August 2019

Favorite song to dance to? How about to cry to?

Alone in my living room you’ll catch me going bananas to Young Thug’s track “Wyclef Jean” from the Jeffery mixtape. The whole mixtape, actually. Or you might find me crying to “First Day of My Life” by Bright Eyes. Or you might find me getting crazy to Taylor Swift songs with my wife and son during one of our family dance parties.

Describe your personal hell.

It’s private.

Who or what always makes you laugh?

Two things. First, there’s currently this absolutely brilliant Dada stream of consciousness radio show called “Miracle Nutrition with Hearty White.” And second, way back in 2001, Ricky Gervais, Steve Merchant, and Karl Pilkington did this hilarious XFM radio show that cracks me up every time.

Guiltiest pleasure(s)?

I don’t feel guilty for any of my pleasures.

What’s a gif or meme that you relate to?

I don’t relate to gifs or memes, but I am endlessly fascinated by Dennis Cooper’s gif novels.

What were you like in high school?

I graduated high school in 1996. I don’t remember much about it.

Most embarrassing Internet username you’ve ever had?

I don’t recall ever having one.

Where do you find inspiration lately?

I don’t believe in inspiration, but I get excited when I experience anything unusual.

Where did you write most of your book? Why?

In our little wooden townhouse in Tallahassee, Florida, because my wife and I were in grad school.

What was something surprising you learned while writing this book?

Empress Joséphine’s teeth rotted out so she never smiled.

Describe your struggles and strengths as a writer.

I struggle with sentences. Likewise, sentences are my strength.

Tell us a bit about your writing process. What works and what doesn’t? What doesn’t, but you keep trying it anyway?

More or less, I write every night and edit every morning. I never reverse those operations. At night I think on the page. In the morning I shape the thoughts. I usually listen to music when I’m writing but not when I’m editing. I read every sentence out loud while I’m editing, listening carefully to the harmonics both internal and in combination with the sentences before and after it. Sometimes I go long stretches without writing or editing. Sometimes I submit stuff in those periods. Sometimes I watch television shows or read books or play video games. Sometimes I over prepare for teaching my classes. Sometimes I get tired of writing. Sometimes, like John Cage, I’ve got nothing to say. But for me it’s never about “having something to say,” it’s more like I get burnt out on the process of thinking on the page and just keep it in my head and let it evaporate. I don’t write to say anything about anything to anybody. I write to write. That’s it. I do it for the same reason I watch every Lakers game and drink coffee and eat sugar: I’ve been doing it for a long time and it’s become a habit. 

When did you realize you were a writer?

March 19, 1989.

Any suggestions for fellow writers?

If you’re in Los Angeles, get elote at Tacos Tu Madre. If you’re in New Orleans, get a Frozen Cafe au lait at Cafe Du Monde. If you’re in Columbus Ohio, get the Pear Riesling at Jenny’s Ice Cream. If you’re in York Pennsylvania, get a glazed from Maple Donuts. If you’re in Tallahassee, get the Mayan milkshake at Lofty Pursuits. If you’re in Las Vegas, get a Bobbie at Capriotti’s. If you’re in Cheyenne, get perogies at Little Philly. If you’re on Maui, get the Caterpillar Roll at Miso Phat. If you’re in Denver, get potato oles at Taco Johns. I could go on, but those seem like some good suggestions, I think.

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Christopher Higgs read a bunch of exciting books over the summer, including: Saidiya Hartman’s Wayward Lives, Beautiful Experiments, Julietta Singh’s Unthinking Mastery: Dehumanism and Decolonial Entanglements, and Marlon James’s Black Leopard, Red Wolf. This past summer he also watched and enjoyed the entire run of both Silicon Valley and Z Nation. In addition, he listened to a good deal of P-Funk and Dub music, which reinforced his admiration for both George Clinton and Scientist. This fall he’ll teach a graduate seminar on failure, as well as his regular courses in creative writing theory and practice at Cal State Northridge. He recently celebrated his ten year wedding anniversary, and has nearly completed work on his next novel. Civil Coping Mechanisms published his memoir As I Stand Living in 2017.

Where do you find inspiration lately?

It’s hard finding inspiration with what is happening in our world, waking up to a daily fresh hell, isn’t it? But I see and listen to people who still get up and do what they have to do. We all are. I see writers creating incredible work in response to our government and politicians and laws that are creating havoc on even the basic of human rights. I find inspiration in those who don’t fear speaking out and continue to create beautiful writing or art in the ugly faces of society.

Where did you write most of your book? Why?

I wrote my book in scattered pieces within various times over a period of five years. The first two years were during my time working at my job and raising my son. It was hard finding time to write, but I figured it out. I had to sneak sections at a time, which is also why writing flash fiction is so great, but also time management was a must. I read a lot of great writing, so it was easy to be inspired. I had Kathy Fish as my thesis mentor. Before that, I was part of an incredible writing group. Kathy, as well as my writing group, helped me shape a lot of the pieces in this collection and encouraged me by having me read other writers whose work she knew would show me how to shape some of my writing. Eric Baus, Khadijah Queen, and Chip Livingston also helped me with the poetry I was writing. Writers such as Ai Ogawa, Mathias Svalina, Zach Schomburg, Lucia Berlin, and Jean Toomer (to name just a few). But in the quiet moments, when it was just me facing my own words, it wasn’t so easy. There were aspects in my own life I needed to face and write down. That was the hard part. It still is. As writers, it’s difficult not to spill pieces of ourselves into our work. But as I continue to read and learn I realize this is what makes our writing our own. We can emulate, but your voice is unique to you.

What was something surprising you learned while writing this book?

To say I learned a lot about myself sounds cliché, but it’s true, and I think that’s what anyone who is writing should be doing. We should always be learning. Even if we avoid writing about ourselves, or trauma, or a difficult subject, the root of our writing is within us, always. I think as working writers, those who have a routine job and kids and relationships, it’s hard to find time to write. It’s hard to hear our voice in our writing. I read so many amazing writer’s work and yes, I learned techniques in my MFA program as well that I will never forget and am grateful for, but the one thing that stands out to me the most is the courage that so many writers, both passed on or alive, have to be able to put their trauma, their hearts, and their voices out into the world. I learned about humanity, but not through my writing, through reading what others have done. And maybe, I can see little pieces of my humanity in my writing too. Pieces that I have been reluctant to share because it hurts, and it’s hard to trust the world with your heart, isn’t it? But in reading others I felt their pain and their heart, and I always hope to do the same with my own writing. But I am also reluctant with my writing. I know others that are too, and that’s frustrating. If we struggle with being small, it’s hard to see the bigger picture. Does our voice even matter? Writing is such a complicated relationship. Trusting the receiving end of our work is probably the hardest part of putting our writing out there. I know my voice and I know what I want to write about, yet, I need to learn to trust that my voice has a connection to something bigger. Writing about trauma and past experiences not only refreshes the moment but also reminds me of what I went through and yes, managed to push forward, but the secret space inside me full of doubt and mistrust says don’t. Writing this book taught me to say fuck it, write it anyway.

Describe your struggles and strengths as a writer. 

I think as writers it’s our job to not only use our words as tools to reflect what our world and society are about but also to never choose silence. When we are told to remain a respectful silence to keep our reputation clean from controversy, then we are breaking our responsibility to write about the chaos and heartbreak of our culture, our society, and what is happening in our world. So where is the line drawn? I don’t think there can be a line if we are being truly honest with our writing. This is less a description of my struggles in general terms in answer to this question. It’s more of an obligation I feel struggling with my own voice in my writing knowing that the world can be an apathetic ear when it comes to acceptance of what is deemed not “normal” or “status quo,” despite what many great authors have done in the past and are continuing to do in the future. How many beautiful and important voices have and continue to be purposely muted because of sexual orientation or the color of their skin. How numerous journals and big book presses continue to publish only white writers and white male writers as the norm. How important it is to not only call these journals and presses out, but also to recognize the lack of representation with black, brown, female, and LGBTQ authors as reflective of a labeling system that doesn’t try to push past perpetuating grouping writers of color or sexual orientation together rather than allowing them their own space, individually, like the majority of white writers that you find. As long as agents, publishers, and readers continue to only publish, promote, and read white writers then these voices will continue to lack representation, space, and publishing with their work than those that don’t face racism, sexual bias, or misogyny.

Tell us a bit about your writing process. What works and what doesn’t? What doesn’t, but you keep trying it anyway?

Sometimes I write very sub-conscious thought to paper, which takes more time when going back and editing. Yet, (and I know I’m not the only one who does this,) when you’re just waking up from a dream or a nightmare, and there is that in-between space where you aren’t sure if you’re awake or still dreaming, and thoughts or flashes of imagery come to you, those are what I want to write down. Maybe it’s a matter of not thinking too much about what we write, just get it down on paper and worry about what you want to keep during the editing process. There is a lot to be said about learning new ways to write your voice from other influences as well. Film, architecture (as seen in Steven Dunn’s novel Water & Power), language, music, sensory awareness, and even our own neurological or psychological aspects as well. There is beauty in obscureness, in our struggles that we should call upon as empowerment rather than an obstacle in writing. Having dyslexia was a hidden embarrassment for me throughout school that I now use to my advantage when writing. There is strength in the struggle, we just have to figure out how to use that within and when shaping and using our voice.

When did you realize you were a writer?

The best answer is since as far back as I can remember. When I was around eight years old, I was always writing stories and “novels” in spiral notebooks. My dad bought me an electric typewriter so I could be a real writer, and I started typing up stories faster than I could have ever written them down. But in junior high, I found myself alone a lot and used this time to write stories as well. It was a way to see my voice, and even if no one else read my words, I knew they existed. I knew they were there. That’s when I knew, I mean really knew, I wanted to be a writer (even though I already was, in a sense, even at a very young age).

Any suggestions for fellow writers?

Speak your truth. Whether it’s layered throughout an essay or hidden behind images in a prose poetry piece; speak your truth. We may not always trust the world to accept our words with admiration our encouragement, but there are voices out there that need to hear your words, to feel your heartache, and to share your struggles. These voices may not be the majority, but they are far more important in terms of connecting with those who champion you, who share your successes and understand what you feel are your failures. These are the people you want in your circle. Seek out those writers who are different than you, who have something to say other than what the world wants you to believe is acceptable or “normal.” These are the voices that matter and that will teach the most. Empathy and knowing when to step outside our own comfort space and listen are the two most important things a writer can possess.

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Hillary Leftwich is the author of the forthcoming collection Ghosts Are Just Strangers Who Know How to Knock from CCM Press (Civil Coping Mechanisms) in 2019. She is the poetry and prose editor at Heavy Feather Review and organizes/hosts At the Inkwell Denver, a monthly reading series in Denver. Her writing can be found or is forthcoming in print and online in The Rumpus, Entropy, The Missouri Review, Hobart, Literary Orphans, Matter Press, and others. Found her online at hillaryleftwich.com. Photo of Leftwich by Jay Halsey.

Favorite song to dance to? How about to cry to?

“Fantasy” by DyE.
Lately I’ve been crying to “Cellophane” by Twigs.

Describe your personal hell.

I just went there for the first time. It’s called Las Vegas Nevada.

Who or what always makes you laugh?

People chucking small objects unexpectedly and for no reason. There’s a word for it now.

Guiltiest pleasure(s)?

At the moment, Magic: The Gathering. Ben Fama inserted a Tragic Poet card in his new book Death Wish and it inspired me to dig up old decks from my mom’s house to play this summer and now I’m addicted like it’s sixth grade.

What’s a gif or meme that you relate to?

Probably one with a corgi or Moomin. Maybe that one with the guy indicating the butterfly and over the guy it says ME and the butterfly is a corgi and I’m like “is this a MOOMIN?”

What were you like in high school?

Kinda shapeshifty. Restless. I cut all my hair off and moved out of my mom’s house and toured Virginia acting in a play about sexual assault and dating violence prevention. Mostly it felt like I was in an airlock waiting to get blasted out into space and space was New York City.

Most embarrassing Internet username you’ve ever had?

In an AOL sex chatroom I was DicklessBill.

Where do you find inspiration lately?

Green.

Where did you write most of your book? Why?

I started it during my MFA at CalArts and filled in the rest over the next few years from my LA apartment and my summer teacher-in-residence idyll. Some of the pieces were written for performance at my Enter>text events, so they’re loaded to architect the present moment. I started writing Glacial Fist in 3rd grade.

What was something surprising you learned while writing this book?

That it was one big story, not just a poetry/essay/fiction collection. [Michael] Seidlinger suggested we not do a table of contents and that’s when the book became a cohesive, hybrid whole.

Describe your struggles and strengths as a writer.

I love reading widely but have to work really hard to not fall into the trap of “should I be writing this kind of thing” and instead stick with my deeper, more idiosyncratic inclinations. That’s when the work carries me. Otherwise I can’t turn off the social media noise. Also I don’t write very much or very often.

Tell us a bit about your writing process. What works and what doesn’t? What doesn’t, but you keep trying it anyway?

Deadlines and page goals work. Uninterrupted time doesn’t. I’m still really bad at all the useful practice things. I liked what Sarah Manguso said in 300 Arguments: “Slowly, slowly, I accumulate sentences. I have no idea what I’m doing until suddenly it reveals itself, almost done.” That’s the dream for me and probably the best I’m gonna be able to do with all my bullshit.

When did you realize you were a writer?

In kindergarten when I chose to improve my storytelling skills instead of my handwriting.

Any suggestions for fellow writers?

Make friends with lots of people outside the literary world; participate in activities and events outside the literary world. Build more varied communities. Drink lots of water. Take your time. Don’t forget to be a human in the horrible world.

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Henry Hoke wrote The Book of Endless Sleepovers and the story collection Genevieves, which won the Subito Press prose contest. His work appears in Electric Literature, Hobart, Winter Tangerine, Carve and the Catapult anthology Tiny Crimes. He co-created and directs the performance series Enter>text. Photo of Hoke by Myles Pettengill.

Favorite song to dance to? How about to cry to?

For both:

Miles Davis Quintet – It Never Entered My Mind
Yann Tiersen – Loin des Villes

Describe your personal hell.

Feeling completely lonely when you’re surrounded by people, and like there’s no end in sight.

Who or what always makes you laugh?

The film, What We Do in the Shadows. Kids in the Hall. My sister.

Guiltiest pleasure(s)?

Watching action/adventure/fantasy films in theatres. Eating ice cream.

What’s a gif or meme that you relate to?

Because I can be a little mischievous.

What were you like in high school?

Super shy, super goth.

Most embarrassing Internet username you’ve ever had?

I had a lot of The Cure-related usernames. I think I had a Deadjournal with the username Twiggy at one point.

Where do you find inspiration lately?

Everything and everyone. It’s a matter of perspective, but there’s a story in every place and person and thing and plant. You just have to be open to seeing.

Where did you write most of your book? Why?

Well, for the anthology, A Shadow Map, I wrote the forward in various coffee shops in Brooklyn, at a former apartment, and a former job. I edited much of it in these same places.

What was something surprising you learned while writing this book?

We all struggle, we all want to feel loved and be love, we all want to be seen. We all just want to be happy and fulfilled. And we all deserve that. Abuse is also nuanced, and there’s no “one size fits all” narrative or story – and we need to be aware and open to this. We need to listen to each other and support each other. There’s also no “one size fits all” kinds of abusers. They are your friends, partners, coworkers, inspirations. This is hard for people to reconcile, but we need to break down stereotypes on all sides in order to help each other. We need better systems of support and rehabilitation.

Describe your struggles and strengths as a writer.

I’m super weird and curious and always want to learn and connect to other. This is a strength. My weakness is my impatience. It’s hard to be patient in general.

Tell us a bit about your writing process. What works and what doesn’t? What doesn’t, but you keep trying it anyway?

I’m like a chicken waiting for my eggs to hatch, often thinking and writing notes down before I sit down to compile it all. I don’t stress out too much about what works and doesn’t. I just enjoy the process of being and making art. I do a little something everyday; it’s a joy for me. It’s a way I feel myself, and process the world. Overanalyzing it, in my own experience, causes anxiety – and no one needs that. That defeats the purpose of art. This isn’t to say we shouldn’t schedule time for it, but it should be a time of joy even when that joy is met with frustration.

When did you realize you were a writer?

I was always an artist, but I started writing when I was 11. My first poem was about the moon, of course. I still love and worship the moon.

Any suggestions for fellow writers?

Stop comparing yourself to others. You aren’t meant to be or sound like anyone else. Have inspirations but don’t let those inspirations define your words.

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JOANNA C. VALENTE is a human who lives in Brooklyn, New York. They are the author of Sirs & Madams, The Gods Are Dead, Marys of the Sea, Sexting Ghosts, Xenos, No(body), and is the editor of A Shadow Map: Writing by Survivors of Sexual Assault. They received their MFA in writing at Sarah Lawrence College. Joanna is the founder of Yes Poetry and the senior managing editor for Luna Luna Magazine. Some of their writing has appeared in The Rumpus, Them, Brooklyn Magazine, BUST, and elsewhere. Joanna also leads workshops at Brooklyn Poets. joannavalente.com / Twitter: @joannasaid / IG: joannacvalente / FB: joannacvalente