Poetry & Pi(e): An Intersection

Dasha Kelly Hamilton • Credit: Va’Na Barki

Lauren Becker

Interdisciplinary. A term defined by Google’s dictionary as “Relating to more than one branch of knowledge.” A buzzword. A mindset.

 Perhaps you’re in the mindset that if you go to a coffee shop, you’re in a space limited to casual chats and creamer. If you go to a museum, you’re in a space limited to mummies and dinosaur bones. I think we can all say that we were once in the same boat, believing that everything had its “place”. Believing that history didn’t belong in my dream of someday becoming a rodeo cowgirl. Or that calculus didn’t belong in your dream of becoming a children’s author.

As it turns out, many things that we once thought of as polar opposites are actually quite intertwined. For example, the art of poetry and the art of mathematics. On March 14, we at the Guild, along with our collaborators at the Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts & Letters, are hosting an event that will make math and spoken word’s cross-over crystal clear.

Join us at Pablo Center on National Pi Day for a reading and discussion led by acclaimed poet, writer, artist, and founder of Still Waters Collective - Dasha Kelly Hamilton. Throughout the evening, we’ll celebrate the beauty that is interdisciplinary thinking, with the help of coffee from Shift Cyclery and Coffee Bar and pies from Randy’s Family Restaurant. . Thanks, too, to the UWEC Student Office of Sustainability for sponsoring student tickets.

 Academy associate director, and editor of Wisconsin People & Ideas, Jason Smith shared a bit about the nature of Poetry and Pi(e) and his take on the term “interdisciplinary”.

Lauren Becker: Given the nature of this event, what has your experience at the Wisconsin Academy taught you about interdisciplinary studies?

Jason Smith: Sometimes the best conversations happen when different disciplines collide, whether by design or by accident. These “creative collisions” can complicate our understanding of a person, place, or thing by providing a different lens through which to see, say, the mathematical precision found in haiku or the beauty of carbon atoms arranged into a graphene nanotube.

LB: As a Madison-based writer, what's your perception of the literary scene here in our Valley?

JS: I think that what is going on in the Valley is exceptional and a model for other areas in Wisconsin that want to help grow what I see as one of our state's greatest potential exports: excellent writing. Of course it doesn’t hurt that you have committed community partners—the CVWG, the L.E. Phillips Memorial Public Library, UWEC, Pablo, Volume One etc.—and people like BJ Hollars and Nick Butler working together to cultivate the scene, and I’m not even counting Shift!, the Oxbow, and the other local hangouts that host and promote Valley writers.

LB: What do you hope folks will take away from this event as a whole?

JS: Well, first I hope they enjoy the poetry. Dasha is an incredible poet, and her performances resonate with people from all different background, poets and non-poets alike, and this is a rare opportunity to just kind of submerge oneself in the world of her words. I also think that this is a great opportunity for people to get together and talk about the great poets we have in Wisconsin. I am continually amazed at the depth of talent we have in our statewide poetry community, and the ways in which Wisconsin poets support each other—showing up for readings, teaching classes, reviewing chapbooks. Right now, Wisconsin is a great state for poets and writers.

LB: What sparked your interest in partnering with us?

JS: Well, at the Academy we believe that Wisconsin ideas move the world forward. So, we like to work with organizations that help writers and artists to achieve their goals—to get their writing seen and heard—while bringing people of all stripes together to take part in our state’s literary heritage. I admire the work the CVWG is doing, so it just seems like a good fit.

A good fit indeed!

Excited to come to a better understanding of how our world is connected?

Purchase your tickets for an interdisciplinary evening here.

"On What Does Art Depend?": 5 Questions on Craft with Poet Nicholas Gulig

by Alex Zitzner

 I first heard Nick read at the Oxbow in 2017 as part of the Chippewa Valley Book Festival’s prodigal poets returning read, and then was fortunate enough to work with him at the CVWG’s Winter Writers Retreat in 2018. From those experiences, I became interested with his work and its intricacies. I purchased his book length poem North of Order (YesYes Books), read it all during a lonely week in New York while riding the subway from museum to museum, and it got me stoked. Since Nick will be returning to the Chippewa Valley on Monday, March 11th to read at 5PM at the Local Store/Volume One Gallery as part of Bruce Taylor’s Local Lit: Off the Page series, I reached out with a few questions on crafting his latest book Orient (Cleveland State University Poetry Center) to dive deeper into how he approached this body of work.

Alex Zitzner: I never really gave Brian Eno’s ambient work a listen until you mentioned in your interview with Speaking of Marvels that you were listening to Music for Airports while writing Orient and this made me think about the spaces where there is no text within the book and how that creates an environment, similarly to how Eno creates an environment without language. For instance, “Some Pornographies” is laid out over 11 pages with each stanza of the poem being 14 lines, instead of it being one long poem taking up the entire pages it would need vertically. With this, I was wondering what your approach was to structuring the poems within your book in relation to how they interact with the “white” space of the pages?

Nick Gulig: Eno’s idea of music as “ambience” was important to the book in the way that you describe, first because it constituted, quite literally, the physical environment in which so much of the writing of the book took place. But also, and maybe even more so, ambience, as Eno talks about it, de-privileges both the music and the maker in a way that helped me think through what it was that I was trying to do with Orient. As a writer, when I watch/listen to American foreign policy—which the book does, to a large degree—I’m immediately uneasy with the extent to which the notion of genius, the seductive myth that underpins the tradition in which I work, runs parallel to, and is to that extent complicit with, the project of Empire. As an artist, it feels important to understand that the opportunity to make art, to spend the vast majority of a long life painting, writing, making music or whatever, is a real gift, a privilege that most folks in the world don’t have. This fact should matter and be important to you. I don’t mean to sound condescending here, but it really should, like ethically and as a matter of principle and awareness. You shouldn’t take the time it takes to write a poem for granted. I spent four years writing Orient. During that time I did very little else besides read and write and revise and take breaks to think and also not to think. I did the majority of the research for the book at a private school in Denver that I got paid to go to. The tuition there is something like 60 grand a year. Sure, after that I worked, but, like barely. I had a fellowship and scholarships that let me read and write and stare at trees all day. Try explaining that, say, for example, to someone who has to work three jobs because they were thrown into the world on the wrong side of a redline in Milwaukee; it’s do or die in an environment like that. Explain that to the mother of a daughter living in a war zone who has to pack up what’s left of her life and cross the desert, the ocean, in search of something only maybe safer. I wrote that book because I was able to write that book, and when I look too long at what allows me to be able to live the life I do, it’s hard not to notice the extent to which what I have depends upon and is only possible because of what others don’t have. The American middle class, for example, of which I am a part, and which presented me a thousand and one opportunities to pursue a life of letters, exists in large part at the expense of other, intentionally less fortunate communities. We drew lines around those communities, extorted money from them in the form of predatory loans, built taxable white wealth, and then erected a social safety net around the kinds of white communities that I grew up in. This is not a new relationship. And that matters, or, at least, it should matter. It should matter in the same way that the grotesque number of military bases we have around the world should matter to me. The things we do to and in other countries has to matter to me and to my poems if my poems are only possible because of the context I was born in. To what degree does this context depend on the hell that other people have to go through in places I can’t name and that I’ll never see with my own eyes except through the distorting lens of media. That’s the central question behind Orient. On what does art depend? And in the face of the range of answers to that question, the notion of the individual “genius” as its traditionally been championed in the West doesn’t hold up. Individualism, as an ethos, doesn’t hold up, not nationally, and, thus, not artistically. Eno understood this. He understood that we create within the context of our communities, in specific environments, and he let that become his music. Ambience is the antithesis of the Empire because it privileges context, environment, and under-emphasizes I. At the same time, this privileging is also a refusal. It’s a refusal to impose an order upon an other. Said differently, ambience is the attempt to create an opening into which the other might wish to enter, a static softness that is, at the same time, a form of welcoming, a space in which what’s made, or, in my case, as a poet, what’s said, might exist in conversation with the static of the other voices that surround it. That’s what white space is. It’s the static of other voices, other languages, experiences, most of which I can’t understand or make any kind of sense of, but which surround me nonetheless and upon which the privilege of speech depends.

 AZ: As you note, many of the poems in Orient began with, “transcription, (mis)translation, erasure, and collage.” This is very fitting for what the themes of the book are (noise, language, religion, war, politics, the desert, among others), so could you explain what your process were or how those processes affected the poems and their subjects?

Nick Gulig: In part because I had grown sick of my own voice and in part because I wanted to begin with the voices of/noises made by others, I began Orient through a process of transcription, translation, erasure, and collage. After speaking with a professor of middle eastern studies at the University of Denver’s Korbel School, I made a binary list of “energies” or “forces” he helped me understand as coming into contact/conflict in the desert regions on which American foreign policy has focused since I was old enough to know so. For example, my first memory of war, which I try to bring into the book, happened when I was nine or ten years old. Thus, the vast majority of the life that I am able to recollect exists in direct, violent relation to this region and its people, both of which I have little to no understanding. Orient was my attempt to “understand” and I used this list as a conceptual window into a world I didn’t know but to which so much of what I do know, and thus, who I am, is tethered. Using this list, I spent a year transcribing media that I intuitively linked to one side of the list or the other. For example, one of the binary oppositions on my list of was “the sacred and profane.” This meant that I listened to and transcribed Pentecostal sermons, on the one hand, and hardcore pornography on the other. I read the Bible a lot, listened to black metal, studied the Qur’an, etc. It was fun, surreal disturbing. At the end of a year, I had this discombobulated document of language gleaned from discordant sources tethered to my binary concepts, and from that shitshow soup of language I started writing poems in the hope that the poem might become a place where these things might finally work together, make a kind of world together, by which I mean, of course, make meaning.

AZ: When considering negative capability in Keats terms of creating work with a level of uncertainty (which I think once again follows the themes of Orient), most poems appear to be documenting shifts in thought, whether in the present or past, and working through them with that uncertainty. I may be off with that observation, but how has negative capability affected your poems? When did you first become interested with the idea and either implementing it in your work or noticing it was there?

Nick Gulig: I’ve been wrestling with Keats and negative capability since 2009 when I took a class on Keats’ letters with the poet Dan Beachy-Quick at the University of Iowa. My most recent version of this wrestling is to think of negative capability as a kind of haunting, a possessing that is also a possession. In either case, I experience it as an emptying of self. When one possesses, one becomes an other (an Imogen or Iago), when one becomes possessed, the self submits to the possessor. Again, I’m drawn to it because its relational, but it has to move both ways, reciprocally, consensually, like a dance. If it doesn’t, if one privileges one reading of negative capability over the other, it becomes colonial, authoritarian, American. In Orient, the ghost flits from one thought to the next, from one perspective to another, dragging a kind of residue behind it in the way a spider might leave a half-transparent trail behind herself as she moves from one mooring to the next. The web, of course, was also one of the ways that Keat’s tried to think through negative capability. The thing (a glittering circuiting) that’s there but also not there, the absent-presence between the cold hard facts of the world that maps the depth of their connections. It is from these depths, at least for Keats, the poem arises.

AZ: One name that I recognized from your second note was Maggie Nelson and I thought of her poetic essay book Bluets and how you both work in that style. Once again, I may be off, but who were you reading while writing or editing these poems, and how did they influence you?

Nick Gulig: For me, Nelson’s Bluets is the most important book that’s been written in the last two decades, maybe three. I’m teaching it for the first time this semester and I’m super nervous because if my students don’t love it, I’ll hate them and they’ll fail. Most of what I love about that book is the way it moves. Bluets moves like a George Oppen poem, for example, a discrete series of illuminations that exist in the space between the essay and the poem, the certain and the uncertain. Its interstitial. There are these long pauses between the sections in which you find yourself suspended in mid-air before you land again on solid ground, but only for a moment. It’s an imitation of life, in that sense. As such, Nelson intelligently refuses to last too long in any single clarifying claim before her speaking picks you up a second, third, fourth time etc. and carries you off into the absence of not-knowing. She says that it’s a book about the color blue, but really, it’s a book about negative capability, of the struggle to feel at home in uncertainty and mystery and doubt

AZ: I’m guessing you get this question a lot, so my apologies if I am not furthering anything, but what advice do you have for poets, whether unpublished or already having a multitude of books?

Nick Gulig: This is a boring answer, but it’s the only one I have: Read. Buy books, support artists, and read. More specifically, read the things you don’t already like, that make no sense to the you that you are now. If the meager life I’ve lived thus far has taught me anything, it’s that most of what we think we like aesthetically eventually becomes something we no longer like aesthetically. This is a good thing. If your tastes aren’t changing it means that you aren’t changing, which means you’re dying the only death there is to be afraid of, the one that happens slowly over time, in increments, a little bit each day. Art should help us live.

You can purchase Orient here, and North of Order here.

JUST ANNOUNCED: Eggplant Heroes to Play at The Priory Writers' Retreat!

Musicians are some of our favorite writers. And Eggplant Heroes are some of our favorite musicians. In the spirit of collaboration and shared learning, this summer The Priory' Writers’ Retreat is THRILLED to host the always-literary Eggplant Heroes for a Friday night concert!

As their website notes, “Eggplant Heroes is a musical collaboration including Duffy Duyfhuizen, Joel Pace, Olaf Lind,  Max Garland, Lucas K. Fischer, Caleb Horne, and Dan Zerr. Blending multi-part harmonies with guitar, trumpet, violin, mandolin, and bass, Eggplant Heroes present an eclectic mix of originals, literary adaptations, mountain gospel, and folk—Americana music in the full sense of the word.”

Check out their music here!

And apply for our retreats by clicking here!

Deadline to apply is May 1!

Have a Little Faith: Confronting the Complexities of Writing with Nickolas Butler

Credit: Jeff Rogers

Lauren Becker

If you live in the Chippewa Valley, there’s a good chance you know Nickolas Butler. But even if you don’t live in the Valley, there’s an equally good chance you’ve come to know his intimate storytelling. Following up Shotgun Lovesongs and The Hearts of Men, Butler is set to release his latest novel, Little Faith this March. In anticipation of his March 4 reading at Volume One, Butler agreed to share his time with us, giving fellow writers and readers insight into the process that’s brought us his latest work.

Lauren Becker: Religion can be a difficult subject to navigate, especially when trying to convey the complex relationship community and religion have in rural spaces. What led you to tell this story?

Nick Butler: I’d been thinking about the Kara Neumann case since 2008 when her death came to light.  It was just a horrendous story and something that still resonates with any adult who was alive at that time, but especially those with children. So I knew I wanted to write about something like that, something related to faith and prayer-healing, but that seemed like a very dark rabbit hole indeed. Then, about three years ago, I decided the way into the narrative was to create a grandfather character and to show the really unique and magical relationship between grandparent and grandchild.  The real tension of the book would be drawn between generations in a family – faith, parenting, forgiveness, love, trust, hate… I felt like I had the makings for an incredibly special book.

LB: Can you speak a little on the personal pilgrimage you may have had to go on to write this novel?  

Nick Butler: Every book is a pilgrimage.  Every book you write is a complete leap of faith.  You never know how people are going to interpret things; if they’ll enjoy the narrative or characters.  And it’s a lonely endeavor; it’s thousands of hours of staring at a computer screen conjuring make-believe out of the ether.  And when the book is done, I always feel incredibly bereft, just lost for between six to twelve months before I pick myself back up and go on to the next one. It’s an incredibly strange way to make a living.

LB: Your novel grapples with some of our most intense and intimate journeys we experience in life. Those of death, spirituality, and of course, family. If you could summarize Little Faith in just a few words, how would you convey the ideas that pervade your writing?

Nick Butler: For me, the best novels always confront three key issues: family, place, and something (money, work, love, pride, faith, etc.) worth fighting for; so in everything I write, I’m thinking of those three components.

LB: You note in the preface to your book that this novel was inspired in part by true events. With that in mind, how much of these vivid characters are inspired by the very real folks in your life?  

Nick Butler: More than a few characters in Little Faith are inspired by real people which can be a difficult and emotional consequence of writing a very personal novel.  Look – I don’t know how NOT to be influenced by the people I love, namely my family and friends. I also don’t know how to write about the world I’m struggling to understand, the world I’m trying to celebrate, the world I’m trying to critique, without incorporating my own feelings, perceptions, and history.  So it often seems that my books very much have the fingerprints of real people all over their pages. 

LB: Throughout writing this novel, and perhaps at its conclusion, did you find any ties to current events within your writing?

Nick Butler: I think that much of the political divide in our country can be traced back to organized religion, it’s another way for politicians to stir discord amongst us.  Little Faith isn’t attempting to explain that divide or to place blame. Little Faith is a story with characters, it’s a fiction. But as I was writing the book, I was certainly cognizant of certain national political discourses, certain trends…  I’m also personally very interested in political conversations about quality-of-life issues and end-of-life issues, as well as confronting global climate change, and rural versus urban political dynamics. All of these ideas drip into the art, but it’s important to understand that the art isn’t “about” those ideas.

LB: Your novels are well known for their heart and ability to move us deeply through connection to home and rural spaces. Could you speak about the importance of setting in your writing?

Nick Butler: I like a book with atmosphere; I like being transported somewhere.  Right now, I’m reading Ellie Catton’s The Luminaries which is famously set in New Zealand during a 19th Century gold rush.  It’s incredibly evocative and sets the characters against the landscape.  I like that sort of book. I think of: East of Eden, Sometimes A Great Notion, or The Shipping News.  And writing about rural Wisconsin just comes easily to me because, guess what – it’s right out my front door.

LB: What are you hoping to communicate to readers that didn’t grow up in rural areas?  

Nick Butler: I’m not sure I’m trying to communicate anything. My philosophy has always been to write a narrative that compels a reader to turn pages and a narrative populated by characters that a reader can at least somewhat identify with, even if they don’t necessarily like that character.  I try to write round characters, and I try to push myself – to move past easy impulses and to complicate the writing in hopefully new and authentic ways. Basically, I don’t worry about my readers. There was a time in my life when I had NO readers and back then, I was writing for myself, for my own enjoyment.  I try to remain in that space.

LB: Is there anything else you’d like to share with us?  

Nick Butler: Read a book.  Any book. But hopefully one of mine.  Thanks.

The Chippewa Valley Writers Guild is thrilled to host Nickolas Butler as our fiction writer-in-residence for this summer’s all-new Priory Writing Retreat. When asked to comment on our upcoming retreat, Butler had this to share:

“Every year I sincerely look forward to the summer CVWG Writing Retreat.  It’s a weekend that I always enjoy for so many reasons. Greeting writer-friends that I’ve worked with in the past and certainly meeting new writers as well.  I like that sense of discovery, of potentially working with a great new voice in American literature. And too, the food, camaraderie, bonfires, and beer aren’t bad either.”

Inspired? Wonderful. Click here to sign up to secure your spot at this summer’s writing retreat!

3 Questions with Max Garland--Deliverer of Keynote Addresses and More!

credit: Justin Patchin

Former Wisconsin poet laureate Max Garland is the author of The Word We Used for It, winner of the 2017-18 Brittingham Poetry Prize. Other books include The Postal Confessions, winner of the Juniper Prize for Poetry, and Hunger Wide as Heaven, which won the Cleveland State Poetry Center Open Competition, and a chapbook, Apparition, from the University of Wisconsin Press. This summer, he’ll provide the keynote address at The Priory Writers’ Retreat.

I recently chatted with Max to learn more about his experiences as a rural letter carrier, humility, caffeine, and Dylan Thomas. Read on!

B.J. Hollars: This summer you'll be giving the keynote address for our inaugural summer at The Priory Writers' Retreat.  First, no pressure (though this address will surely go down in literary lore as the moment dozens of writers reaffirmed themselves to their craft).  the talk is titled "What I Learned On My First Day Of Writing" or "Don't Quit Your Job."  Without giving too much away, what inspired this talk?

Max Garland: After working almost 10 years as a rural letter carrier on the route where I was born, where I lived, my parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles lived, my first true love lived (we were 6-year-olds at the time), I quit that job, placed the last letter in the last mailbox on Rural Route 7, Paducah, Ky. 42001, and drove my mail car 442 miles to the Iowa Writers' Workshop for my first official day of Poetry School. My talk is a cautionary tale inspired by the mixed results of this journey.

BH: Over the years, you've had the privilege of working with thousands of writers in a variety of settings.  What conditions do you find to be the most conducive to creativity?

The conditions I find most conducive to creativity are attentiveness, humility, and the stubborn conviction that you are the one best equipped to tell your own story, and also, of course, there's caffeine. I realize these aren't really "conditions," but more like qualities or attitudes, and in one case, a psychoactive drug composed of carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen, which, coincidently, are the four most abundant elements in the human body.

BH: Finally, was there a poem or poet or piece of writing that inspired you to take the poetic plunge?  If so, what, specifically, inspired you?  A line?  A phrase?  An idea?

MG: Writing that inspired me early on? I'd have to say the Elizabethan cadences (I didn't know it was poetry at the time), of the King James Bible rolling off my grandmother's tongue in her western Kentucky accent. Then in college we were assigned a poem by Dylan Thomas that went-- "Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs/About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green/...Time let me hail and climb/ Golden in the heydays of his eyes/ And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns/ And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves/ Trail with daisies and barley/Down the rivers of the windfall light.."  By the end of that poem, when I read, "Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means/ Time held me green and dying/ Though I sang in my chains like the sea," I thought my head might fall off. The words were simple, but the order cast them like a spell. I was a goner. 

Hear Max’s keynote address this summer at The Priory Writers’ Retreat! Click below to apply!

Jokes So Good Even a Llama Will Listen: 5 Questions with The Priory's Comedy Writing Writer-in-Residence Mary Mack

You know her from Conan, Last Call with Carson Daly, Comedy Central, WTF with Marc Maron, and more. Now, get to know folk humorist Mary Mack this summer at The Priory Writers’ Retreat. Mary’s writing workshop—”Finding The Funny: Make Millions With Humor (Just Kidding)”—is open to all writers of all levels. Whatever you write (stories, op-eds, eulogies, whatever!), Mary will help you find the funny!

I really chatted with Mary between stops on her comedy tour. Read on for more on Mary!

B.J. Hollars: How did you find your way into the comedy world?  Do you remember the first joke you ever heard or ever told?

Mary Mack: I started on a dare while teaching music and band in Nashville, TN. This was after my polka band broke up and I told my roommate I missed performing. It was a way to perform where you didn't need an entire band or even an instrument. My first joke was fictional. It was about how I was the first house clarinetist hired for NASCAR. I wrote a six minute story about it--way too long. I don't think it went great, but I was just shocked I could write something and people would listen. Nobody had listened to me in my family of eight growing up, nor was anyone really listening when I taught beginning band. They just wanted to make noise, understandably. Even silence (not laughter!) was welcomed when I was on stage after that: At least they were listening. Because of that, I got hooked on both the writing and performing.

BH: What, in your opinion, is the key to making people laugh?  Is there a key?

MM: Yes. Scientifically, it's catching people off guard, not with something shocking, but something unexpected that makes them laugh. There's a lot of variables, so the key is never the same! Know your crowd and you situation maybe? Also, it helps if it seems like you are having fun while you're up there!

BH: If comedy can be taught, how do you teach it, and how have you learned it?

MM: Observation! Analyze WHY something is funny. It can be any situation, not just a stand up show.

BH: Can you share a bit about how your own work moves from the page to the performance?  Do you revise?  Try out the material?  How is your process similar (or different!) to what writers in other genres do?

MM: I write down something I think is funny with sort of a set up and punch format, but fluid (just with caution that I'm not abusing the audience's time). Then, I go for it on stage at an open mic usually. Most times, it goes pretty bad. Or if it does get laughs, I'm usually suspicious of that. I tape all my sets on my phone. Then, LISTEN, REWRITE, REVISE, TAPE, TRANSCRIBE, REVISE, REPEAT FOR YEARS AND YEARS till you think something might be finished. I get instant feedback in stand up via a live audience's reaction; whereas, if you write a novel, it takes forever to get your feedback. Sometimes I read my essays on stage so I can revise them. All the slow parts, I try to shorten or repair when I feel the audience has lost interest there. But I'm having trouble finishing a book. I can't necessarily expect to get immediate feedback on every paragraph. This is part of the reason it's taken me so long to write a book. I'm addicted to the live trial and error!

BH: Finally, what was your proudest moment as a comedian?

Doing well on my Grand Old Opry debut this past December was a highlight of my career. That Nashville crowd sits there for hours, so to get them to enjoy a non-musician feels good! And they don't really have comics on, so they aren't a trained comedy crowd which feels even better. The second biggest highlight of my career is when a llama listened to my entire hour-long set at the Washburn County Fair. I thought it was a stuffed animal, but 45 minutes into the show, he turned his head a little. I was elated.

BH: Bonus question: Any good stories from the road?

MM: Too many, but they aren't often appropriate. 

Want to find your funny with Mary this summer! Click the button below to apply!

"Stringing Out Your Dirty Laundry for the World To See": 5 Questions with Priory Writer-in-Residence David McGlynn

Lawrence University professor David McGlynn is the author of several books, including One Day You’ll Thank Me, A Door in the Ocean, and The End of the Straight and Narrow. His writing has also appeared in Men’s Health, Real Simple, Parents, The New York Times, Swimmer, Best American Sports Writing, and numerous literary journals. This summer at The Priory Writers’ Retreat he’ll host a writing workshop titled “Flirting with Disaster: Turning Personal Obsession into Memoir.” Read on to learn more about David, his writing process, and how to string out “your dirty laundry for the world to see.”

B.J. Hollars: Your memoir and nonfiction writing transcends a range of topics, from collegiate swimming, to personal tragedies, to parenthood.  Do you find that subject matter changes your writing style or process?  Does subject dictate form for you?

David McGlynn: That’s a shrewd observation, and absolutely true. Yes, subject dictates for me. My stories and essays (and especially the nonfiction) come from individual images or moments that, for whatever reason, cauterize in my mind. The narratives grow around those small, shining moments. When those moments are funny – for example, when they have to do with parenting energetic boys – the piece will be funny. When the moment is sad or tragic – as when writing about the murder of my friend – the story will be sad, too. I try to follow the momentum of that initial image as far and as fully as I can.  

BH: In A Door in the Ocean you recount your swimming career amid the backdrop of your own coming-of-age, as well as the death of your friend and swimming teammate.  The book is riveting, and highly personal.  How do you decide which parts of yourself to share, and which parts of yourself to leave out?

DM: Deciding “how much of yourself” to put into a project is the classic memoirist’s dilemma. We want to reveal enough to make the story interesting and compelling, but not so much that we’re exposed to the point of humiliation. I try to ignore the second part of the dilemma as much as I can. Over time, I have come to believe that there isn’t much a writer can say that hasn’t been said or experienced by other people before. Maybe it’s a product of having come of age in the 1990s, when everyone, it seemed, was writing a tell-all salacious memoir about an array of once-taboo subjects. But it’s often the case that revealing what feels like our worst secrets doesn’t amount to the lightning strike we think it will. And, in my experience, readers tend to appreciate a writer willing to be real. So I say, be real! Let it all hang out! String your dirty laundry on the line for the world to see! You can always take it out later if you feel you’ve gone too far. Chances are, you’ll quickly see that every other window has dirty laundry hanging in it, too.

BH: In One Day You'll Thank Me: Lessons From an Unexpected Fatherhood, you reflect both on being a father and a son.  What did you learn about these dual roles in the writing process?  Any surprises along the way?

DM: Meditating on fatherhood and son-hood was integral to One Day You’ll Thank Me. I don’t think any parent can think about his or her role as a father or mother without also considering their own experiences being parented. Writing about my relationship with my dad, while at the same time writing about my relationship with my sons, taught me to be gentler and more compassionate toward my father, and to take myself less seriously. My dad was trying the best he could; as a dad, I’m only doing the same thing. As far as surprises go, I was certainly struck by how fiercely I still love spending time with my father. I hope – and since my oldest is now a teenager, this is no guarantee – that my own sons will one day want to spend time with me.

BH: At this summer's Priory Writers' Retreat, you'll be teaching a workshop that explores navigating the "treacherous waters" of turning life into stories.  How do you know when a real-life occurrence is story worthy?

DM: A story is worthy when it produces an image that sticks in your mind. When it’s the kind of moment (and it doesn’t have to be big) that you’d tell at a dinner party or around a campfire – when it’s one of the moments or experiences that makes you you. The experience may be cataclysmic or it may be totally pedestrian, nothing more than a quiet moment that struck you. The art of the story is in the telling, not in the moment itself. Learning to pay attention to the details and to make the experience come alive is the thing.

BH: Finally, what are you working on now?

DM: I’ve been neck-deep in a novel project for the past several years. Like One Day You’ll Thank Me, it’s about parenting – only instead of a funny send-up about parenting boys, the novel is about caring for children who are sick and the strains and sacrifices their parents must make. I’m hoping to see it come to fruition in the next several months.

Want to work with David this summer? Click the button below to apply!

Huge Changes: All-New Summer Writers Retreat for 2019

We’ve got big, huge, exciting news to share for 2019! Check out our latest press release …

Chippewa Valley Writers Guild To Host New Writers’ Retreat in Eau Claire, Wisconsin

EAU CLAIRE, WIS. – From July 18-21, the Chippewa Valley Writers Guild will host its inaugural summer writers’ retreat at a new location in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. Situated on 120 wooded acres just miles from downtown Eau Claire, The Priory Writers’ Retreat seeks to provide a vibrant, inclusive, and collaborative experience for writers of all genres.  

This summer, The Priory Writers’ Retreat is thrilled to welcome four writers-in-residence: Dasha Kelly Hamilton (“Power Lines: Crafting Poems with Punch”), Nickolas Butler (“Stepping into Story: The Theory and Practice of Fiction”), Mary Mack (“Finding the Funny: Make Millions with Humor (Just Kidding)”), and David McGlynn (“Flirting with Disaster: Turning Personal Obsession into Memoir”). Additionally, the keynote speaker, former Wisconsin poet laureate Max Garland, will present “What I Learned on My First Day of Writing or Don’t Quit Your Job.”

Clockwise: Dasha Kelly Hamilton, Nickolas Butler, Mary Mack, and David McGlynn

For the past three summers, the CVWG has hosted writers’ retreats at Cirenaica, an intimate, cabin setting in Fall Creek, Wisconsin.  This summer, they’re excited to bring the spirit of Cirenaica to their new location in order to create additional opportunities for writers to create and collaborate alongside one another in a shared space.  “When writers come together for three days of intensive, yet rejuvenating, writing and fellowship, there’s no limit to the magic that can occur,” says CVWG director B.J. Hollars.

The 450.00 cost includes three-nights lodging, on-site meals and drinks, personalized instruction and critique, field notebook, craft talks and keynote address, bus transport to and from the Pablo Center at the Confluence, complimentary ticket to the Writer-in-Residence Reading, and all other on-site events.

➤ FOR MORE INFORMATION on The Priory Writers’ Retreat (including daily schedule, available workshops, and applications), go here: www.cvwritersguild.org/2019retreat

➤ Contact CV Writers Guild Director B.J. Hollars at chipperavalleywritersguild@gmail.com

The Priory Writers’ Retreat grounds

Love Hurts (But Less So with Stories and Music!)

The Sound and Stories Series was born of a single premise: everything’s better with music.  Even stories—as powerful as they are—can be amplified by the perfect musical note.

 (If you need proof of the magic of sound, we dare you to watch the shark attack scene from Jaws.  Without the famous orchestral accompaniment, the scene’s a bit of a yawner.  But we digress…)

On Thursday, February 13 at 7PM, the Chippewa Valley Writers Guild is excited to host the second in our Sound and Stories Series: “Love Hurts.”  Just in time for Valentine’s Day, this event will feature stories of heartbreak and hilarity by local writers Laura Buchholz, Garrett Denney, Jodie Arnold, Tom Giffey, and Jay Gilbertson.  Their stories will be accompanied by famed musicians Peter Phippen, Victoria Shoemaker and Tiit Raid.

We can’t say too much about the stories without giving them away, but if you like breakups (wait—who likes breakups?), ski jumps, online relationships gone awry, and the mysteries of love, life, and death, then you’ll need to be sure to snag your ticket today. 

As for the music, if you’ve never heard Grammy Award nominated flutist Peter Phippen, singer/songwriter guitarist/flutist Victoria Shoemaker and percussionist/visual artist Tiit Raid, you simply must.  Click here for a sample of their work.

Left to right: Peter Phippen, Victoria Shoemaker, Tiit Raid. Credit: Peter Phippen / Facebook

What are you waiting for?  Be a part of a magical evening, and come celebrate love in all its variations!

When You’re A Twenty-Year-Old That Wants To Write

by Emma O’Shea 

I sit in a small coffee shop as the light dissolves below the snowy ground outside, to listen to the lyrical lines of fellow peers. Almost entirely made up of twenty-something-year-old Eau Claire university students, we gather around to share what we have written. Whether it be poetry, prose or none of the above, we share our stories, creative lines and emotional turmoil in hopes that it will resonate with someone. Some walk to the microphone taking a breath before looking up at the clustered crowd, while others march up to the microphone with solid conviction. Yet, everyone seems filled with a sense of elation as their final words twirled out of their mouths into the room. All of us came together to grow into the community of writing that nurtures our love for the written word.

Learning how to write is self-exploration. We use it to capture our nostalgia, create whirlwind stories, and as a therapeutic rescue to the thoughts that bombard us all. During the tumultuous years of college, we lengthen our concepts of who we are, and we mold our skills to different degrees. For some of us, this means taking the risk that accompanies trying to become a writer and sticking with it into the unknown. We gather in writing workshops and cluster together on cold weekend nights, to nurture our passions and encourage our bounds of comfortability to expand.

Delving into the uncertain world of writing is intimidating and nerve-wracking. When we are still attempting to get a concrete grasp on ourselves, we are also traversing an environment in which you must put yourself out in the open; raw and genuine. It’s something new and maybe slightly frightening, but also where we feel most empathetic towards one another. You take deep breaths up until you’re in front of the room with your poem between two shaking hands or you’re sending submissions into any contest you can find. It’s all about trying to find your own way when there isn’t a solid path or set guidelines that you should follow. 

Writing is an unnerving world for college students, but it’s something we push ourselves through because of what writing means to us. Writing is an endless means of creativity and expression, exemplifying the humanness of storytelling and connection through emotion. Through writing, we learn more deeply about ourselves. As Joan Didion wrote in her book of essays, The White Album, “We tell ourselves stories in order to live.”

Talking about Academic Opportunities, Family History, and Motivation with Mary Shaw

by Chloe Ackerman

Mary Shaw reflects on time that she spent with her family in Ukraine in her collection, Plum Season: A collection of poetry, prose, photography, and conversations. It was released on December 8th at Dotters Books; she read her book to a warm room full of love and eager ears. Shaw is majoring in critical studies in literature, culture, and film at the University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire. In this interview, she recounts her writing process, academic opportunities, how she kept motivation, and what it was like to show her family what she created. 

CHLOE ACKERMAN: Can you tell me about how you got the opportunity to create and publish this book?

MARY SHAW: I got this opportunity through a grant from the school through ORSP, so that means that I will be presenting in the spring at CERCA as well. Dr. Theresa Kemp, who is an English professor here, actually told me about it and convinced me to apply.

CA: What was it like writing everything in this and putting together this book? 

MS: Putting it all together and writing it was fun, obviously. This is something that I had wanted to do for a very long time, but I am very bad with deadlines, so it was stressful in a way. Also, my self-consciousness would come in sometimes and be like, “this is not good enough,” so I learned a lot about moving forward and pushing even when I felt like it was difficult to keep writing.

CA: Did you write a lot of Plum Season before you knew you had the grant to write the collection? 

MS: Yes, I did. Most of the poems I had written either in Ukraine or immediately once I returned from Ukraine. There are a few things that I wrote extra for this specific collection. Especially the conversations, I went through old interviews I had on my phone and transcribed them, but all the photography was taken in Ukraine.

CA: Did you have any kind of process for this while you were writing? 

MS: I had a very loose process. Again, I’m not good at self-regulating, or keeping myself from going out, and actually staying home and doing it. My process was to sit down for fifteen minutes, and, whether I wrote something and ended up writing longer than 15 minutes or I wrote nothing, at least I sat down for fifteen minutes and tried. Most of the time when I did that, I ended up writing longer, so it was just getting myself into the seat every day for fifteen minutes to do that.

CA: Was there anything you learned about yourself while you were there while you were putting this collection together? 

MS: I learned that I can indeed write okay after a little bit. I learned that I need to push myself if I want to get results, and the outcome is only on me and nobody else. I learned that even once I do write, and I feel that it’s poor, if I keep writing and keep working on it, it does improve.

CA: Did it make you look at the time you spent in Ukraine differently? 

MS: Definitely, I heard some saying a while ago that if you want to write about yourself, don’t write the day after. You need time to process what had gone on and look at it objectively. Looking back after two years and thinking about how I wanted to write this, I definitely thought of my time in a different way. Whatever I was writing, these were the memories that I was going to keep, and these were the memories that would live on. Now that I wrote it down, it would only ever be like that on paper. If I go back to Ukraine tomorrow, it’s not going to be anything like what I wrote. Memories, they keep things alive. 

CA: What was it like for your family to see the finished product of the book?

MS: My dad’s usually a pretty silent guy, but he was very proud. My sister was really giddy. My mom’s funny. I would show her it, and the first thing she would do is be like, “okay I found a mistake”, or she’d be like, “I don’t like this picture, use a different one”, or “I think you used the incorrect grammar there”. But when all was said and done, she was crying at the release, and she cried each time she read it and she was very proud of me. I think they’re all very proud and happy that there is something on paper of our family history.

CA: Did you show Plum Season to your mom as you wrote it? 

MS: Yeah, I showed her my first draft, and then she saw the one at the release party. I didn’t really keep her up-to-date regularly, it was more like I wanted to do it on my own and then show her because I knew she would want to insert herself. I let myself do some things and then let her see it after I already finished.

CA: Is there anything else you wanted to share about your book or about this opportunity? 

MS: I think, just a plug, I didn’t think this would be possible for me to do at my age, and I really encourage any students at the University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire to ask their faculty advisors about grant work and CERCA. Honestly, while you’re here, you might as well go for all of the possibilities that you have at hand.

Dear Writer - January 2019

Dear Writer, 

I’ve been working on a piece for a while now. I’ve been thinking about it, writing it, revising it, having friends give me feedback, etc. But I feel like no matter how many times I come back to it, or how many different ways I try to write it, something doesn’t seem to be working. I’m afraid that it might be a lost cause, which is painful because it seemed like such a good idea. How do you know when to abandon a piece? How can I tell if I just need to step away from the piece for a little bit, or if it’s not worth coming back to? 

Signed, 
Banging my Head Against the Keyboard

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Dear Banging My Head Against the Keyboard,

I know the feeling! And I’m afraid there isn’t a good way to know, in my experience, if a piece is truly, unequivocally dead, or merely (to borrow from Miracle Max) “mostly dead.” I’ve been dancing with some stories and longer ideas for over a decade, and haven’t been able to tell what’s what with them completely, no matter how long I let them languish.

But, I do have some ideas. Perhaps they will be helpful. 

First, stepping away from a piece need not be abandoning it. If it helps you to think of them as totally separate acts, then go for that interpretation. When I am sitting with a piece that just isn’t working, some time away often does seem to help. And the nice thing about it is that you can step away for as long as you like. Perhaps after a few weeks or a month you feel refreshed and ready to take another swing at it. During that break, you may even come up with a new idea that helps it come together better. 

Or perhaps you never feel called to revisit the piece and move onto completely new projects. That’s okay. Letting go of an idea can be immensely freeing. It is your work, and yours alone, and only you can decide what is worthy of your attention. And just because a piece is not completed does not make the process of working on it not valuable. You’ve no doubt learned things from this process, and those lessons, those small joys, and colossal struggles, cannot be taken away no matter what happens.

I have another thought: submit the damn thing. Send it places. See if anyone likes it. See if you get a personalized rejection letter. See if someone wants to publish it, or wants to work with you on editing it. You never know. One of the biggest joys to me of publishing a piece, even in a publication with a tiny readership, is that once a story has a home like that, I feel like I no longer have to think about it. It is “finished” in a way that is outside my control, and that frees my brain up for other things. 

Even if it is not accepted, there may be some value in letting it exist outside of yourself, having it be exposed to an audience that isn’t close to you. See if it has legs. See how far it can travel. You can always keep tinkering if you like. 

The glorious thing about abandoning a piece of writing is that it doesn’t disappear. You can pick it back up again whenever you like, or never again, and either choice is fine. As long as you keep writing, keep reading, keep working, keep experimenting, you are living the writing life. And that is, as Julie Schumacher puts it in Dear Committee Members, “despite its horrors, possibly one of the few sorts of lives worth living at all.”

I imagine this may not be the practical advice sought, but when it comes to stories, practicality can only take us so far. 

Best,
Ty

Writing, Wine, Women, and Collaborative Community: A Conversation with Jo Ellen Burke of 200 Main Gallery

200 Main Gallery, 200 Main St, Eau Claire

By Chloe Ackerman

I met with Jo Ellen Burke of 200 Main Gallery, and she told me about her hopes of bringing together Eau Claire’s creative community with their future events. The gallery’s latest attraction is Eau Claire’s first wine dispenser. Gallery patrons can buy wine and hang out before local events, read, write, or meet with friends. 

As Burke gave me a tour of the gallery, she explained how Eau Claire’s diverse art scene has seen much of its success because of constant collaboration and support from local artists and venues.  We also talked about the history of the 200 Main Gallery’s building (200 Main St., Eau Claire), how Eau Claire’s art culture has developed over time and the gallery’s new series of literary events focusing on local women writers. Join us on our virtual tour!

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JO ELLEN BURKE: Often people will just come in and work. They’ll work on their computer or read at the bar. During the week we are open Wednesday through Saturday noon to ten or eleven depending on what’s going on. As I show you around, you can see, we have a lounge area with some merchandise for sale, but it’s also a meeting room for book groups or writer’s groups. It can fit about eight or ten people. We really like the privacy of this room; it’s kind of a cozier spot. 

You might like the idea that the whole place used to be a book bindery, so as a book bindery they kept their paperwork in a vault instead of a bank. Paper was precious; there was no way to back books up in terms of a computer, so they treated it as a very valuable source. Now the book bindery’s vault is where we keep our wine.

CHLOE ACKERMAN: Is a lot of the art throughout the gallery by local artists? 

JB: It’s pretty much local artists except for just a few. There’s a sculptor from Wausau, and we have a ceramic art teacher from Sturgeon Bay, and then we have another ceramic artist from Lake Geneva, and the rest are pretty much from Eau Claire.

I do a lot of textile work, so I do the mirrors and napkins, and I like painting on textiles, so that’s a lot of what I do along with some painting. A lot of the work around here is from Terry, who’s my partner and is a sculptor and a painter. Terry sculpts a lot of horses; you’ve probably seen them at the Oxbow. He did the big tall steel horses that were downtown for a while, they called it Tres Caballos. 

Could you tell me what types of events you hold that bring together different facets of the local art scene, and about the upcoming events? 

JB: We will have writers and authors. We are also going to have demonstrations. For example, Terry does live painting, and we auction off what he’s painted. So you can come and watch him; he’s very comfortable painting in front of people. 

We’ve had two musicians here. We like to have live music and collaborate with the area musicians. We had Robin Mink on guitar, and we had Julie Majkowski on flute. We really like the ambiance that that’s created for the arts through music as well.

Our only restriction is space, but it’s a cozy atmosphere; people feel comfortable here. In January or February, we are going to launch what we’re calling 200 Main Mobile, and that’s a means of getting artwork out to the public and to public businesses and nonprofits.

Why did you choose to host events highlighting local women writers?

JB: One of the big things that we believe in is an array of art.  We believe in music, theater, writers, and others, and we know we have so many great authors in town. As we talked about writers, we saw many events that were highlighting the great writers in our area, but we didn’t see too many that focused on women. 

I felt it was timely, and it is a nice opportunity to focus on women writers. We decided that, on the first Wednesday of every month, we’d host something called Women Writers on Wednesday. Now, we’re thinking we should probably do it more than once a month because there are so many great writers, but we’ll just start with every month for now. 

The first natural choice was Cathy Sultan. She is so knowledgeable and articulate. She writes beautifully, and she has this expertise in the Middle East that is really instructive. She was here on the 5th of December. We ended up selling out the first day; we filled thirty seats with free tickets.

In January, we’ll have Patti See. Then in February, we will have Molly Patterson, and we are eager to have her and get to know her a little better. In March, we are going to have Jan Carroll, and we have others that we are reaching out to.

There is such a great writers community in this town. People really support each other, people like BJ Hollars, he’s a wonderful person and I think he’s done a great job collaborating with writers and bringing some light to the talents that we have here. The Pablo Center has done wonderful things for writers, too. We want to really support and continue that kind of momentum. There’s this wave in the creative economy here. I think it’s less of a wave, and it’s embedded in our culture now in a way that is very positive and strong. 

CA: I grew up in Eau Claire, and I can tell that the art scene has definitely grown since I was younger. 

JB: Yeah, it’s such a different city. You might remember just five to eight years ago, you’d go downtown and there was nothing going on. Now, thanks to Volume One and other investors like Zach Halmstad, it’s really made a difference.

Not to get too philosophical, but our community has embraced the arts so well, and I think the momentum for the arts has just really carried on. The factors in the creative economy are somewhat like silos. I think that theater is a silo, music is a silo, the fine arts are a silo, and writing is a silo. I think if we can do a little more collaboration and meshing of those, it creates a better and more fluid art scene. I am hoping that we can be a part of that and show the respect that we all want for the other disciplines of the other types of art, so it’s a win-win.

From Query To Publication

Walter Rhein

Two years ago my friend Dan Woll, the author of North of Highway 8, approached me with a manuscript.

“I’ve got this book,” he said, “and I think there’s something there but I can’t quite make it work, and I’m sick of trying. How about this, you work on it for a year and if we can make something of it, we’ll publish it as a co-authored project.”

Initially, I was skeptical. I knew Dan to be a very talented writer, but it’s always difficult to find a publisher for a manuscript. I have relationships with Perseid Press and Harren Press, but I didn’t feel inclined to leverage those situations to get a co-authored work published. That meant if I took on the project, I’d be starting from scratch.

However, I had just finished The Literate Thief for Perseid, which had several books queued up ahead of it for publication. I had some time on my hands, so I concluded the least I could do was jump into Dan’s manuscript and see what I thought.

The manuscript had the working title ‘Fortune’s Fools.’ The book followed the lives of a young boy and a young girl. The story contained a philosophical exploration of mundane moments of ESP; like when the phone rings and you intuitively know who is calling. Everybody has had an experience like that, so it’s a relatable way to begin a discussion on a subject that people are curious about, but are also tempted to dismiss. I thought it was a strong hook so I kept reading.

The manuscript was as Dan presented. It had moments of really great writing and strong ideas, but it tended to lose the thread. Rather than read it through to the end, I began to do rewrites as I went. I figured I’d either finish the book, or give up at some point, but at least I was being productive. As I worked, I would send the rewrites to Dan to get his input.

“How are you doing this?” he asked.

“Doing what?”

“How are you rewriting a story that you haven’t even finished reading?”

“I’m picking up the narrative clues that you put in the book and I’m emphasizing the ones that most appeal to me. I trust your instincts as a writer so I think it will go somewhere. I hope it works!”

Throughout the process, I always thought there was the possibility that the book could become unwieldy, or the narrative structure I perceived would break down. But I had free time because of the delays with ‘The Literate Thief,’ so I kept working. The book eventually did have a sort of ‘Huckleberry Finn’ breakdown where the narrative took a sharp left from where it seemed to be heading. But by then, I could see how the book was supposed to end and we made the corrections.

It took a little over a year, but we finally produced a fun paranormal/romance/historical/thriller. I liked the fact that the book fit into so many categories because that meant it would be easy to market and therefore more attractive to a publisher.

About the time we finished, I saw an article about Amazon’s Kindle Scout program. Like it or not, Amazon essentially runs the publishing industry today. They have all the emails of everyone who has ever bought a book, they can push whatever they choose and make any novel a bestseller. The first place we submitted our manuscript, now called ‘Paperclip’ was to Kindle Scout. However, about a month after our submission, Amazon informed the world that they were dismantling the program. The news was rather irritating because it struck Dan and I as being a big waste of our time.

From there, we went through the usual process, scouring the Internet and web pages like Submittable for potential markets. I always enjoy working with the small presses that have developed loyal reader groups. Yes, getting placed with one of the major publishers would be like winning the lottery, but it’s just as likely. I’ve always been more inclined to follow the Michael Perry method of getting your work out there and making a big enough pile that somebody eventually starts to notice.

I found a small publisher out in West Virginia called Burning Bulb Publishing that had a Facebook group with nearly 40,000 members and I sent them a query letter.

Within a few weeks, Burning Bulb requested the manuscript, which is always a major achievement in itself. A lot of writers discuss how often they get rejections, but sometimes it is not emphasized how many books get rejected without an editor ever reading a single page of the work. As a writer, it’s easy to become dejected at a rejection letter, but it’s important to remember how difficult it is to get an honest evaluation. Editors and publishers never say, “I didn’t even look at this because I don’t have time right now, good luck placing it elsewhere.” Instead, their form letters contain language like, “Your work wasn’t right for us,” and you get those letters even without sending an excerpt from the actual manuscript.

The acceptance process always takes a few months, and during that time we continued to look for alternative homes for the book. When Burning Bulb finally offered us a contract, I was allowed a glorious day of going through my submission list and withdrawing ‘Paperclip’ from the dozen or so other places where it was still under consideration.

One publisher on Submittable had been evaluating the book for six months, and they wrote me a very kind email saying that the manuscript really stood out and that they had been strongly considering it. They even offered to help with promotion upon release. That email was encouraging because the next time I have a manuscript ready, they will be among the first publishers I contact.

Both Dan and I have similar expectations for this novel, it’s a small release with a small press and we hope that people find it entertaining and thought-provoking. We are already starting to organize library appearances, and public reaction has been encouraging. This is the start of a new journey, and I’ll be posting updates on my web page StreetsOfLima.com to let you know how it goes. Thanks in advance for the support!

Walter Rhein can be reached for questions or comments at: WalterRhein@gmail.com

“What Happens When The World We Know Becomes A Little...Odd?": A Sneak Peek Into the New Radio Drama, Oddly Enough

Emma O’Shea

The concept of oral storytelling has always captivated audiences, whether between three campers nestled in the woods or the enthusiastic professor dazzling some hundred students in a lecture hall with dramatic readings. Sinking into the imaginative setting of listening to a story is a treasured experience, and a few regional writers have created a new take on a radio show that embodies the enthralling experience of storytelling. Taking inspiration from shows such as The Twilight Zone, Oddly Enough— a new radio show featuring stand-alone episodes by writers Jodie Arnold, Laura Buchholz, BJ Hollars, Jane and Jim Jeffries, and Ken Szymanski—combines a passion for the weird and an enthusiasm to create stories.

Twisting and turning the world we see, Oddly Enough reimagines the radio drama with content that swirls genres of anthology, drama, humor, and sci-fi. Karen Drydyk, the showrunner of Oddly Enough, explains the incorporation of regional writers into the show.

“The most exciting part of show-running a radio drama like this is definitely finding people in the community to breathe life into the characters,” says Drydyk.

After playing two roles in Bend In The River, Drydyk says the cast is filled with familiar faces from past ventures. Although having never been a showrunner before, Drydyk says, “organization and communication are two of my strong suits as an educator, and these skills easily transferred into this role.”

I also had a chance to ask one of the writers on the show, Laura Buchholz, a few questions about her anticipation of the show and what went into its creation. While coming together for brainstorming sessions, Buchholz says, “we discovered how much we like doing weird stuff and watching shows like Twin Peaks and X-Files, and so there is plenty of enthusiasm and lots of potential avenues to explore.” The structure of the show is fluid, Buchholz explains. “We wanted to keep the structure more open, with each episode self-contained so that anyone could start listening without having to do a lot of homework.”

After writing for Garrison Keillor’s A Prairie Home Companion for close to ten years, Buchholz is excited to journey back into writing for radio. I asked Buchholz what she is most excited about when venturing into radio as a channel for storytelling again with Oddly Enough. “Prairie Home was comedy, and that is what I'm best at, but this genre lends itself to comedy, too,” says Buchholz. “It allows for a nice back-and-forth of weird and funny. I was also very excited to work with other creative people again and to discover who the creative people are in Eau Claire, aside from the obvious ones we read about on the regular. Somehow I'm a writer who knows a lot of musicians, so it's been great to see all these other types of creative people come out of the woodwork. Maybe I was the one in the woodwork, who knows.”

Buchholz also describes the dynamic of the show. “We were just doing a thing, trying to create something cool. Your skills adjust as you go as a consequence of doing the work. That said, darker, weirder material is good because you can just go for it and don't necessarily have to pay attention to the laws of reality,” say says. “You want to create a river monster with tentacles that only targets drunk kids coming home from Water Street? Go for it. How about a kid who wakes up one morning and only speaks Latvian? Fine. It's fun. I think writers should take more risks. Why not? It's just a story.”

The show begins airing Friday, January 18 at 7PM on Converge Radio 99.9 and will stream on their site soon after. Future episodes will air subsequent Friday at 7PM through February 15!

"Nobody Cares What You Think": A Q&A with this Month's Craft Talk Presenter, Mike Paulus

On January 17 at 7:00PM at the Pablo Center at the Confluence, Mike Paulus—writer, editor, and True North co-producer—will present the much anticipated craft talk “Nobody Cares What You Think (And Other Lessons Learned From Over a Decade of Column Writing.”  Snag your FREE ticket here.  (Note: To keep our costs low, please only snag a ticket if you intend to come!).

Mike began his column writing career in July of 2004 when he agreed to fill the back page of every issue of Volume One. (Two years later, he would accept an editorial position at the Eau Claire-based magazine.) Over the years he’s crafted over 350 columns for the publication, clocking in a quarter million words worth of columns (give or take 30,000 words).  His work has also been featured on Wisconsin Public Radio’s Wisconsin Life and Central Time. During his craft talk, he’ll chat about how his style, skills, and attitude have evolved over the years, as well as offer practical tips for the most important writerly lesson of all: how to start with a blank page and deliver something week after week.  We recently chatted with Mike, who provided insight on a range of issues—everything from how to keep the writing fresh to the column he’s most proud of!

 Read on!  And see you on January 17!

 BJ Hollars: How do you keep a column fresh?  At some point, does it become difficult to crank out an original column every two weeks?

Mike Paulus: Yeah, over the years, looking back, I can see long dry spells where it was really hard to come up with ideas I was excited about. But I think that has everything to do with where your head's at and how you're doing emotionally. There are always ideas to be found, mostly by digging into the small parts of your life, the parts you don't analyze very often. But at the end of the day, I don't have a choice – I have to produce something, whether it's "fresh" or not. And I think that's where the best writing lessons have come from. I don't have a choice not to learn about writing. I have to write. And when you write you learn. 

I've never thought to myself, "how can I keep this thing new and exciting." Maybe I should. But for me it's always come down to each idea, one at a time. And I always remind myself that a dumb idea can be a good column if you write about it well enough. At that point, you're just putting writing skills to the test.

BH: Without giving too much away, do columns follow a general format?

MP: Yes, a lot of my columns have a basic formula, or basic formulas. There's an order to things that fits my voice. If everything goes well – you find an idea you're excited about, your head's in the right place, etc. – you can go from zero to a finished column in a few hours or less. And part of that speed is having these basic structures to fall back on. They develop over years. Don't get me wrong, my columns are ALWAYS better when written over the course of a few days, multiple drafts, all that. But in reality, I don't always have time for that any more. 

BH: Has your column voice changed over the years?  If so, how?

MP: Oh, yeah. That'll be a big part of my upcoming Craft Talk. I developed a certain writing voice years and years ago writing these reminder emails for the poetry slam I ran with my wife. We had an email list and a Hotmail account and a few times a month I'd try to be funny with this little audience, through these emails. I tried to be funny and entertaining when I hosted the poetry slams, live on stage, but these emails let us say things that don't work when spoken out loud. I guess that's where my writing voice started. Then I started the column, and for a bunch of years I kept developing that voice. Eventually I got pretty bored with the whole thing and my columns became a real chore. And that was all about the voice, not the topics I was writing about. So I shifted things. And I'll be talking about that shift at the Craft Talk. 

 BH: Has your column changed in subject matter as your own interests have evolved?

MP: Oh, big time. I used to work in a lot of commentary on specific local happenings. Cultural stuff. City stuff. But that was never my real forte. Hopefully, as you grow older, you keep finding new things to get excited about, and that informs what you write about, of course. But the biggest changes stemmed from a growing confidence in what I'm actually good at writing about – a confidence in turning inward. 

 BH: What's the most unexpected column you've ever written?  

MP: All the best columns, my very favorite ones, just showed up out of nowhere. Writers talk about how "it all just poured out of my head." Well, that really happens – and it's the best feeling. If you have some writing skills in place and a solid voice so you're ready to capture a gush of ideas ... well, it's like nailing your target from 5 miles away. It still takes some hard work, but it's just different, more exciting. The problem is, we intentionally try to repeat that magic. And the harder you try, the bigger mess of it you make, and you end up feeling like crap. So it's a numbers game. The more you write, the more it happens. That's it.

 But you didn't ask about that. One time I started writing about pajama pants and ended up writing about our tiny place in this cold, black, vast, unfeeling universe. That was unexpected. I promise I'll talk about that column at the Craft Talk.

BH: What's the column you're most proud of?

MP: I wrote a column about the weird light you see at night in the wintertime, here in the city. Staring out your windows at night. I feel like that was a culmination of where I was at, at the time. Emotionally. And I was exploring things people like my wife had taught me to see over the years, realizing this is a shared experience, this weird light. Shared by the people of the Midwest. And I didn't feel the pressure to be funny or make jokes about it. 

And like most of my columns, as soon as it was published, I found a hundred things to change about it. 

BH: Spoken like a true writer!

Click here to listen to the most recent version of “Dark Winter Light” which appeared on Wisconsin Life in January 2017.

Helping All Our Stories Flow: Why YOUR Gift Matters TODAY

credit for all photos: Justin Patchin Photography

B.J. Hollars

In the fall of 2002, as a prospective student at  Knox College in Galesburg, Illinois, a creative writing professor named Robin Metz sat across from me at a table and said, "You, my friend, might have what it takes to be a writer." Only later did I learn that he hadn't actually read a word I'd written. (Why would he have? I was a prospective student!) But the sentiment was still true.

Maybe I did have it!

Also…maybe not.

But at 18, what he said was what I needed to hear most: he planted the seed of a possibility, and he dared me to dream it to be true.

Robin Metz died on November 27, 2018.  He leaves behind over half a century’s worth of students.  I count myself lucky to be among them.

Robin taught me many lessons, though the most important was the one he shared with me late one fall evening in 2014.  I’d returned to campus to visit my alma mater, and while there, crossed paths with my mentor outside the campus library.  It was dark out, the stars shone overhead, and I was so caught up in the swirl of nostalgia that I asked Robin I question I’d never considered asking him before: “What’s the most important lesson we can teach our students?”

Robin leaned in close, and in a voice that bordered on a whisper, said, “It’s your job to persuade students that their stories matter.  And that ultimately, all of our stories flow into the very same river.”

Spoken like a true poet.

Though, of course, I know exactly what he meant.

Since February of 2016, the Guild has worked tirelessly to do just that: persuading writers of all levels and genres that their words matter.  We’ve hosted dozens of craft talks, dozens of readings, published two issues of Barstow & Grand, created the 6x6 Reading Series, the Sound and Stories Series, The Weekend Writers Retreat at The Oxbow, Cirenaica Writers Retreat, as well as a brand new venture to be revealed shortly. 

Along the way, our work has been recognized at both the local and state level.  Most recently, by our invitation to become a member of the Wisconsin Poet Laureate Commission, a commission whose charge it is to serve as a “statewide emissary for poetry and creativity,” in addition to selecting the state’s poet laureate every two years.  We’re proud to join the ranks of so many literary leaders, including the Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters, the Wisconsin Humanities Council, the Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets, the Wisconsin Center for the Book, the Wisconsin Arts Board, Write On, Door County, and the Council for Wisconsin Writers.  Our role on this commission speaks to the good work we’ve accomplished both at home and afar.  And with your help, that good work will continue to grow.

It’s hard to measure the work we do .  Do we measure it in publications?  In programs?  In partnerships?  Or by way of the nearly $25,000 economic impact we contribute to our local economy year after year?

My preferred measurement is by way of people.  How many lives have we touched?  How much writing have we supported?

If, as Robin Metz says, the most important lesson we can offer is to persuade people that their stories matter, then how many people have we persuaded?

Moreover, if all our stories indeed flow into the same river, then how wide must that river be?

Please.  We need you.  Make your tax-deductible gift today.

Together, we’ll make that river overflow with words. 

Write & Publish Captivating Narratives: A New Workshop Hosted by Elizabeth de Cleyre

As our writing community grows, so too do our opportunities! Elizabeth de Cleyre, in partnership with Odd Humyns—a new store and workspace from Odd Brand Strategy founders Serena Wagner and Elle McGhee—has just released information on a new workshop opportunity right here in the Chippewa Valley. Read on to learn more, and how you can be a part of it.

1.) Tell us a bit about your new 5-week writing workshop.  What are some of the subjects you're most excited to share with writers?

This new workshop for School of Odd is a crash course in writing and publishing, and over the course of five weeks we'll read and discuss short pieces, workshop one another's drafts, and generate new writing. It's structured so the six participants cover all the bases of reading, writing, and critical reflection, and do so in an ongoing, consistent form. The goal is to get people to generate habits over these five weeks that they'll be able to continue after the class is done. 

I'm most excited to cover literary movements and voices that resist categorization or are hard to pin down--such as hybrid works, autofiction, and corporeal writing. There's so much potential and possibility in writing right now, whether you're generating new work or seeking innovative methods for revision. Ultimately, this workshop is a possibility space, and I'm eager to what each writer brings to the table. 

2.)  In your program's description, you note 21st century writers' struggle to maintain "attention" in a content-flooded market. Without giving too much away, what should writers do to bring attention to their work? Is it a matter of content, form, platform, or publication outlet?

Annie Dillard wrote, "the impulse to keep to yourself what you have learned is not only shameful, it is destructive. Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you."

So let me answer this freely and abundantly: If you, as a writer, want people to pay attention to your work, then you must pay attention to your work. For me, that means building a consistent writing practice, and investing in my education by studying writers whose work I admire.

It may sound reductive, but when we consistently read and write we become better readers and writers, and when we become better, more consistent readers and writers, the leap from writing to publishing becomes that much easier. I'm not afraid of giving too much away because it doesn't feel like much of a secret to me, especially here in Eau Claire, where there are countless examples of writers who pay attention to their own work. (I've also noticed in Eau Claire that writers who focus on their own work are often also excellent supporters of the work of others.)

We can sweat over Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter algorithms to promote our work all day, but if we're not paying attention to our own writing, we're hard-pressed to make progress on it. Yes, the internet brings with it a flood of new content, and while some writers see that as a detriment (read: more competition), I see it as a huge opportunity. The final lesson in this course is about how to take your writing out into the world of publishing, so we'll discuss how to cut through the noise and get your voice heard.

3.) Your workshop will be held at Serena Wagner and Elle McGee's newly-opened Odd Humyns space--a shop and studio space in downtown Eau Claire.  Can you share about this exciting collaboration?  Are there opportunities for future offerings in this space?

I'm insanely honored to count Serena and Elle as collaborators and friends, and one of the main reasons I asked Odd Humyns to host is because of their commitment to building an inclusive space. Writing is sacred and personal to me, and in order for the writing workshop to be a possibility space, all participants need to feel safe, honored, and know their perspective is valid. 

As for future offerings, School of Odd and Odd Humyns are planning on a bunch of different workshops, courses, and events throughout the year, and they are open to pitches from folks about offerings. Their aim is to act as a well-rounded hub for all creative mediums, including writing in its many forms. (Definitely keep your eyes on their Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/oddhumyns/) 

I'm personally excited to see where this workshop takes us, and I'll use participant feedback to craft new courses that align with School of Odd. Since I recognize that not everyone is available to meet in person, I'm also exploring an online-only version of the course. On a somewhat related note, Serena, Elle and I are at work on a zine/journal tackling the topic of the 'creative economy.' 

4.) Finally, tell us a bit about you!  Favorite book?  Favorite writer?  Favorite piece of writing advice?

I'm a NH-native, a former Portland, OR transplant, and somewhat hard to keep up with. I started a book club at Red's Mercantile when I moved here in 2016, which then prompted me to co-found Dotters Books. As an editor and publishing consultant, I've guided over 70 authors to publication and worked behind the scenes of literary magazines. When not writing (or reading), you can find me behind a sewing machine, making made-to-measure clothing for clients. (I have a knack for analog endeavors.)

Nicole Krauss wins the title of "favorite writer" for me, as her novels are some of the few works I re-read in full, especially Great House and Forest Dark. 

As for writing advice, something Charles Baxter said in his 2017 lecture at the Chippewa Valley Book Festival has stayed with me: "sublime confidence." 

To register and learn more, click here!

Poetry, Pizza, and Politics with Eau Claire City Council Member Emily Anderson

Dr. Emily Anderson

by Chloe Ackerman

Under the pen name, Max Howard, City Council member Dr. Emily Anderson wrote her novel Fifteen and Change. This book follows a boy named Zeke, who works at a pizzeria and chooses to join the fight to raise the minimum wage.  I had the opportunity to sit down with Anderson and talk to her about her new book. Anderson described how the topic of having a living wage is significant to her life and experiences, how she wrote the book in several forms, including villanelles, and how it is difficult to identify genre while creating literature. 

To celebrate her book, on December 19th, Emily Anderson will be having a book reading, with pizza, at The Plus on Barstow Street in Downtown Eau Claire.

CHLOE ACKERMAN: What made you want to write the book Fifteen and Change?

EMILY ANDERSON: It’s directly personal to me because I’m a writer and also an academic. Right now, I have a Ph.D., I can get a job, it just won’t be a living wage job. I was involved with a fight for living wages for graduate students and adjunct professors while I was in Buffalo, New York getting my Ph.D., so that was a personal fight. One of the advantages of that fight, or one of the things that I drew strength from, was that we were also coordinated with a Fight for 15 Movement. We were protesting in solidarity with fast food workers and others in the service industry, and that was really great to be a part of that broader labor struggle, so I was kind of carrying that in my mind. The second thing is the knowledge that 43% of kids in Eau Claire schools now are in the ALICE statistics, which stands for Asset Limited, Income Constrained, Employed. Basically, low income affects 43% of Eau Claire residences, and that’s so many children in our schools. Many kids are in a position much like the character Zeke in my novel who are really struggling with all the problems that economic inequality can create. I wanted to write something that reflected what is a really common experience that gets treated as a very unusual or special experience. The overarching structure of the series that the book is a part of is on social issues, and that is the one I felt I had the most personal connection to. 

In addition to other forms, This book makes use of the villanelle, which are 19-line poems. How did you go about writing this book within such confines?

For me, writing is easier when there are some limits or some constraints. Each little poem is about 50 words, and I had to do exactly 192. I kind of had a sense of what should happen every 20 poems or so to add a movement or pace to the narrative. I mapped that out and then went in and put those smaller pieces together, so it made structuring the narrative really easy, which was great. I write prose fiction as well, and I feel like I learned a lot about saving myself some time by knowing how many words something should be. I normally work more organically so having an imposed structure helped a lot.

Do you see any crossover between your work as a council member and your writing?

So much. I am motivated by the same concerns of wanting to make the world a fairer place and wanting to do my best to amplify the voices of people that are fighting for equality. So that’s definitely a motivation that I share, but I also think that the work of writing is actually really similar to politics. One thing I think of a lot is, the poet, Percy Shelley, who called poets, “the unacknowledged legislators of the world” because it’s creativity that breathes life into an idea and once an idea has life, or momentum, or energy, it captures people’s imaginations that’s what it takes to change the world. I think you see that a lot in politics, for good or ill, that people use language in imaginative ways, and it captures people’s hearts. This stuff happens whether it’s good or it’s bad. It’s a real power.

Is there a person or something that has influenced you a lot in your writing or in your work?

I think I wouldn’t have been able to continue being a writer if I didn’t have amazing teachers, friends, and family members that are always encouraging me and supporting me. I think I have been really lucky with the kinds of relationships I have in my life, and I don’t think that I would be able to persist in a rejection heavy career if I didn’t have people that have my back. 

What do you hope your readers will take away from this book?

One of the things that I try to emphasize in the book is that when Zeke becomes more directly active politically, it’s because he loves the people around him. It’s something that he does with a spirit of both love and also playfulness, and it’s this idea that getting involved and making change happen can be something that is playful and happy. It has to do with love and good feelings and not just like some abstract principle, and it can be a baby step and not necessarily a big step to make a difference. 

What question would you like to be asked that gets at the core of you as a writer and/or your writing?

One thing I’m thinking about a lot as a writer these days is the question of form or genre. I never know when I start a project what the form or genre is going to be. That’s something I learn as the ideas form and come together. I feel like people ask, “What do you write? Do you write fiction? Or do you write poetry?” And I always have a hard time answering that question, because I don’t know what something is until I am done making it, and even then sometimes I don’t really know exactly what it is. I think form communicates with content in a way that makes the genre a challenging thing to pin down. 

Is there anything else you would like to share?

Yes! I have a book party on the 19th of December, and anyone can come. It is going to be at The Plus at 7:00pm, and there is going to be pizza because my book is about pizza. 

Traveling 34 Years through UW-Eau Claire Summer Theater History with Wil Denson

by Chloe Ackerman

Dr. Wil Denson is a professor emeritus of theater arts at the University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire, and in his new book “Life Upon the Wicked Stage”: Director’s Cut he recounts the summers that he spent working with the Summer Theater in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. He describes the plays, the good times, and past traditions, as well as all of the people he worked with over the years. 

Denson’s book allows those who were once a part of Summer Theater, or those who were in the audience of a Summer Theater production, to relive the time that was shared. It is also an excellent record of some of Eau Claire’s art history. In this interview, Denson talks about his process writing this book, how writing books differs from writing plays, and what it was like to relive his experience with Summer Theater while writing his book. “Life Upon the Wicked Stage”: Director’s Cut, can be found at The Local Store, or it can be bought directly from Wil Denson by mailing $15 to Wil Denson, P.O. Box 1828, Eau Claire, WI.

CHLOE ACKERMAN: What made you want to write your book “Life Upon the Wicked Stage”: Director’s Cut?

WIL DENSON: Over the years, a number of people have suggested that someone should write an account of Summer Theater here in Eau Claire. Since I was the person most closely associated with it, the writing seemed to fall, logically, to me.

Also, University Summer Theater closed in 1998, twenty years ago last summer; the time seemed right.

I wanted to ensure that the memory of our work was not lost. I worked with Summer Theater for over twenty-five summers, and it formed a large and important part of my life. For many seasons, Summer Theater WAS MY LIFE. I didn’t want it forgotten.

Finally, hundreds of UWEC students were involved and deserved to be recognized.

This book is nonfiction about the history of the UW-Eau Claire Summer Theater. Although you were with the program for much of the time that it was running, was there any research that you had to do to write this book? Did you learn anything or rediscover anything that surprised you in the process of writing this book?

I joined the company in 1966 during its second summer. And, although I knew and worked with personnel from the first summer and with people from every year thereafter, my memory was not sufficient for everything I hoped to include. 

Therefore, I spent about five months reading old newspaper reviews and articles, interviewing former personnel and examining production programs and photographs.

My greatest surprise in researching came in discovering the sheer number of people who had gone on to success on the national professional stage as well as in Hollywood film and television. I hadn’t actually forgotten these past people, I’d been in contact with many of them over the years, but I didn’t realize how many there were.

In the book, you mentioned plays that you wrote, Company 10 Musical, Life Upon the Wicked Stage, Remembering the Valley, and many others for the Summer Theater to perform. What is your process for writing a play? Does this process differ from writing other types of literature, like this book for example?

It’s difficult to describe the playwriting process in a short space, plus I suspect each writer works differently. I began with an idea that I hoped was viable, a story that would sell tickets. (In choosing stories for Summer Theater, the very specific EAU CLAIRE AUDIENCE was taken into consideration. What were they most likely to be drawn to?) Then I roughed out “an action” – what happens in the piece, the plotting, the setting, characters, etc. For our situation here in Eau Claire, my next step was determining if the idea was possible: could we financially afford the scenery, costumes, etc., and could we find actors, designers, director and technicians who were able to successfully bring the work to our stage. (Some ideas are simply too hard or too expensive to produce.) 

Next, I tried to put the ideas and characters on paper, actually writing the dialogue, describing the characters and scenery, presenting the action, etc. 

Finally, of course came the proofreading, edits, an infinity of re-writes, etc. (A huge advantage in writing for our own theater was the possibility of doing re-writes with the piece already on stage in rehearsal; if we found that something didn’t work as anticipated, I could re-do an act or a scene on the spot and make it more suitable).

The chief differences separating playwriting from other writing forms are its reliance on dialogue, its dependence on visuals and its immediacy. A playwright has to continually show the story to the audience; they cannot tell the plot the way a fiction writer does, the action must be seen. The playwright must ‘place the characters in action, doing something.’ A character is revealed best by what they do. 

Too, the ‘live audience factor’ features in prominently. In a film or novel nothing can be altered; what is written on the page or seen on the screen is set in stone and cannot be changed. But in a play, audience reaction is possible and hugely important; a production changes from night-to-night. A playwright is able to take advantage of this.

Since this book covers a lot of your life and you experienced and saw a lot of what was in this book, what was it like to write “Life Upon the Wicked Stage”: Director’s Cut?

What struck me most in doing the book was how much the writing took me back in time. Every day when I sat down for my three or four-hour sessions of work, I was transported back in time, back to summer mornings thirty-five or forty years ago. I vividly remembered people and places and shows I hadn’t thought about for seemingly a lifetime. Writing the book became an exotic time-travel-like experience for me. (When former actors and technicians heard I was working on the book, many of them contacted me, and we rekindled old friendships and shared old memories, thereby furthering my feelings of time travel).

What do you hope that readers will take from this book?

I hope the book brings back memories of our thirty-four years of productions, of opening nights and strikes and rehearsals. I want readers to recall the hundreds and hundreds of people involved in Summer Theater and the thousands of performances we gave. I hope it brings back a smile and a memory.

Is there anything else that you would like to add?

Given the changes in economics and audience tastes, it seems unlikely Summer Theater as we knew it can ever return to Eau Claire. Everything has become too expensive, too difficult, too complex. Audience tastes have changed; people have moved on with their careers; the competition has become too intimidating. TV offerings, film, sports, local music festivals, etc. all are greatly expanded and have become too difficult to compete with.

But Summer Theater accomplished what we set out to do. Over fifty of our people now work professionally on Broadway, in Los Angeles, Chicago, and Minneapolis. Hundreds of our student actors, designers, directors, and technicians were able to learn more about their craft. Thousands of Chippewa Valley residents came to enjoy and appreciate the art of theater more due to our work. The number of then-young children who saw our work and decided to launch their own careers in theater has been tremendously gratifying.  

Looking back, our thirty-four summers became golden to me and, I hope, to the community – but can never return. 

(If you read the letters in the back of the book, you will gain a better appreciation of audience reactions.)

The theaters of the Chippewa Valley were all influenced by our work. For example, the Chippewa Valley Theatre Guild, the Eau Claire Children’s Theatre, Fanny Hill Dinner Theatre, etc. were all conceived and initiated by former UWEC-Summer Theater performers, directors and technicians. Summer Theater at the University was in large part the start of theater in the Valley. I’m very proud of that.

Finally, during the several readings/book signings I’ve done throughout the area, it’s been extremely gratifying to meet former performers and technicians and to hear about their families, lives, and successes.