaching that I discovered I actually liked it. I like: figuring something out clearly enough to explain it, learning from my students, making an emotional connection with each student, hoping I am useful. What I especially like about leading poetry workshops is how quickly we become a community.

 On my resume I’ve been a college professor and a workshop leader, but for many years I also had jobs on the side. I worked as an artist’s model which taught me a lot about art and also that a body is just a thing. The most meaningful non-teaching job I’ve had was the five years I worked as a home health aide. I had felt I needed to learn more about old age and dying, and I sure did. Although I was treated with more respect as Professor Schott, I may have been more useful as “the girl from the agency.”

4. 
Which non-literary piece of culture — film, tv show, painting, song — has influenced you?

I grew up without a television and never learned to watch. I see very few movies. The songs that have been important to me are not popular music but old Scottish ballads. Perhaps the biggest influence on me was the art I saw as a child when my mother took me regularly to the Museum of Modern Art in Manhattan. I remember being completely freaked out by Picasso’s painting Guernica showing the consequences of war. I can still hear that horse screaming. I was also greatly affected by a Giacometti sculpture called The Palace at 4 a.m. which was full of inexplicable mystery. I think I could trace much of my writing to those two pieces of art.

5.
Is there a book you wish you had written?

When I was a girl that book was Frances Hodgson Burnett’s The Secret Garden for its discovery of the unknown. Now it might be any of the poets who write very short and unforgettable gems — maybe some of the Chinese poets of the Tang dynasty or the wonderful one-line pieces by the Greek poet Yannis Ritsos as translated by my friend Paul Merchant in Monochords.

Bonus Question: What are your favorite words?

Almost anything with a B or a P or a K. I love making those sounds. 

Poke, kitchen, spit, slump, noncombustible. 

Of course there are also wonderful words like interrogatory and flat. 

Hey, I guess I love ‘em all.

Fast Five with Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

"The poem is not the point; the poem is simply the byproduct of showing up to be wrestled by the world and by language.”

— Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

Welcome to Fast Five, in which I ask my favorite writers five questions as a way to open the door to know more.

Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer is the author of 12 poetry collections and her work has appeared in O Magazine, on A Prairie Home Companion, on fences, in back alleys, and on river rocks she leaves around the banks of the San Miguel River near her home in southwest Colorado.

She served as San Miguel County’s first poet laureate from 2007 to 2011 and as Western Slope Poet Laureate from 2015 to 2017, and teaches and performs poetry for addiction recovery programs, hospice, mindfulness retreats and more.

An advocate of the power of practice, Rosemerry has written a poem every day since 2006.

1. 
For nearly 15 years, you've written a poem a day, and shared it on your blog. Can you tell us about your process?

I write at night, usually, after everyone has gone off to their own quiet space in our house. And I sit with a blank page and I wait to see what happens. If it stays blank a long time, I start to sift for ideas. I might look around the room and let my eyes land on an object. Or think about an interaction from the day. Or I might read poems and find something in them that thrills me and then give myself a prompt based on a line or an idea. Or I might read the news. Or look at an image. Or think of someone I want to write a letter . . . so many ways to begin a poem! 

I don't feel pressure to produce but I do feel the ever present invitation to practice — which feels fundamentally different to me as a motivation. The poem, ironically, is not the point — the poem is simply the byproduct of showing up to be wrestled by the world and by language. The point is the showing up and, as Rilke said, the “being defeated decisively by constantly greater beings.” That’s why I write every day. It changes everything about who I am and how I meet the world.   

2. 
Who has influenced your writing life? 

So many people! Today the first who comes to mind is Art Goodtimes, a paleo-hippie, fungi obsessed, potato-growing wild man poet. When I first moved to Telluride in 1994, he said, “Give me some poems.” And I shared a few and he said something like, “These are nice. I wonder what would happen if you relaxed?”

Wonderful advice. I was writing such tightly wound, cryptic poems. And it was a revelation, too, to watch him perform—he used his whole body and his whole vocal range of volume and intensity. I remember staring at a picture of him with his arm raised while reading a poem and I thought, “How does he do that?” And so I began to experiment . . .

Perhaps most importantly, Art introduced me to a poetry community—sitting in a circle, passing a talking gourd, listening to each other. It was so different from the red-pen-stained critique circles I’d been in before. This community was intent on listening, really listening to each other. Not to point out what was wrong with each other’s poems, but to hear the humanity inside them. I am so crazy grateful for Art, who has been my partner in teaching and organizing and performing and human-ing for 26 years. 

3.
What advice would you offer new or struggling writers?

Something I once heard David Lee say: "Surround yourself by writers who are better than you are." 

4.
I'm a word collector, are you? What are your favorite words? 

sometimes 

(So symmetrical! An s on both ends, then a vowel, then an m, with that slender cross of the t in the center, ah!! Because of my passion for this word, when I was in 8th grade my priest gave me a book of e.e. cummings poetry for confirmation, a gift that opened my eyes to what poems might do.)

perhaps

(I love the softening effect it has on anything that comes after it.)

blossom

 (Both the verb and the noun—this word is like a magnet. I have to force myself not to use it all the time, but it always seems like exactly the right word to me.)

yes

(Perhaps I love using this word too much.)

 and then a host of single syllable Anglo-Saxon-ish words with punch, such as wretch, flunk, slink, scum, wreck, spook, scram, splat, pluck, plunk, scrap, fluke, snatch . . .

5.
In the difficult days, what keeps you going? 

Morsels of beauty & scraps of joy: The scent of the river. Falling off my chair at dinner because I am laughing so hard. Sunflowers in the garden. Erik Satie. Poems by James Crews. Sitting under the stars with friends. Walking alone in the woods. I follow these moments like a crumb trail. Devour them. Sniff for the next crumb.

Bonus Question: What has changed about your process?

My relationship to the blank. A white page used to scare me, stare me down. Now it feels like an encouragement to step into infinite potential. Every time I sit down with a blank, I wonder what might happen. Something! 

• Buy Hush, Rosemerry’s latest book here.

• Learn more about Rosemerry:
TEDxPaonia
Rattle Magazine Podcast

Fast Five with Theresa Wisner

"I have a dogged determination to keep going; to not be a quitter." 

— Theresa Wisner

Welcome to Fast Five, in which we ask a writer five questions to open the door to know more.

Theresa Wisner lives on the central Oregon Coast and works aboard Oceanus, an Oregon State University research vessel. Hailing from a family of commercial fishermen, as a young woman she went to sea to both continue the family tradition and prove her own fortitude. In her memoir and literary debut, Daughter of Neptune, Theresa blends seafaring adventure with family dynamics in a story of personal and professional self-discovery.

1. 
Daughter of Neptune is a powerful story of family, addiction, and perseverance in an industry dominated by men. What prompted you to tell your story?

I sometimes think that the goal was to write a story, and the events came along to give me a story to write about. I don’t know that I ever thought, I’m going to write a book about this one day, but from my earliest memories I’ve wanted to write. 

2.
In your memoir of working at sea, you reveal the fears and insecurities that led to your alcoholism. Why was this important for you to share, and in the face of struggle, what keeps you going?   

Quitting drinking was, by far, the biggest challenge of my life. There were people who showed me it could be done. I wanted to be brutally honest in my struggle, and in so doing, let someone who might be struggling know there is hope, even in the darkest time. I wish I could say that there was something inspirational in me that kept and keeps me going. I think it’s solely a dogged determination to keep going; to not be a quitter. 

3.
What’s the best writing advice you’ve received?

Write. Really. Just write. Sit my tail in a chair and write. It seems so easy, but it’s difficult to practice. There is always something that can, and often does, call me away. Even if I have nothing to write, the act of sitting in front of the computer or paper brings the story to me, it doesn’t come from living my life. It comes from having the intent to write. More dogged determination!

4.
What books or authors have shaped your life? 

Although I don’t read him much any more, Stephen King shaped much of my desire to be concise about description, and evoking emotion from it. The Stand, in particular. Theodore Dreiser and Tolstoy were big in my early years. More recent work is Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy, and Veronica Roth’s Divergent trilogy. I love the simplicity of these works. Isabel Allende is simply brilliant. There are so many more, but these come to the top of my head. 

5.
I’m a word collector and keep a running list of favorite words. What are your favorite words?

As a Pacific Northwest gal, I love a couple of words:

Pluviophile: one who loves the rain.

Petrichor: the smell of the first rain. 

Bonus Question: What question did I not ask that you wish I had? 
I’m currently working on a book of fiction that puts a young woman on Ernest Shackleton's failed Antarctic Expedition. I don’t know if I’ll keep Shackleton’s name, but the story has intrigued me since I worked in Antarctica. 

• Buy Daughter of Neptune at Amazon

• Learn About Theresa:
Coming to terms with being the Daughter of Neptune - Oregon State University magazine

Fast Five with Patricia Bailey

“I feel better on
the days I write. Happier. Clearer. 
I’m unsettled when I’m not writing." 

 — Patricia Bailey
author of The Tragically True
Adventures of Kit Donovan

Welcome to Fast Five Interviews, where we ask five questions to open the door to know more:

Patricia Bailey — Trish — lives in Klamath Falls, Oregon, a small town in southern Oregon. Her debut novel, The Tragically True Adventures of Kit Donovan tells the story of a sharp and spunky 13-year-old girl who defies age and gender expectations to stand up for what’s right.

The young adult novel has earned numerous accolades, including 2018 Oregon Book Award for Children’s Literature, the Oregon Spirit Award from the Oregon Council of Teachers of English, and the 2018 Willy Literary Award from Women Writing the West. 

1.
Are you Kit?

Not nearly enough to suit me. She’s far braver and way more outspoken than I am. She’s also much more likely to say what she thinks regardless of the consequences. She’s kind of my hero. 

2.
How did you come to writing?  

Slowly. Or rather I should say I came to see myself as a writer slowly. When I was kid I realized that sorting out my thoughts on paper and making up stories was fun – more fun for me than it was for many of the people I went to school with. I liked trying to get each sentence just right. I enjoyed the buzz I got when I found just the right word. In college I discovered that my classmates and friends seemed to like to read what I wrote – that I could make them laugh or make them sad or make them think with my words. It wasn’t until much later that I realized I could write outside of a classroom assignment. It was later still when I realized that the real writers that I admired were just ordinary people who wrote – not magical, mythical creatures – and that with hard work and persistence I might actually become one too. 

3.
What writers or books have most strongly influenced you?  

This shifts for me almost day-to-day, depending on what I’m thinking and what I’m currently working on. That said, I think the one book that stands out for me the most is Pam Houston’s Cowboys Are My Weakness. I remember finding it at a bookstore when I was in college and devouring it. It was the first book I read that felt familiar. I knew these people. I’d been to these places. I had stories like this. It was the very first hint that maybe I had things to say that people would read. That my stories might actually matter too. 

4.
What’s the best writing advice you’ve received?

I’m a slow writer, so I think the best advice I’ve gotten is to just take the time you need to get the story right. I’d love to be able to write a quick draft and go from there, but it just doesn’t work for me. Remembering that my process is my process and it takes how long it takes is helpful when I’m feeling old and overwhelmed.

5.
Writing — and publishing — can be difficult work. In the face of challenge, what keeps you going? 

I think the act of writing does. I feel better on the days I write. Happier. Clearer. I’m unsettled when I’m not writing. So, if I can remember that the act of writing makes me happy - no matter how hard the day is – and focus on just that part, the other worries seem to shrink a bit.

Bonus Question: 
I’m a word collector and keep a running list of favorite words. What are your favorite words?

Glimmer, jellyfish, moon, smarmy, moxie, shiver, loaf, and about a million more I can’t recall just know. I really should keep a list.

Fast Five with Bette Lynch Husted

"I've been troubled all my life by the story we don't tell." 

— Bette Lynch Husted
author of All Coyote's Children

Welcome to Fast Five Interviews, where we ask five questions to
open the door to know more:

Bette Lynch Husted writes with breadth and depth, carefully crafting poems, memoir and story. Her works include At This Distance; Above the Clearwater: Living on Stolen Land;Lessons from the Borderlands; and All Coyote’s Children. 

Living in the small, eastern Oregon town of Pendleton, her work is woven with landscape, family and culture. Her latest work, and first novel, All Coyote's Children, has earned accolades from The Oregonian: "Thoughtful, superbly written and redolent with inviting characters and ideas. Husted's first novel deserves attention and prizes."

It's time for Fast Five, in which we ask five questions that open the door to know more.

1. 

How did you come to writing?

I was eight and my sister was ten when we broke into print on the children’s page of The Idaho Farmer with stories we had written one summer afternoon to entertain each other (both, as I remember, titled “Mystery in the Old Barn”). But though I kept writing, isolation in small rural communities and the demands of teaching made my next publication a long time coming. What made a difference was Fishtrap and later a series of wonderful workshops at The Flight of the Mind Writing Workshops for Women [founded by Judith Barrington and ran for 17 years], where I not only learned from people like Naomi Shihab Nye, Grace Paley, and Lucille Clifton, but also realized that people could hear my voice — and that getting my work out was “important for all of us,” as Alex Kuo wrote to me. I kept that piece of blue stationery above my desk for a long time, and I try to pass on this gift to other writers.

2.

You’ve written poetry, memoir and, most recently, fiction. Your work features a distinct and vivid sense of place. How has place formed you as a writer?   

“The place,” my father called the benchland north-central Idaho homestead where he was born and where his children, too, would grow up. We were all bonded to it — by daily chores, of course, but also by the light “rolling down the mountain” each morning, the red-winged blackbirds’ return in late February just as the barnyard was beginning to thaw. The river sound of wind in the pines on the hill. “Place” showed me what it meant to be conscious, alive. It still does. Maybe it helps that I have spent my life in the rural inland Northwest where we are reminded of our relationship to the earth in ways we might not be if we were surrounded by concrete. But I can’t imagine not feeling this way. 

3.

Your novel, “All Coyote’s Children,” is a powerful story of cultural and generational connections. In it, you write, “It’s not telling stories that gets us in trouble. It’s not telling them.” What prompted you to tell this story?  

I’ve been troubled all my life by the story we don’t tell because, as one of the characters in All Coyote’s Children puts it, “it cancels all our mythologies. No wonder we can’t face it.” How do we face the fact that the indigenous peoples and cultures of North America were dehumanized, seen as savage, inferior, obstacles to be eliminated as we “tamed a continent” (a phrase used by our president in his recent Naval Academy graduation address) and then all but erased from our national consciousness? All of us who are non-Natives, even those brought by force to this continent, continue to live on stolen land. What do we do with this knowledge? And what do Native people do with their erasure from so much of “American history,” not to mention the ongoing pain of that story?

Ten years ago, the spiritual leader who married my son and his Umatilla/Cayuse and White Mountain Apache wife said, “We’re joining not just two people, but two families.” His words felt extraordinarily generous. I knew this wasn’t the complete answer to my question, yet that day healing seemed possible.

But only if we tell our own true stories and listen carefully enough to hear each other’s. In many ways, this is what draws me to writing: trying to stay open, receptive to the stories that connect us. 

4. 

A character in your novel says, “Life is hard, and will get harder.” In the face of difficulty, what keeps you going? 

I’ve read that the Cheyenne People have a saying: A nation is not conquered until the hearts of its women are on the ground. Then it is finished, not matter how brave its warriors, or how strong their weapons.

The Cheyenne may be acknowledging this truth: it takes a lot to put the hearts of women on the ground. “Survival is hard sometimes,” Leona says in All Coyote’s Children — but though she has stumbled, she’s still upright, and helping the lives of others to go on. My own mother was such a woman — able to lift her eyes to the sunset or blue-black thunderheads or Orion climbing the sky no matter the challenges she faced. (“I’d catch another bubble if I waited,” she copied on the scrap of paper that’s now pinned to my own bulletin board. “The thing was to get now and then elated.”) 

Sometimes, though, the difficulties can be overwhelming. What keeps me going is writing, feeling my way forward one word at a time. 

And I’m fortunate to belong to a wonderful poetry workshop group. We drive from various corners of Oregon to meet once a month, each of us knowing that this sharing of words (and food and wine and friendship) is a lifeline.

5.

What’s the best writing advice you’ve received?

The late Ursula K. Le Guin was a member of that workshop group. We carry her with us always, hearing her voice in the stories she left the world and treasuring our own memories, her careful critiques, the image of her sitting in the wicker chair on Jeannette’s side porch stitching or sketching — but we miss her, we miss her. 

Last month I watched the trailer of Arwen Curry’s forthcoming documentary Worlds of Ursula K. Le Guin and heard Ursula say, “To learn to make something well can take your whole life. And it’s worth it.”

One last gift. And the best writing advice any of us could ever receive.

Bonus Question: I’m a word collector and keep a running list of favorite words. What are your favorite words?

The words that immediately come to mind are Clearwater and Kooskia (pronounced KOOS-key), words I grew up with, words that mean home. I always thought I was lucky to live near such a beautiful river, and one so beautifully and accurately named. But the place names I usually love most are the ones from Native languages, Kooskia and Umatilla, Wallowa, Walla Walla. So why would “clear water” and “Kooskia” bothspring to mind as my favorite words, I wondered? Wikipedia tells me that “the river got its name from the Niimiipuutímt naming as Koos-Koos-Kai-Kai – ‘clear water.’” That may well be a condensed version of a much deeper language connection—still, it makes me very happy.

Shaindel Beers

We laugh because honesty

is uncomfortable here in this trailer where I'm

supposed to lie to these high-schoolers, tell them

if they work hard enough, they can be anything.

The way the lie was told to me. We laugh because

we're all in this together -- our falling apart houses

and cars and hearts and lives. I wish I could tell them,

The thing that you have is this. The vastness.

The peacocks in the middle of the road, the man playing

air guitar as he walks along Mission Highway.

And I know, Children, that this isn't much, but it's the gift,

the one gift, these stories, that can't be taken away. 

— Shaindel Beers
from The Gift (for my Golden Eagles)

Shaindel Beers  is a poet and teacher living in the small, eastern Oregon town of Pendleton. She's the author of two poetry collections, the poetry editor for Contrary magazine, and teaches English at Blue Mountain Community College. 

1.
How did you come to poetry?

I wrote my first poem, unprompted, as a natural reaction to something when I was ten. I learned that my cousin had shot my dog. I remember I cried so much, and then I found a notebook. Poetry has been how I emotionally process ever since.

2.
Your first poetry book, “A Brief History of Time,” offers a direct and down-to-earth voice that we don’t often see in poetry. Is this a conscious choice, a reflection of your personality, or something else?

When I was a younger writer, I was always drawn to blue collar poets because they felt familiar; they made me feel like I, too, could be a writer. This wasn’t anything I tried to do; it’s more a part of who I am. I’ve gone to college; I have two graduate degrees, but I’m from a farming and factory town with one traffic light where people know that you wave hello at someone driving a tractor. That’s just good manners. I’ve tried to broaden my vocabulary, but using words that don’t seem natural to me always seems like putting on a false front. I completely agree with what Stephen King says in his memoir On Writing:

“One of the really bad things you can do to your writing is to dress up the vocabulary, looking for long words because you're maybe a little bit ashamed of your short ones. This is like dressing up a household pet in evening clothes. The pet is embarrassed and the person who committed this act of premeditated cuteness should be more embarrassed."

3.
Your latest book, “The Children’s War” takes an unusual tack in exploring global and domestic violence. What prompted this poetry project?

I happened upon this article one day, and it was so powerful, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I started studying the artwork of child war survivors and the history of art therapy for children during wartime wherever I could find it. I ordered books online, I scoured online galleries. I wrote authors of studies. It was an obsession, one of those projects that basically writes itself.

But then midway through, I hit a wall. The big question for me was if I was supposed to write an entire book of children’s war poems or if I should include other forms of violence. On the one hand, I didn’t know if anyone could read an entire book of poetry about child war survivors. On the other hand, I didn’t want to seem selfish by including personal narratives with war narratives, but I decided to treat the collection as a study of violence in general. Violence in the home and in the community eventually becomes global violence. It is all borne of the same motivations – for one party to oppress and dominate another party.

4.
What’s the best writing advice you’ve received?

There’s so much terrific advice out there that I’m not sure I can narrow it down, but I really believe that if you feel you’re supposed to write something that in some way is supposed to help someone, write it. Write it, and keep sending it out into the world until someone publishes it.

5.
Life can be trying, as evidenced by your work. In the face of difficulty, what keeps you going?

Last year, I was at the Quest Writer’s Conference in Squamish, British Columbia, and a bunch of us were sitting at a table outside the dining hall soaking in the magical view of the Tantalus Range. One woman said, “You know how you become one of those older women you admire? You just keep going. You just wake up the next day, and keep doing what you’re going to do.” It was so simple, but it was an epiphany. You just wake up the next day and start over again.

Bonus Question: I’m a word collector and keep a running list of favorite words. What are your favorite words?

Most of the words I like have to do with the interesting sounds in them rather than the meanings of the words. I love the sound of the word coagulate because I love the weirdness of those vowels shifting into each other. In the language of the local Native American tribe, “good morning” is “Tahts maywee.” It sounds so cheerful. You can hear some of the language here in Roberta Conner’s TEDTalk, and it’s a great talk on the importance of indigenous languages. I also love the word chartreuse. It’s a beautiful color, too, but the sound of the word is lovely. 

Catherine O'Neill Thorn

 “Allowing young people to tell

their stories and discover other

ways of seeing themselves and the

value of their lives is honoring them

and what they've survived.”

— Catherine O'Neill Thorn

Catherine O’Neill Thorn is a poet, writer and founder/director of Art from Ashes, a literary youth organization in Colorado. She has been conducting transformational poetry and spoken word workshops at juvenile detention facilities, treatment centers, and schools since 1992.

O'Neill Thorn developed the Phoenix Rising curriculum,  designed to empower struggling youth to express their creativity through metaphor and expose them to a language based on self-affirmation and belief in a successful future. This method has since become the seminal program of Art from Ashes. In a series of three-minute writing prompts facilitated over two hours, young people see immediate evidence of their creative ability and readily share their experiences — a process that often takes much longer using standard inquiry or therapies.

Art from Ashes has provided workshops to over 8,000 young people who have survived traumatic events, are victims of abuse, neglect and/or poverty, and are at risk for or engaged in destructive behaviors.

1.
How did you come to writing? Were you first a writer, then a leader?

I started writing poetry when I was five years old. In the British and Irish cultures, poetry is considered a high art form, and since all schoolchildren are taught the importance of elocution, memorization and literature, it stands that memorizing poetry is an necessary part of a young person’s eduction. Consequently, my mother started reading us poetry when we were toddlers; she often played Dylan Thomas on the record player and occasionally stopped mid-sentence and recited a lengthy poem from her childhood. At the time, my bothers and sister and I were not at all impressed, but now I have only her to thank for my deep appreciation of poetry.

As a teenager and young adult, I kept numerous journals filled with poetry . . . most of it incredibly sad. I wish I had this program then. It was a lonely business pouring out my heart in despair; I would have benefitted from the transformational process, as well.

I’ve always loved poetry. Some have said it’s my religion, but to me it’s actually a vehicle. When you’ve been driving a beat-up old Volkswagen and suddenly you have access to a new Mini Cooper, well . . . that’s poetry.

2.
People often look at writing and poetry as a mushy and temporary feel-good fix, but you seem to see written expression as critical to survival. Is this true, and if so, why? 

When I started developing the curriculum for youth in residential treatment, probationdepartments and eventually for Columbine High School students, I called into play my experiences as a writer; as someone who has struggled with anxiety and depression; and also my troubled past. When I added my spirituality and research into human behavior and psychology, that's when I realized that language is a powerful medium that taps into our subconscious and can direct and manage our perceptions. Since it it ultimately our beliefs, not our cognitive process, that most affects our choices and behaviors, the ability to dialogue with our subconscious and learn to manipulate our perceptions changes everything.

When we learn that there’s a difference between a fact and our story about the fact, as a creative genius, we see that we are totally in charge of our story. And it is our story that determines our reality.

The world can be ugly and cruel. And the world also is amazing and awesome. Both and everything in between is true. Allowing young people to tell their stories and discover other ways of seeing themselves and the value of their lives is honoring them and what they've survived. More than that, allowing someone who has suffered the opportunity to find strength and hope through the power of language is not only poetry but is neurology. My definition of poetry is a dialogue with the subconscious through the language of metaphor. The dialogue can be shifted, and the resultant shift can change everything.

3.
Art from Ashes deliberately distinguishes its writing process from art therapy. What’s the distinction?

Poetry therapy is a distinct practice that requires training in specific therapeutic techniques, as well as how to integrate poetry with those techniques. Our process is a group process, and while it is an effective support to therapy, it is more focused on each individual’s creative genius and their ability to choose an identity that does not make them a victim of experiences or circumstances. We accomplish this not by therapeutic skills (although certainly the result is therapeutic) but by introducing young people to the power of the arts and their own creative genius; by allowing both a safe process using the language of metaphor and a space space in which to express their story without judgement; and by guiding young people who have struggled through a process of transformation—from despair to self-determination.

The Phoenix Rising program reaches young people who have had limited or no exposure to the arts; because we bring in published poems, we provide arts education; because we introduce local poets and authors, we engage marginalized youth with the creative community; because we provide public performance opportunities, we allow young people to practice public speaking skills and reengage them with their community.

While all art is intrinsically healing, and while therapy has multiple cognitive and behavioral benefits, our curriculum is unique and effective because it’s interactive, self-directed, and taps into the creative subconscious utilizing our three-step process of expression, connection and transformation.

4.
You’ve founded, organized and managed numerous literary events and community programs. You’re a motivational speaker, and a writer. What keeps you motivated to continue to give your time, energy and effort? 

Someone once asked me about the spiritual beliefs that informed my work. After explaining the source of my process and that I believe this is the reason I was placed on the planet, he said, “I don’t mean to be disrespectful (you have to love sentences that start that way), but what if you’re wrong?”

Without giving it any thought, I responded, “I don’t care. It works.”

As long as the youth are responding, as long as their lives are improving, as long as they want to keep living, as long as they see themselves having a powerful future, I accept the multiple challenges (and even the ongoing fatigue!!!) and will go as long as I can.

5.
What’s the best writing advice you’ve given or received?

Given: Don’t think. Your left brain is analytical and judgmental and has to be right and has to be good and you just need to make it SFU if you want to dialogue with your creative subconscious.

Received: Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird. I gave it to all the Columbine students in my poetry group when they graduated. She has a whole chapter on Shitty First Drafts that corresponds with our process, but it was so refreshing to hear a widely-respected published author say it. I have to fight my own “rational” brain all the time to just let the words flow.

So yeah. Basically both say the same thing.

Bonus Question: I’m a word collector. What are you favorite words?

Oh so so many! The ones that are “chewy” in my mouth are my favorite, as well as onomatopoeia. I also like fairly obsolete words. We tend to cheer for those at the office. The Indian name Ramachandran is amazing to say. The Spanish word susurrada is one of my favs (whispered). I also like words like eschew (I have a bumper sticker that says “Eschew obfuscation”) and finagle and . . .

Shawnte Orion

I never noticed the difference

between naked and exposed

until your sweater was puddled on my floor

and your shoulders remained covered

in kaleidoscopic swirls of ink. A tattooed

cartography of memories and myths.

Sleeves I could never remove.

— Shawnte Orion
Sleeveless

Shawnte Orion takes poetry to the streets, bars, laundromats and more. His work has been published in numerous literary journals, including Crab Creek Review, Barrelhouse and New York Quarterly. He lives in Surprise, Arizona, and has been named one of 100 Phoenix Creatives.

In his debut poetry collection, The Existentialist Cookbook, Orion sifts through the absurdity of modern life for scraps of philosophy, religion, and mathematics to blend into recipes for elegies and celebrations.

1.
You often perform your work in non-traditional settings: bars, hair salons, museums, laundromats, and street corners. Why?

I don’t want poetry to be confined or limited to the niche demographic of People Who Like Poetry. I’m no professor. I didn’t come out of a University writing program. I’m a “regular” person with a normal job, so I believe poetry can be relevant and appreciated in anyone’s world. I love occasions when I get to read to people who aren’t usually exposed to poetry. Whether they left the house for the sole purpose of doing their laundry or seeing a punk band, I like the challenge and reward of trying to hold their attention and maybe even win them over.

2.
The Existentialist Cookbook, your first full-length book, offers a great blend of sharp and smart poems mixed with wonderfully tender and touching pieces. Was this range intentional?

Yes. I experience the world through an array of emotions and moods and I want my poetry to reflect that spectrum. Times when I am withdrawn and pensive are as integral to my process as moments of hilarity. This might have worked against me with certain presses who prefer a more unified “voice” but fortunately Raymond Hammond and NYQBooks appreciated my amalgamated poetics. I don’t necessarily want this collection to contradict itself, but it should contain multitudes.

3.
Your poems are quick-witted, full of clever word play and pop culture references, and peppered with such engaging titles as, "Love in the Time of Hand-Sanitizer" and "Unable to Surface for Air During Shark Week." Who (or what) has influenced your writing?

Before I started getting into poetry, the songwriters and filmmakers I was obsessed with in my youth left an imprint on the way I approach poems (Soundgarden and Frank Black music- Antonioni and Ingmar Bergman films, for example). Back in middle school, I also paid a lot of attention to what stand up comics could accomplish on a stage with nothing but words and perspective. It wasn’t until I took a workshop with Denise Duhamel that I began to realize how much crossover there was between the poet and stand up comic worlds. She pointed out that Denis Leary started out as a poet (even published in Ploughshares). I looked up one of the comedians I remember most (John Wing) and found that he published a few poetry books. Influences are a small world after all.

4.
Your book bio says you “attended community college for one day” but that your poems have appeared in many respected literary journals. How did you come to poetry, and how did you “learn” to write?

My French teacher in 7th, 8th and 12th grade, Elaine Phelps, had our class work with poetry to understand the language. Translating and discussing the poems of Jacques Prevert showed me how efficiently ideas and experiences could be conveyed through a handful of lines. Once I started reading lots of contemporary poetry, it wasn’t always the brilliant stuff that taught me the most. Often times, it was noticing where and how certain poems fell apart that “taught“ me what I wanted to avoid.

5.
What’s the best writing advice you’ve received?

Continually revisit the poems you thought were finished weeks, months, even years ago. A little bit of distance can create a lot of clarity.

Bonus Question: I’m a word collector and keep a running list of favorite words. What are your favorite words?

I also try to keep lists, so here are a few of my most recent additions:

reticulated

innuendo

thigmotropic

Gail Waldstein

“I believe in telling the total emotional truth, or as much of it as I can clasp.”

—Gail Waldstein

Gail Waldstein is author of To Quit This Calling, a memoir of her 35 years as a pediatric pathologist, and Afterimage, a poetry chapbook. Her stories, essays and poems have won numerous awards and have appeared in New Letters, Carve, The Potomac Review and many other journals. An excerpt from Mind Riot, a memoir about her disintegration into schizophrenia, is available to read at Solstice Literary Review. She lives in Denver, Colorado.

1.
As a pediatric pathologist you routinely conducted autopsies on dead children, as well as diagnosing leukemia and brain tumors on very sick children. How did your career choice impact your creative life?

I had always wanted to write and a few years after a grueling internship in pediatrics, ’68-69, when I also gave birth to my first child and worked every-other-night for the rest of that year, I did write about that and was published in the early ‘70s. By then I had two more babies and my marriage was fragmenting. I was divorced in ‘76. I put aside all hopes of writing then, continued in pediatric pathology full time and solo-raised three children for fifteen years.

The truth of what I did daily in the morgue, the operating room, at the surgical bench and microscope, diagnosing tumors in babies and children drained my humanity. Said another way, in order to stay reasonably sane I shut down empathy and worked, wrote medical articles, book chapters and never accepted career advances that would require working evenings, which were dedicated to being home with the children.

“Creative” for me during those super-busy years equaled crocheting, cooking, embroidery. I kept a journal, always have, but didn’t venture into serious writing again until a poem seized me in the early ‘90s, when I pulled over, parked and wrote. By then the children were off at college or into early careers and I was remarried, another adventure that was going to hell. I continued in pathology, but increasingly found that the armor I had to wear to muscle through the surgeries and autopsies was diametrically opposed to my being able to peel my skin off and write from a raw place, which is how I wanted my work to be. I want to move a reader’s heart, to create in them the emotions that sweep us, almost slay us, move us deeply. Eventually, this dichotomy between how I had to present myself, and how I wanted to be caused (or contributed to) several severe diseases. Later, after lots of drugs, surgeries and wrestling with part time work, I quit medicine, primarily because of rheumatoid arthritis. Economically, an insane decision, but personally fulfilling and the right thing for my writing and my body. It took a few years before I noticed my body had begun to unclench, cells were breathing again.

2.
The story of your health is story itself. You’ve survived cancer of the cervix, rheumatoid arthritis, and schizophrenia (for which you were treated in a mental institution). Do you consider writing a form of therapy?

Absolutely NOT.

I have been asked that question many, many times or told that my writing is therapeutic, that it’s so confessional and out-there that it must bring closure or relief or healing. And while writing, the way I approach it is very interior, visceral and (hopefully) deep, it is not therapy.

I was in intense psychotherapy after my hospitalization at age 30 for three years. That experience was painful, self-revealing, transformative. I have been blessed not needing psychiatric drugs afterward, but I remain connected to therapy and assume I will return for “mini-fixes” forever. While it’s easier now, having lived with my disease for decades, and recognizing danger and mental disorder faster than ever, I can say that the worst day of writing, when I’m stalled in front of a legal pad or computer, desolate and dry, the most difficult dark places I visit in my work, the most eviscerating confessions I decide to expose, is like eating a thick slice of chocolate cake compared to those early years of therapy. There is no comparison.

3.
You are a later-in-life writer. How did you come to writing?

I am definitely a late-life writer, but as I said earlier, it was something I always wanted to do. I read poetry and novels in med school, sometimes secreted paperbacks inside medical texts. I would’ve graduated higher in my class had I read more medicine, no doubt, but I majored in both English Lit and Biology in college, and I desperately missed literature in the sterile, memorization-oriented sphere of medical school.

My writing began as my second marriage was crumbling. I saw lovers kissing on a Denver street in a snow storm and it reminded me of my first kiss and I wrote what I saw, what it renewed in my body. That opened some connection with the muse, some daring. I had always wanted to write about my hospitalization and had made weak stabs over the years. In the mid-90s, as more poems, stories and essays arrived, I began work on my book, Mind Riot, which I’m still wrestling.

4.
You write in many forms: essay, poetry, short story, memoir. Which came first, and what does one form offer that another doesn’t?

Poems came first, and still, if I’m lucky enough to feel one bubbling up, I stop whatever I’m doing and write. It’s not automatic writing, but I do want to honor the impetus.

Prose writing is more work, more struggle, more muscular for me. Not that I don’t work hard on my poetry, I do, but the end is always close, the rhythm set, the music compact. For prose I try to remember Ron Carlson’s advice, where in the body does this happen and write toward that. I have a erratic approach to writing (as do most women writers). I may see a shape, a floating color, a locale where I realized something novel, a vision of a loved one in a particular slant of light, an argument, and that starts things. I don’t read for plot and if it shows up in my work, great, but I’m not primarily interested in it. Occasionally I think I know where I’m going, but I don’t outline. I think the delight of “first writes” for me is discovery and planning would ablate that.

As I reread an ugly first draft, I’ll see ten or twenty pages without a single scene. Revision time. It took me many years to learn that revision is not simply editing, but seeing the whole piece anew. I now love revision as much as a fresh start, which I never thought I’d say.

I realize in rereading your question I haven’t answered what form offers what. That’s probably because in pathology I considered myself a “lumper,” not a “splitter.” I saw similarities between tumors; I noted the dance of malignant cells and their relationships, and found that more interesting than individual characteristics that subcategorize and define individual malignancies. I certainly could and did break things into small cubby-holes; that was my job, my career. But I’m not sure I ever subscribed to the concept that such minute distinctions were as important as medical professionals insisted.

I feel the same way about prose. I’m not a strict nonfiction MUST be TRUE kind of woman. I believe in telling the total emotional truth, or as much of it as I can clasp, but I often have no idea whether I’m writing memoir, short story or creative nonfiction. And to add to my personal confused philosophy, many of my pieces, which invariably contain autobiography, have won awards in two or three of these “classifications.”

(I first read this question as to what informs my work, so as a “bonus,” I’ll leave what I wrote to answer this unasked question: My obsessions inform my writing, love and its foibles, observed and experienced, is a theme I come back to often. My long exposure to medicine and my experiences in it as a doctor and then a patient colors my work and infuses my vocabulary. Feminism is also woven deeply in my writing.)

5.
For many years you served as a creative writing mentor for Denver Public Schools (earning teacher of the year in 2003), and also taught at the college level. I have been the beneficiary of your insightful and incisive editing. What do you find turns a piece from ordinary to extraordinary (and how do we do it?!)

If I could answer that, I’d win some prize. There’s something about the strength of truth that hits the reader in the gut. I know it when I see it, the old Supreme Court comment about pornography, applies. You feel it in your cells, you gasp, your nose starts running and you know you’re about to cry. Sometimes pretty prose alone, the music of it, catches my breath, or a strange, mystical image; sometimes it’s a peculiar juxtaposition, two ideas that are unrelated are mashed together and I’m forced to rethink reality. As far as I know there is no simple rule for making writing extraordinary. Except, maybe the old saw, How does one get to Carnegie Hall?  Practice, practice, practice.

I do know though, that without risk there is little but ho-hum. You hear risk easily in humor, people have to go over the edge, insult or offend (and often apologize), but without the courage to try something wild and new, there’s no extraordinary, just rehash.

I encourage that risk-taking in writers all the time. A lot easier if I don’t have to do it myself. But of course, I try and make myself tell the absolute truth, the fullness of what happened and what an idiot I was, or how base and mean and petty I was. I think we all need to tell the full truth as best we can. I believe writers are obligated to show pimples, prejudice, injustice, corruption, at least on the page, and hopefully kindness and perhaps redemption, or at least an inclination to reform.

I still teach and mentor in the public schools, now through a program run at Lighthouse Writers Workshop and when I get something from a student that evokes a visceral reaction I try and let the reaction show. I applaud these young artists who exhibit courage, and am humbled and inspired by their fertile, fervent minds.

Bonus Question: I’m a word collector, and encourage writers to gather words with interesting textures, sounds and significance. What are your favorite words?

yes, love, hope, simple, laughter, truth, courage, writing, grace, chocolate

Ruth Harrison

Because a few questions can offer endless insight, I'm happy to present Fast Five —  interviews with great writers.

Ruth Harrison was born in Kansas, grew up in Colorado, and has lived in Oregon since 1950. She is a retired professor of medieval literature (teaching at Portland State University, Linfield College, and Oregon Coast Community College) whose poems have appeared in regional, national and international publications. She is author of two textbooks, three chapbooks, and seven poetry collections. Noting her value to the writing community, the Oregon Poetry Association, the state’s oldest and largest poetry organization, recently honored Harrison with a lifetime membership.

1.
You primarily write in traditional poetic forms. Is there a particular form you favor, and why?

Well, the sonnet — because it is old and mossy, and lovely in its song-like qualities, hallowed by time — and by users like Shakespeare and Keats, leading the way. And the villanelle, which I attempted as soon as I learned its name (in a college class), in part because it sent me looking for a poetry handbook, which led me on to many other forms; and in part because it's a challenge to make the required repetitions not thud on the ear, not seem repetitious and boring. And the triolet because its repeat lines are not so many as the villanelle's, and because it's small and must convey its impact in a short space . . . There are many many short forms Madelyn Eastlund's Poets' Forum had introduced me to, that I have enjoyed no end. The cresset comes to mind for its lovely symmetry and slight rhyme requirements, just enough to make a poet work to get the exactly right word to make meaning and to suit the formal requirement. The struggle is good for us as writers and as craftsmen. And I enjoyed trying a form Lew Turco told me about, the rubliw (named, I think, for Richard Wilbur—?), that he and his fellow poets have enjoyed playing with at Iowa and later.

2.
At what age did you begin to write poetry, and how has your writing changed over the years?

I was told I made verses from about age two, but of course was not yet writing, just making. And I made an occasional attempt in school years, fifth and sixth grades, and so on. Then a few efforts in high school and college classes have survived . . . some college efforts made it into a college anthology. My teaching years mostly put an end to the writing, because teaching is so all-consuming, but sometimes when my students were busy with an in-class writing project, I sat writing also, to add to the work-filled intense quiet atmosphere as much as anything. But I didn't give it concentrated attention until I retired from my final teaching position, in 1994.

3.
You formed Tuesday, a writing group that has met every week for over 20 years. How has the group influenced your writing life?

Tuesday has been a singular blessing. It carries an automatic weekly deadline to have material ready for the next meeting; it encourages revision and craftsmanship; and it takes the loneliness out of the writing life. It provides a first audience for untried work, in an unthreatening setting — a good testing ground.

4.
What’s the best writing advice you’ve received (or given)?

Keep writing.

5.
Will you please share a favorite poem from your new book, West of 101.

This is one many hearers or readers have liked [in unrhymed iambic pentameter]:

Night Lights

It’s 2:13 and she is not asleep

but trying. She’ll go warm herself some milk,

sit with the quiet, and look across the waves,

inhale the pine tree scent, and pause before

returning to her bed . . .   Take Christmas in:

plug in the lights, enjoy the silence, night,

the distant sound of surf, here near the glass.

The pane exhales a cool light essence, fresh

against her face.

She seems the only one

alive, awake here long before the dawn,

and watching the deep waves she knows are there

only because it’s west— that's where waves are.

Across the black . . . nothing alive in sight.

And moments pass in solitude and dark

But now a spark appears and disappears,

appears again. A crabber out there in

December’s endless night, his worklights bright.

On impulse, she unplugs the Christmas tree

and plugs it in again, to say hello

to light that speaks to her across five miles.

Three times the light blinks back, and she repeats

her greeting to the worker in the cold

before the boat is hidden by a surge

and swell of waters.

She lets go that breath

when light appears again, and sparks in sign

of living presence in that larger earth

the darkness opens.

A repeat flash says:

We’re all right here because the land is there

And every soul’s alone, but that is how

life is for all of us who’ve had the luck

to be born, and will have the luck to die.

We know you’re there, the only spark in sight

this holiday. And thank you for the light.

— Ruth Harrison

Margaret Chula

I love that mad scribble . . .

and then, sliding different words

across my tongue until it finds 

the perfect sound.

Because a few questions can offer endless insight, I'm happy to present Fast Five — interviews with great writers.

Margaret "Maggie" Chula has been writing and teaching haiku and Japanese poetic forms for over 30 years. She is the author of seven poetry collections, and her haiku have appeared on Itoen tea cans in Japan, on a construction site for the new transit line in Portland, and on billboards in Tokyo train stations. She frequently collaborates with artists, musicians, and photographers, and currently serves as president of the Tanka Society of America, and as poet laureate for Friends of Chamber Music in Portland, Oregon.

Your short form poetry has earned numerous awards and recognition. What is it about the short form that draws you?

My love affair with haiku and later with haibun and tanka began when I lived in Kyoto ("Tranquility and Peace Capital"). For 12 years, my husband and I lived in a traditional Japanese-style house. Built after World War II from low-quality materials, there was a thin line between outdoors and indoors. Every winter mice nested in the closet. In rainy season, centipedes scuttled across the walls. Summer brought moths doing their frantic dance inside paper lanterns. For a few weeks one autumn, a weasel made his nightly visit to the garbage can in the back hallway. Tanuki (raccoon dogs) and a red fox frolicked in our moss garden. Our back door opened onto a rice field where we observed the rice cycle: flooding the paddy, planting rice shoots, cutting the rice in autumn, hanging the sheaves on bamboo poles to dry, and the final winnowing. Even in winter the fallow fields had their own beauty, filling with snow like a scene from an old woodblock print.

This awareness of seasonal changes is very Japanese. It’s expressed in every aesthetic from tea ceremony to flower arrangement and, of course, in poetry. Honest, direct, and profound, haiku suited my lifestyle of simplicity—living so intimately with nature!

The university where I taught English and creative writing had an extensive collection of English-language poetry. At this avant-garde university, several Japanese professors at Seika had studied abroad and met beat poets like Alan Ginsberg and Gary Snyder (who both came to lecture while I was there). The library also had English translations of the great haiku masters: Basho, Buson, Issa, and Shiki. I read all of R.H. Blythe books, copying down my favorite haiku in a notebook. There is something about transferring poems to paper that makes them come alive and be a part of your own experience.

Eventually, I began to compose my own haiku. Even with my busy teaching schedule (12 classes a week), I designated one day a week as a writing day. Hopping on my 50cc motorbike, I’d head up to a temple in the mountains for inspiration. I especially liked the winter months when I could be alone (Japanese hate the cold). Sitting on tatami and drinking green tea while watching snow fall on the garden, I’d fill my notebook with haiku.

I wrote in seclusion for a couple of years until I was introduced to an American poet who had lived in Kyoto for 30 years. Edith Shiffert and I met regularly for lunch or coffee at a kissaten or at one of our houses to share both our lyrical poetry and haiku. Sometimes we’d go on an excursion and write haiku together. Edith is now 98 and still lives in Kyoto.

After all this background, I would simply say that, for me, a haiku is like a drop of dew containing a single moment of beauty, a reminder of the transiency of our lives. The longer five-line tanka reveal our deep connection to nature as we live our lives filled with desires, loss, love, and continual change. Haibun invite us to tell stories in prose, interspersed with haiku, which surprise us with the unexpected. After 33 years, these Japanese poetic forms continue to entice and intrigue me.

Some people say "first thought best thought." Others edit a piece into place. What is your writing process?

First, and most importantly, I try to be true to the experience. Haiku and tanka bloom from a moment of revelation. Whether it’s a spiritual awareness or just seeing something familiar in a new way, I jot down the words without judgment. Because haiku and tanka are so short, it’s easy to roll the words around in my head, say on a walk, and come up with a satisfying order. Over the years, I’ve become more alert to moments of synchronicity—both profound and humorous, such as

all at once

        peony blossoms drop

        clap of thunder

As haiku poets (or any poets for that matter), we need to be aware of the natural world—not only through observing it through a child’s eye, but by understanding the characteristics of flowers, birds, animals, etc. As Bashô said: Learn of the pine from the pine, learn of the bamboo from the bamboo. The enjoyment of this peony haiku is enhanced by knowing that, in Japan, it’s a rainy season flower. The peony’s delicate petals and fragrance are welcome in this month of heavy humidity and heat. All at once can mean both both suddenly and that peony petals fall at once, a characteristic of this flower. Both the petals falling and the thunder booming outside offer a moment of synchronicity. I actually laughed out loud when this happened: those delicate blossoms making such a loud noise when they tumbled onto my desk.

How much did I edit this one? Not much. Most likely, I took out a few articles or adjectives. In such a short form, every word must contribute to an image, mood, or action. The verb, especially, needs to be strong, both in sound and effect. Rearranging lines is essential in order to have that aha at the end. One great thing about haiku is that, by using a few well-chosen images, there is no need to explain or embellish.

What is your favorite poem in your latest book, Just This. Why?

The tanka in Just This express our endless states of longing (evoked by fragrance), loneliness caused by what’s been lost or never was, and memories passing away or forgotten. In the final section, as at the end of our lives, there comes an acceptance of things just as they are.

Just This is dedicated to my mother. Tanka about her final days thread throughout the five sections. Here are a few of my favorites:

Vicks VapoRub

the smell of Mother in winter

her hands rubbing

my small chest back and forth

deeper into my heart

winter afternoon

        mother and I sort through

        her jewelry box—

        accepting baubles

        just for their stories

the hollow stems

of summer daylilies

pull out with ease

Mother has fallen

and broken her femur

New Year’s Eve

my ninety-year-old mother

puts rollers in her hair

first red camellia

unfurls in the snow

and the one I often end my readings with

this morning

pale white light

shines through the window

it’s snowing again

and Mother is gone

Let’s talk about creative crossover. You’ve collaborated with an artist on a project about Japanese internment camps, have performed a one-woman show about Japanese poets, and currently serve as poet laureate of the Friends of Chamber Music (Portland, Oregon) for which you have written over 40 concert-inspired poems.How do these collaborations influence, enhance, or challenge your writing process?

I have to admit that I’ve become a collaboration junkie. Why limit yourself to one art form? Whether it’s a one-woman show combining costumes and Japanese music with poetry or writing poems to an artist’s work, or composing poems at a chamber music concert, this blending of the arts excites me.

Here’s what I wrote in my book What Remains: Japanese Americans in Internment Camps, a seven-year collaboration with quilt artist Cathy Erickson:

Collaboration is like a mirror that shows

each artist not just a mimicry of her work but reflects

a subtlety that she was not able to see before.

The words of the poem allow the quilt artist to look deeper

into the fabric of her creation to see the layers

that were not visible before. For the poet, words

take on texture, color, linear rhythm—a rhythm

of lines and shapes rather than iambs.

The sum of the piece becomes more than itself.

My approach to writing the poems to Cathy’s quilts was to follow the aesthetics of the Japanese style of painting called haiga. Hai is translated as poem (as in haiku) and ga is painting. Haiga, then, is a painting accompanied by a poem. The best-known example would be a hanging scroll of a sumi-e ink painting with a poem brushed vertically in calligraphy. What is the relationship between the painting and the poem? Rather than merely describing the artwork, the poem in a haiga shifts away from any obvious interpretation and invites the viewed to appreciate the visual image in a new way. A successful haiga creates a synergy where the interaction between the artwork and poem generates yet another level of interpretation and enjoyment. Often where one art form ends, another begins. There is a dialogue between the two forms. Both have a visual quality spoken in two different languages.

This is how I approach collaboration, whether working with a musician, a dancer, a photographer, or an artist.

You are an accomplished writer, poet and literary leader. What do you know now that you didn't know when you first started writing?

I didn’t know how this passion to write would continue to grow over the years — how it would become such an essential part of my life. I love the blessing of inspiration (even when it comes at 2am), that mad scribble of words and phrases, and then the process of moving lines around, finding the perfect adjective, sliding different words across my tongue until I find the perfect sounds.

When I moved to Portland in 1992, I didn’t realize that I would find such a supportive, nurturing poetry community. I have been sustained and enlivened by the members of my two poetry groups: the Pearl Poets and Word Sisters.

Bonus Question: I’m a word collector and urge others to keep a running list of favorite words. What are your favorite words?

I like words with interesting sounds, like peripatetic

the s’s: clouds, solace, shadow, caress, susurration

huddle

puce

jocular

and a new favorite borborygmos (loud rumbling, gurgling, and tinkling noises heard in intestinal activity).

Auburn McCanta

Welcome to Fast Five: short interviews with my favorite writers. Life may be short but who doesn't have time for five questions?

Auburn McCanta is an award-winning writer, poet, journalist, and advocate. Surviving a brain tumor nearly 20 years ago inspired McCanta to write her first novel, All the Dancing Birds.

In the story, Lillie Claire Glidden is unraveling. She knows she’s in trouble when she finds her wallet and keys deep in the refrigerator. Not even her favorite red wine can dull the pain of the dreaded diagnosis: Alzheimer’s.

Told from Lillie Claire’s perspective, All the Dancing Birds offers beautiful and terrifying insight into the secret mind of those touched — and ultimately changed — by the mystery of Alzheimer’s disease.

I’m intrigued with the genesis of this novel: your brain tumor. Can you give us a bit of backstory?

I’m a brain tumor survivor of eighteen years. I still remember how my hands trembled in my lap as I received the initial kick-in-the-gut diagnosis that I had a tumor, a little larger than a golf ball, squatting deep and ruinous inside my brain. I was then given the unpleasant task to prepare for a number of terrifying outcomes, each one more frightening than the one before. In the world of brain tumors, full recovery is generally the last item on a long list of other more probable and very unkind possibilities. Nevertheless, with a gifted surgeon, a great deal of love and support and the luck to have inherited my grandmother’s stubborn Irish streak, I was given the gift of a shiny new life.

During the months following surgery, I taught myself to walk again, to talk again. To live again.

It seemed only natural after surviving a brain tumor, that I would develop a keen interest in other brain diseases as well. As time went on, I spent many years with family members and friends who suffered from Alzheimer’s disease. After my own experience as a brain tumor patient, it dawned on me one day—like lightning in a bottle—that I retained the ability to think, even when it wasn’t clear to anyone else. I compared my early days following brain surgery, when I was unable to intelligently communicate, to the latter days of my loved ones with Alzheimer’s, who were equally unable to communicate. In recalling how difficult it was to locate and form words (a condition called, aphasia), it occurred to me that even in my darkest times, when my reasoning was skewed or my thoughts were slow in forming, I nevertheless retained the ability to think—however narrow those thoughts might have been. I retained a lively imagination and, even when I felt jumbled with medication or all those blind alleys I wandered through within the quiet of my mind, I still never stopped thinking. Similarly, I’ve watched dementia patients, silent and sometimes unapproachable, light up whenever someone might simply stop, take their hand, look into their face, and croon a soft hello.

It’s the notion that thought does not cease—regardless the circumstance—that I wanted to fictionalize.

I believe insight and knowledge is as possible through fiction as it is through clinical and nonfiction studies, that fiction teaches and illuminates and clarifies in different ways. A story can surprise and educate in creative ways; it can let readers explore difficult subjects through imagination and storytelling.

Statistics can be so clinical. You managed to turn dramatic data (5.5 million people in the U.S. with Alzheimer’s!) into a personal story that is both moving and illuminating. How were you able to capture the inner life of this disease of deterioration?

Alzheimer’s disease has been described as a rabbit hole into which entire families fall but, unlike Alice, there is no return to normal.

There is no single look to Alzheimer’s, just as there is no particular demographic that is either susceptible or immune. For those with Alzheimer’s, every place from which to be productive and giving, to be restored, to be welcomed, to be themselves, to give physical expression to their changing personalities, is removed. These are, quite simply, people slowly deprived of their unique humanity.

Although I allowed Lillie Claire’s thoughts to incorporate intelligent and robust language until the end (obviously, I took a great deal of literary license), she wanted it that way. Characters are like that for writers—they can be pushy! Lillie Claire wanted her story to be written as if she were fully able to speak into to the heart of each reader. She wanted everyone to know that even when she was silent, or had thoughts that didn’t exactly capture reality, or when she appeared not to have thoughts at all, she was still able to feel pain and joy. She was always able to think something. Researchers and caregivers confirm that even in the final days of Alzheimer’s, there is still a thread of connection to thought and feelings. Discomfort can be felt. Loneliness is an emotion still available to a dying patient, even when that person is otherwise silent on the issue. If All the Dancing Birds is able to communicate the concept that we remain thinking individuals until the end, then I’ve done something good to help promote human communication when all evidence points otherwise.

All the Dancing Birds is the story of one woman’s long and wrenching struggle with Alzheimer’s, but it also strikes me as a novel about empathy. Each of the main characters – son, daughter, caregiver, even Lillie Claire herself – respond differently to Lillie Claire’s declining health. Was this an intentional path while writing the book?

I’m most proud to have taken a task that was said to be impossible and create a work of imagination, illumination and creativity. Finding the interior of Alzheimer’s disease was more than imparting clinical information—it was like grabbing hold of a sticky bee’s nest and coming away without getting stung. Giving readers the information that thought continues even when words are gone could only have been told by my spunky Lillie Claire who allowed me to pile every uncomfortable aspect of Alzheimer’s on her small shoulders. She never whimpered that I’d given her too much, and for that, I’m proud of her and proud of me.

When I was diagnosed with a brain tumor, I quickly found that there were as many different responses to me as there were stars in the sky. Each of my children found the path that was most comfortable for them to confront a frightening diagnosis given their mother. I called out the memory of my children as I allowed Bryan and Allison to form their responses. I also gave Lillie Claire the gift of her own response to her failing mind and crumbling body. In their own way, even John Milton the Cat and the dear little patio birds responded to Lillie Claire’s progressive changes. As odd as it might sound, as the author, I even gave myself an opportunity to change along with Lillie Claire.

I love that your main character is a writer and poet. Were you, like Lillie Claire, shaped by literature?

When I was just four, I became sick with Rheumatic Fever. At the time, treatment was paired with strict bed rest in hope that a common outcome of heart valve damage could be avoided. My mother sat with me every day for six months, teaching me letters and words and a love for literature. Not content with “See Spot Run,” my mother encouraged me to read large and impressive stories. So, at four and a half, I was reading everything I could find. We wound our way through Grimm’s Fairy Tales and Br’er Rabbit, Alice in Wonderland and the Little House books. We read Nancy Drew. We read The Golden Book of Poetry.

Books have always been how I link myself to this often confusing world. Words give wings to those who read.

Your novel was many years in the making. When we met (at the 2008 Pacific Northwest Writers Association conference) your novel had already seen several drafts, and you had experienced encouragement followed by discouragment. How did you maintain the heart and drive to see the book to print?

During times when life interfered with active writing, I nevertheless kept a running story in my head. Sometimes months would go by when I was unable to devote time to writing, but those seemingly dry periods were still rich with what I call “head writing.” During those times, I imagined my way through the lives of each of the characters. Without writing down a word, I found intimacy with each person—Lillie Claire, Brian, Allison, Jewell, even a cashier in a small super market scene. I knew what each character wanted to say and how they wanted to tell their story.

Every step of the way, it seemed I met resistance to tell the story of Lillie Claire from a first person perspective. I was discouraged by many “professionals,” with admonitions that a story presented from inside the mind of an Alzheimer’s sufferer was impossible.

I thank each person who hammered away at how “unrealistic” it was to continue with such an improbable story. Being dissuaded and discouraged by others allowed me to become steel, to write with the heart of a lion, while still floating like dandelion seeds on a summer breeze. I love every person who said I couldn’t because in the end, they gave me the gift of “I did.” Writing All the Dancing Birds was a daily practice of love, a story both soft and big, a moment for me to have a conversation with every person who has ever been sick, or is with someone who is sick, or who may become sick one day. It’s a story for all, but I hope it speaks only to you.

Bonus Question: I’m a word collector and urge others to keep a running list of favorite words. What are your favorite words?

My first favorite word is “You,” followed (in alphabetical order) by,

cherish – What a beautiful word, meaning to hold one dear.

defenestrate – meaning to throw out of a window. Writers often consider doing this to our manuscripts when we struggle with a scene.

diaphanous – pretty and evocative, like the texture of light hovering above water.

eponymous – The word just floats off the tongue, doesn’t it?

flapdoodle – Who wouldn’t laugh over this word?

propinquity – proximity or nearness. This word reminds me of how we need to stay close to one another, and always be glad for our connections.

writer – well, of course.