Hope is the Thing that Grows

Meredith Ball

Over a week into social distancing and I am feeling the need to be alone. Having three children means that social distance equals family togetherness--a LOT of it. So, I go for a run. I go for a run in the rain with a hat pulled down over my face. I go for a run when the freeze comes back and I need extra layers. And also, I go for a run in the sunlight when it finally warms the air and the ground below.

On this day, the sunlight prevails. I head toward campus. Getting there, I see parents moving their children out of the dorms. It doesn’t seem like so long ago that my own parents did the same for me. Then, it was chaotic. People moving all around. Dads waiting in minivans for the spot closest to the door. Finally snagging a cart and throwing a bunch of junk into the bottom and a dirty carpet on top. But today, everything is subdued. Just a few families, and they all move quickly and efficiently. There is no socialization. There are few smiles. During move-in a few months back, nobody could have predicted that these students’ first-year of college would end like this--in March and from a distance of six feet away.

As I continue along my run, I see something that reminds me of the more recent past. Bulbs that were planted by groundskeepers who are now surely furloughed or unemployed are making their way toward sunlight. Soon, we will begin to see the beauty of spring as the daffodils and tulips bloom. Those daffodils and tulips should have been there for those college kids. They should have called them outside after a Wisconsin winter. They should have witnessed the parties, the flirting, the removing of layers that always occurs when the warmth returns to a college campus. Instead, the flowers will greet no one. 

But, like always, the first blooms of spring give me hope. This year, things look different, but I know that this, like a season, will pass. The college experience will go back to what it was before. The furloughed or unemployed workers will return to their jobs. Next year, there will most likely be day drinking and frisbee and, hopefully, tulips and daffodils to bear witness to it all. 

At the end of my run, I see my own children playing in the yard. And I know that this time--this virus--will change them, too. They might become a bit more afraid of germs. They won’t get to finish second grade or kindergarten. But, like the spring flowers, there is growth here. After this season of turmoil, we, too, will emerge from the soil, ready to reawaken and blossom.

Meredith Ball is a mom, teacher, and wife. She enjoys running, reading, and being with her family (but maybe not this much).

Hope is a Dad Dance

Matthew Guenette 

I was scrambling eggs for the kids

but I wanted something more, something epic like to take

the moon in my hands. What other powers do I have?

The kids, captive at home for at least

the next month, how to protect them when even the jungle

gyms are canceled and every cough inspires a nightmare.

What else should we do, send them out in hazmat suits

with their safety scissors? Vote? Haven’t we tried

all that? There’s a feeling I want to get us back to,

like when I was 13 and it hardly mattered

if Gorbachev and Reagan waived their intercontinental

pricks at each other, it was all the same

and nothing a game of H-O-R-S-E or Purple Rain

couldn’t fix. I had one job, I plated the eggs

and thought of us climbing back into the trees

to hurl water balloons at the suckers who think

they know better. That’s when I knew better, when I knew

I had another job. I hiked up my boxers like a thonged

superhero. The kids in the next room waiting at

the table: Are the eggs almost done? You have no idea,

I said. Hold tight! Then I tied on my little cape

of sunlight and danced their way.

Matthew Guenette is the author of three full-length poetry collections: Vasectomania (2017), American Busboy, chosen by Mary Biddinger as an Editor's Choice for the University of Akron Press and published in 2011, and Sudden Anthem, which was awarded Dream Horse Press's American Poetry Journal Book Prize and published in 2008. Sudden Anthem was also named an Outstanding Achievement in Poetry in 2009 by the Wisconsin Library Association. He has been a resident at the Vermont Studio Center and a fellow for the Hessen-Wisconsin Literary Exchange. He works at Madison College, and lives on the east side with his wife and two kids, who make sleep impossible…

Hope Is The Birth Plan

Stephanie Farrar

Last year about this time, in the three weeks leading up to my daughter’s birth, I spent a lot of time upside down.

The point was to turn the tide of the sea inside and flip this breach baby. I did so, again and again.

credit: Leslie Duffy

I was also having contractions every 3-4 minutes, for three weeks. All I could do was take very short walks, sit, and stand on my head. I knew from my previous experience I had a good chance of having life threatening complications that endangered both me and the baby, and I had spent a lot of time thinking about this. Because of my experience, because of my research, I had a stark birth plan: “Everybody Lives.” Nobody wants to hear a pregnant woman talk like this. Nobody is supposed to admit they might die, someday, or possibly soon.

It is so impolite to talk about death, so crass to talk about illness. Nobody is supposed to glimpse mortality as a fact. But this year, all any of us can do is take short walks, sit, and hold the world upside down, patiently for a few weeks.

So, hold it. Hold it, upside down, to turn this tide. Hold this blue pulsing world upside down in your hands because the best birth plan for the new world we will make is just: “Everybody Lives.”

Stephanie Farrar is a writer and professor at UW-Eau Claire, as well the co-editor of Dickinson In Her Own Time.

Hope Is Tying A Bear To A Porch Chair

Eric Rasmussen

In the early days of a shelter order, we desire to help, support, entertain, and distract. For a minute I toy with the idea of learning “The Hustle” on harmonica to accompany my son who is learning “The Hustle” on trombone so we can make some hilarious and unbelievably shareable video. My son is uninterested in that level of commitment. Honestly, so am I.

But soon an idea comes across my feed for a community-wide effort that is more our speed. A teddy bear scavenger hunt! Place a bear somewhere visible so families out on walks have something to search for. That is exactly the level of energy expenditure we can handle. My daughter fetches a bear and the kids and I collaborate over its placement in one of the chairs on the front porch.

 A short while later I take my own afternoon walk, and it amazes me how well the teddy bear scavenger hunt accomplishes its goal. Every stuffed animal peeking behind venetian blinds and hanging from a curtain rod is a little inside joke that feels like community. But this is not what gives me hope. I come from a city in a part of the world that usually does a pretty nice job of supporting our neighbors. Not everyone, and not easily, and not always right away, but for the most part, we’ve got each other’s backs.

 After my loop around the neighborhood I pass in front of my own house, with my daughter’s stuffed animal out front. As far as scavenger hunts go, ours is a bit of a challenge—the bear is the same color as the chair upholstery, and it can only be seen from a certain angle. But another thought occurs to me. Call it the jack-o-lantern concern. What if a bunch of neighborhood youths decide our bear is ripe for shenanigans?

“Get some rope,” I tell my son when I enter the house. “We have to tie up that bear.”

This is what gives me hope. Pranksters targeting our teddy bear. People on the internet griping about having to stay inside and arguing about what counts as an essential business. All the testimonials of rampant screen time and day drinking. Without discounting the need to take a pandemic seriously and act with each other in mind, I love that the fear doesn’t entirely consume us. The empty roads fill me with confidence that we shall weather this crisis. The occasional car does too.

From the sidewalk, you can’t tell that our bear is trussed up like a prisoner in a spy movie, but it’s there, representing both our nobler intentions and our basal instincts. We need both to get us through, adorable plush smiles on our faces, and double knots around our necks and paws.

Eric Rasmussen teaches English at Memorial High School in Eau Claire, serves as fiction editor for Sundog Lit, and edits the regional literary journal Barstow & Grand. Find more of his prose online at theotherericrasmussen.com.

Hope Is the Thing We Find In The Voids

Dan Lyksett

Last night, walking the old dog, her gray muzzle pressed against the molding leaves and grass just now emerging from their snowpack burial. For the moment all life in that ground is microscopic, invisible to me, but it is there. And if I wait through a few more turns of my world on its axis, the warmth from our sun will call the greening to life. I need only wait a few more turns of my world on its axis.

Deep, black night, no moon but living stars you know from astronomy may be just coming to life or dying but nonetheless offer their brilliance. No planes overhead, no blinking lights and no distant hum of jet engines, no travelers heading for Chicago with sales orders to be filled or back to Minneapolis with their straw sombreros, happily exhausted from their warm climes’ vacations. I recall another night standing on this very ground with the dark sky bereft of planes, Sept. 11, 2001. But the moving night lights and distant hum of jet engines eventually returned to that empty sky. I’m sure they will again. I need only wait for a few more turns of my world on its axis.

The old dog gives me the eye and points her gray muzzle back toward the house. She knows it is time for a treat. Just like she knows when it’s time for breakfast, and time for a nap, and time for a walk, and then another nap, and then dinner and another walk and then a treat and then to curl up at the foot of our bed and dream of chasing or being chased.

Throw in moments of belly rubs and ear massages and a lap where she can rest her head. There are no voids in this old dog’s life. It is how this old dog’s world turns on its axis.

I need only wait for a few more turns of my world on its axis.

Dan Lyksett is a retired reporter, editor and columnist who is tucked in at home south of Eau Claire with his wife, a pack of Labrador retrievers, a pug named Roy and a cat named Norm. He appreciates the virtual companionship and inspiration offered by our creative community, but he also misses having a couple beers with friends at the tavern.

Hope Is Nearly Nothing

Max Garland

I love Emily Dickinson’s famous poem on hope, but this morning, it’s her contemporary, Walt Whitman, who comes to mind. I bequeath myself to the dirt, he said. Look for me under your bootsoles, he said. I’m holding Walt to his words. Keep encouraged, he said. Missing me one place, search another.

This morning I’m searching another, and another after that. A cold gray sky hovers over this late March day, and our portion of the planet here in the Chippewa Valley is snow covered again. Snow raggedly outlines the otherwise bare trees, grants the evergreens a frosted look, a sort of senior moment, you might say.

I’m remembering what composes a snowflake. I mean, what’s at the crux of the crystal hexagon? Before it can form, briefly float, inevitably fall to outline and lightly weigh upon the branches? Before it can clot the treads of tires, whitecap the neighborhood houses? 

It’s just dirt, of course, that forms the nucleus, the cold heart of snow. A fleck of dust, speck of grit, maybe a discarded and upswept pollen grain. It takes nearly nothing, in fact, but nearly nothing is vastly different from nothing. It’s that cast-off floating particle of grit in the upper air that allows molecules of ice to be true to their hexagonal blueprint, branch and elaborate into the various shapes of snowflakes-- lattice, lace, diamond dust, aggregate, column, needle, or my personal favorite—the stellar dendrite.

In this season of viral distancing, quarantine, and genuine suffering, here, this morning, the 4th week of March (I’m going out on a limb here) comes the small gift of spring snow. I think of how something so tiny, nearly nothing, dust or pollen, is seized by the frigid upper air, then branches into performance mode, a kind of beatification of grit, that falls and now covers what I can see of my town from the window of my own isolation.

My hope on this crisis-ridden morning is the audacity of grit, those castaway particles of nearly nothing that allow the crystalline pattern of ice to launch into beauty, cold beauty, sure, but the point is that the smallest thing--dirt, dust, grit—seeds the miraculous, both outside of us, and inside.

I admire the acts of obvious heroism (doctors, nurses, emergency workers), but this snowy morning, it’s also the grit of the girl stocking grocery shelves, the trucker, baker, convenience store clerk, ordinary neighbors keeping the human grid alive-- repairing furnaces, feeding and dressing our quarantined elders who once did the same for us—that’s hope for me. That’s the human manifestation of the unspectacular grit at the heart of the snowflake.

I depart as air, Walt Whitman said. I shake my white locks at the runaway sun, he said. Keep encouraged, he said. I’m trying, Walt, remembering that it’s also words --empathetic, heartfelt, trivial, humorous, distracting; it’s the irrepressible grit of humanity at the core of our impulse to speak, write, sing, listen, to bridge the distance with words—that constitutes hope for me, and keeps me encouraged.

Max Garland is the former Poet Laureate of Wisconsin.

Hope Is Quiet, Hope Is Soft

Jim Alf

It’s the quietness. I ride on waves of it, like silent surf, over the deeps, to a beach of memories. A farm yard where I stood as a child, immersed in stillness, appreciative for the first time of the absence of noise. Not without sound, but sans the din and rattle of mechanical work. From the yard oak came a bird’s brief twit and far away a neighbor’s cow lowed, for a reason unknown. I drank the stillness then and going on a century later thirst for it yet. It gives me hope.

Now it’s here again, almost. It has been days since the car with the broken muffler has roared to life in the parking lot outside my window. Our television screen is dark and soundless, purposely, to keep out the endless and repetitive announcements, statistics, opinions and guesses and tomfoolery of the communication age. The radio hasn’t been on for weeks.

So I make sounds of my own liking. The soft tune of hot water in the sink, rattle of dishes being washed. The broom rubbing the floor, cupboard door shutting. Then, best of all, the barely audible turning of a page, newspaper folding open to the crossword and the pencil’s voice. In time I will seek the music of friend’s conversations or a favorite song on Youtube. As the sun mutely warms the air I will make some coffee and sandwiches and drive out to the Porterville Park, sit by the boat landing and listen for the faint swish of the Chippewa’s current. Maybe the dog on the other side of the river will bark softly, just once.

Jim Alf is the author of When The Ferries Still Ran: History and Stories From the Chippewa Bottoms.

Hope Is The Thing With Red Curls

Charlotte Kupsh

Hope enters my Zoom conference room sometime after 10:30 at night: red curls and a smile that breaks across a serious face. I’ve been alone in my apartment for four days, I’ve had a glass of wine and three (four?) Negronis, and rules have ceased to be relevant, so I’ve invited a man from an app on a digital first date. Hope is the way he sees I’m drunk but takes me seriously anyway, asking about my parents, how I’m doing, whether I want to take a walk tomorrow. 

A friend brings me lemon-infused simple syrup, fresh mint from her garden, and a purple, fragrant plant. “I’ve been buying plants to cope,” she says. We never meant to end up here, on this wide open plain where wind and weather and viruses rip across in what feels like only minutes. The syrup and the mint are to make gin cocktails. The plant is for me. 

Hope is driving out to 48th street and parking behind Mo Java, a coffeeshop that will close by this time next week. Red hair spirals out the front of a knit cap. A Columbia jacket, a soft, calm voice that talks and asks and prompts for three hours while we walk circles around the dilapidated houses north of Nebraska Wesleyan. Hope is the cautious space we hold between our bodies.

Text messages from loved ones beam through the sunny windows of my studio: “Tell me something happy about today.” “I’m worried about you.” “Call me!” A friend shows up at my door with groceries: eggs, almond milk, sweet potatoes. 

Hope is morning coffee in front of my laptop, red curls exploding across the screen. There are Halloween lights strung up in his background. He has a Cafe du Monde mug and I have Cafe du Monde coffee. I show him my map of Lincoln’s recreational trails, the ones I’ve run on colored in. He answers work emails, his face serious, twisting a mechanical pencil between his fingers. I draw anxious, angry characters and label them: “Day 8 of social distancing.” 

At times, especially at night, hope’s knees begin to buckle. “Can you talk? I need someone.” “I think I have a fever.” My mattress is wearing out from the way I roll across it over and over. “I feel alone.” We all cling tightly to its arms; we hoist hope up.  

Hope is setting up our camp chairs in the grass outside my apartment building, measured six feet apart by tape measure. We wrap up in fleece blankets and drink beer, the LED camping lamp my dad made me take “for emergencies” illuminating a red beard. It’s harder to hear his soft voice from this distance; I make myself quieter, stiller. We talk about breweries, bar hopping, and other things we might do one day, maybe. We listen to the birds and point out the bats, their rapidly flapping wings making jittery, uncertain trails across the sky.

Charlotte Kupsh is a teacher, writer, and doctoral student. Originally from the Driftless region of southwest Wisconsin, she now lives in Lincoln, Nebraska. Her work has appeared in Writing on the Edge, The Madison Review, Pleiades Book Review, and elsewhere. You can find her on Twitter @CharlotteKupsh.

Hope Is The Thing We Can’t Quarantine

B.J. Hollars

What if the vaccine was as simple as

freshly baked bread?

Or the cool side of the pillow? 

Or true moss on a rain-slicked rock?

What if the cure was discovered

not in the labs or the trials

but in the broken spine of your grandfather’s

favorite book?

When was the last time you felt a spider

web blossom across your body?

Or drank deep from the well water

Sprung forth from the rusty pump?

I am in search of familiar terrain

in the places I’ve forgotten:

in the frothy cream of coffee cups

and garden gloves worn away at their webbing.

Small comforts add up

if you let them.  So why hinder

something as elemental

as a sidewalk after a storm?  

If chemistry class taught me anything

it had something to do with covalence.

Those bashful electrons bumbling, hat-in-hand,

ever hopeful they possessed something worth sharing.

Not for their own sake, but for

the sake of one another.

Giving and receiving their blessings

as naturally as birdsong.

Look, I am as much scientist as mathematician,

so don’t trust me when I claim to

know the calculus of contagion.

Still.  I will show you my work

in the tree bark from the river birch

on the far side of the house

near the firewood where potato

bugs prepare for peace.

I won’t sugar-coat it:

Every day is its own devastation.

Yet somehow, the dog

still pulls at her leash.

B.J. Hollars is a writer, teacher, husband, father, and and dog walker.

"Hope Is The Thing": A Community-Wide Collaborative Writing Project

The Chippewa Valley Writers Guild has always been committed to connecting writers, however we can.  In this time of social distancing, we hope to do so virtually. 

To that end, today we’re pleased to announce a new community-wide collaborative writing project:

“Hope Is The Thing.” 

This project is open to all Chippewa Valley Writers Guild members and their friends.  Our goal is to provide a platform for writers to share what brings them hope in this time of crisis. 

Though our web presence generally focuses on interviews, writing advice, and event information, for the next month we hope to regularly publish creative work on this topic written by regional writers.  

May our art be the gift that helps us heal.

See below for all details related to word count, title, and how to send your submission.

Given the collaborative nature of this project, we will not consider submissions that do not conform to these guidelines.

Submission Guidelines:

• Please send 500 words or less of original work (poem, essay, story, experience) to chippewavalleywritersguild@gmail.com as an attachment or GoogleDoc link.

• The subject line should read: “Hope Is The Thing Submission.”

• The topic: What gives you hope in this time of crisis?

• Your title must conform to the following model (borrowed from Emily Dickinson): Hope Is The Thing [Insert Your Subject Here].

  • Examples: Hope Is The Thing That Blossoms, Hope Is The Thing That Moves Us, Hope Is The Thing We Do Together, Hope Is The Thing We Read.

• Ideally, your piece would then explore/examine/celebrate/etc. that “thing” which you have selected.

• Finally, include a brief bio (100 words or less) at the bottom of your submission.

• By submitting your piece, you are acknowledging that the work is your own and does not infringed upon the rights or work of others.

• SUBMISSION DEADLINE: MAY 6, 2020

Thank you for giving your gift. Let’s see what we’re capable of creating!

Looking Past The Noise: Poetry As An “Act of Attention” with Kimberly Blaeser

credit: Justin Patchin Photography

by Angela Hugunin

 We live in a noisy world. Threats of illness and uncertainty loom ahead, especially in the midst of the coronavirus outbreak. Distractions threaten to pull us away from what matters most, and what happens outside threatens to drown out what we experience beneath the surface. As writers, we’re sometimes left wondering how to make sense of all the chaos around us.

Kimberly Blaeser is aware of these distractions, yet as a poet, she regularly probes what lies beyond in search of what is deeper and more true. She has a breadth of experience in this realm; she has published four books of poetry: Trailing You, which won the first book award from the Native Writers’ Circle of the Americas, Absentee Indians and Other Poems, Apprenticed to Justice, and most recently, Copper Yearning. In addition to her writing, Kimberly is a professor at the University of Wisconsin—Milwaukee. She served as Wisconsin Poet Laureate from 2015-2016. Of Anishinaabe ancestry, Kimberly is an enrolled member of the Minnesota Chippewa Tribe. She grew up on the White Earth Reservation in northwestern Minnesota and worked as a journalist before earning her M.A. and Ph.D. from the University of Notre Dame.  

 I had the honor of speaking with Kimberly, this year’s poet-in-residence for The Priory Writers’ Retreat, which will take place from June 25-28.  Applications are now open for Kimberly’s workshop, “Poetry of Spirit and Witness.”

 Angela Hugunin: You recently released a moving book of poems, Copper Yearning. I’ve taken a long time to finish just because I’ve wanted to savor each and every poem! In the book, you explore individual and collective memory, as well as the experiences that linger with us. What is our responsibility as witnesses and writers?

 Kimberly Blaeser: In a world filled with surface, with distractions, we must learn to look past all that “noise.” I understand poetry as an “act of attention.” We cannot embody our world in writing, unless we first see clearly—witness fully. I believe part of that “seeing” involves recognizing the intricate relationships at work in the world, replacing the static picture postcards—the surface—with a deeper vision.  

 On a practical level, as writers we touch the tangible with our language—the jagged edges of broken glass, broken lives; spring kilting into blossom; whispered night litanies just now as coronavirus raises fears. To make experience intelligible, we first pull our readers into it imaginatively. Our responsibility cannot be mere reporting or analysis. Some readers may believe us, but they won’t truly understand our subject unless we allow them to “experience experience.” We must pass them sticky, bruised, solemn, turquoise reality—the truth braided into complexity.

AH: One of my favorite elements of Copper Yearning is the way you illustrate beautiful yet sometimes broken connections between people and place, humans and animals, and history and future. These subjects aren’t always easy to make tangible. How do you ground some of these profound subjects in your writing?

KB: I coax myself to allow the subjects their messiness. The relationships between humans and animals, for example, involves the alpha longings and complexities of interspecies belonging. Humans are animals.  They have survived partly because of their animal instincts. Yet, humans fear their own “animal nature”—and they fear losing it. We tell ourselves origin myths that link us with nonhuman creatures, write popular fictions about beings half human/half wolf, and value our “kinship” with wild creatures. Yet we have hunted species to their extinction.  These statements barely begin to trace the complexity of the human/animal relationship. If we remember no relationship has a simple through line, our tracing of the interconnections can then invoke both the beautiful and the broken in the same piece. This intermingling will inch toward a truth our readers may find more memorable than an easy, straightforward representation. 

AH: I had the pleasure of hearing you speak and share some of your work at a Chippewa Valley Writers Guild event last fall. Hearing words you’ve written from you in the flesh brought them to life for me and left me covered in goosebumps. For the Priory Writers’ Retreat, participants have the benefit of being there in person. What can in-person connection bring to writing?

KB: In a random conversation with someone I met last week, we discovered we had both been present at Woodland Pattern book center for a particular spell-binding performance by a Japanese poet. When my son was in utero, he began “dancing” at a Joy Harjo performance.  Poetry is by its nature musical; nothing can replace hearing it performed aloud. Priory writers will have the chance to experience both the song of poetry and dramatic prose performances.

But creating in a community setting has other advantages as well.  You have the time already set aside for writing intensively (living and sleeping with your writing, writing and revising and not cooking!) You will have the pleasure of exchanges with other people who value the power and beauty of language, who understand your preoccupations with image, the “right” word, allusion, even punctuation. Writers benefit from workshops on particular aspects of writing, and from discussions about individual works—your own and others. Instructors or other workshop members may model for you some aspect of the craft, inspire you to return to your own work with more vigor, or pull the veil back on some of the “business” aspects of writing and publishing.

AH: Your workshop for this retreat is titled “Poetry of Spirit and Witness.” For you, how are spirit and witness connected?

KB: Witness, the way I think of it, is both to see and to speak or “bear witness.”  The word "spirit" likewise brings together various ideas—everything from the soul to a notion of vigor. For me, the two terms come together in a kind of poetry that speaks truth,  that hearkens after understanding or enlightenment. Carolyn Forché talks about “poetry of witness” as a poetry “invested in the social.” Perhaps in my own practice the lens through which I refract experience involves justice.  The process includes vision and the Latin spiritus as in breath to speak.  But I also bring to it the sense of [being] inspired or soul and, therefore, a stance of an ethical and searching accounting.

 That sounds very hoity-toity.  On the most simple level, for me poetry of spirit and witness arise out of experiences that resonate and “mean” in a way beyond the ordinary moments. Oddly, that does not suggest they might not actually arise out of ordinary moments—an encounter with a pine marten, hearing a fiddle song, etc.. These poems might take as subject anything from war to lighting a cigarette, but what sets them apart is the significance embedded in the experience and the revealing of that deep understanding through the narrative details, language play, metaphors, and other tools of the poem.

AH: We’re approaching the application deadline for this retreat, and energy is already building! What are you most excited to share at the coming retreat? What are you hoping to see?

KB: Sometimes we need to be led to break open our own experiences. I use various exercises that help writers recognize and unearth the richness of their life encounters. I like to spend the time in a writing retreat to allow participants to create drafts of new work there on the spot, but also in helping them create a “bank” from which they can draw once they leave the workshop. I also try in various ways to harness the energy of working with other writers by creating scenarios that encourage cross-pollination.

Among the things I hope for: Writers getting nitty-gritty feedback AND getting wilder “what-if” feedback that might push their work out of their comfort zone. Writers making connections that will continue beyond the retreat itself. 

AH: I know many of us readers are always eager to gather more books to read in the future (or right now!). We’re down to a few months before the retreat, so now is a perfect time for some of us to keep stretching ourselves in reading and writing. What have you enjoyed reading lately?

KB: I recently finished Carolyn Forché’s memoir What You Have Heard Is True, an amazingly powerful story of her experience in El Salvador, a book both lyrical and brutal. I followed that with the novel The Tilted World co-written by Tom Franklin and Beth Ann Fennelly. Against the backdrop of the great Mississippi flood of 1927 and prohibition, the novel tells a story of relationships that kept me reading way past my bedtime!  Now I am embarking on reading Natalie Diaz’s Postcolonial Love Poem—can’t go wrong there.

“Unlawful Assembly,” a picto-poem from Kim

AH: What makes this retreat a must-attend for writers, even those who aren’t sure they’re “qualified” to write poetry? What would you say to writers who are on the fence about applying?

KB: I would say, “Be fearless, come write with me!” Or I would say there are as many ways of writing poetry as there are poets. We, none of us, ever feel “arrived” as poets.  I do think we learn to have more fun as we go along, so there is no better time to jump into the fun than right now. If you have a moment or several that are asking to be written about, if you have witnessed something that changed you,  if you can’t find a way to say that unsayable thing that haunts you, this might be the workshop for you.

Join Kimberly Blaeser, Nickolas Butler, Tessa Fontaine, and Peter Geye at this year’s Priory Writers’ Retreat, from June 25-28 in Eau Claire. Click here for more information about the workshops and here to apply. We look forward to writing with you this summer!

Want a few more resources? Click here to hear Kim read, here for a new poem in collaboration wth the New York Philharmonic,



Looking To Art And Community For Hope: A Conversation With Poet Angela Voras-Hills

by Angela Hugunin

For Angela Voras-Hills, community—whether in person or through books—is essential. An accomplished poet and wearer of multiple hats, Voras-Hills finds community to be valuable to the artistic process and life itself. Currently, she is organizing the Midwest Poetry Festival. This year, she released her debut poetry collection, Louder Birds , which was chosen by Traci Brimhall for the Lena-Miles Wever Todd Prize. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Kenyon Review Online, New Ohio Review,  Memorious, Rattle, Crab Orchard Review, and Best New Poets, among other journals and anthologies. She has been awarded grants from The Sustainable Arts Foundation and Key West Literary Seminar, as well as a fellowship from Writers' Room of Boston.

I recently had the pleasure of sharing an Angela-Angela chat with Voras-Hills. She shared insight into her inspirations, her outlook on the current state of the environment, the planet’s relevance to creativity, and the wonders of community. Voras-Hills was originally scheduled to be at an event celebrating National Poetry Month and Earth Day in April along with poets Kathryn Nuernberger and Claire Wahmanholm. However, the event has since been canceled in an effort to limit the potential spread of COVID-19. Nevertheless, Voras-Hills is an important voice for these times. Her work is honest and thought-provoking, and her responses to the following questions brought me hope in the midst of uncertain times. Through her wise responses, Voras-Hills offers meaningful encouragement, sharing insight and reading suggestions perfect for social distancing.

Angela Hugunin: You have multiple important roles, including poet, community organizer, and mother. What connections have you found between art and ecology? With that, what role do you see poets playing in sustainability?

Angela Voras-Hills: Poets have always looked to nature for answers. I mean, people have always looked to nature for answers (I’m thinking augury, astrology, bestiaries, etc.) and to understand life. Artists spend a lot of time observing the world, so it makes sense that we try to make sense of it while it shifts around us. Whether blatantly or not, I think most artists are ecologists to some extent.

As poets, I think we keep conversations about sustainability and the natural world moving forward. We call attention to the way things are changing, we create and depict potential futures based on the present, and we reimagine the past for guidance. While some people are reluctant to hear scientific data about how the natural world is changing, reading a book or poem in which the reader identifies themselves in this changing world can potentially help them understand their role and what is at stake. The more artists can connect with people, the more willing (I hope) people will be to see themselves as part of the world around them.

AH: As we approach National Poetry Month, I’d love to hear about which poets have most inspired you!

 AVH: My first loves were Wislawa Szymborska, Louise Gluck, Brigit Pegeen Kelly, and Linda Gregg. And then Jane Hirshfield, Laura Kasischke, Ada Limon. I mean, this list could go on for so long (and it would consist primarily of female poets), but these are the poets I turn to when I forget why poetry matters and how good it can be.

AH: Earth Day always brings a renewed energy to the environmental movement, yet lately, it feels like a lot of the news we’ve gotten about the planet has been discouraging. Last month, the Clean Water Act was weakened, stripping previously protected waterways of that protection. In the midst of this sort of news, where do you turn for hope?

AVH: Ugh. Hope can be so hard. Honestly, because I have kids, and because I had them in the face of this knowledge, I have to hold onto the silliest things. In my poem “Never Eat a Polar Bear’s Liver,” I say “I find hope in tending/red worms digesting scraps in a bin/beneath my sink.” It’s crazy, the little things I will do for hope. Composting. Recycling. Until there is big change, I’m not sure how much any of these small things really matter, but it is something I can do, and that’s better than doing nothing? And, to be real, the work of poets and writers and artists—knowing that I’m not alone in my hopefulness—that helps tremendously. 

AH: A lot of times, poetry is thought of as a solitary pursuit, yet I see you’re also a passionate community organizer and the founder of Arts + Literature Laboratory in Madison (which sounds like it could be an awesome cousin of the Chippewa Valley Writers Guild!). How have you seen creativity and community work in tandem, either through that organization or elsewhere?

AVH: YES! Community is my favorite! Before I found community, I was an avid journaler, an angsty, solitary scrawler of nonsense, and also a teenage mom. Being alone for so long is hard, and it’s nice to know there are other people out there thinking things you are thinking and doing things you want to do. And organizations that bring literature into the community/invite the community into literature make people see that writing and thinking and art are for everyone. Having a space where we can all exchange ideas and collaborate, where we are learning and creating together, really changes the shape of and conversation throughout a community. These are spaces that connect people who may not otherwise ever meet each other, and isn’t that so great? I’m looking forward to getting to know more of the people involved with the Chippewa Valley Writers Guild. Hooray, community!

 (That said, I think you can find community in books if that is who you are. But if you are not the kind of person who wants to Emily Dickinson their way through life, it’s so good to know other writers and readers.)

AH: You have a new poetry book out and I am intrigued just from the title, Louder Birds. Critics are already praising your ability to weave together Midwestern character with some of life’s biggest questions. Can you tell us a bit about what these poems collectively explore?

AVH: It’s funny, because a lot of people ask, “What is your book about?” and I never really have a great answer—it is decidedly not a “project book.” The book is definitely Midwestern. I was thinking a lot about home and what it means to be home (I started it while living in Boston), to come from a place. There is a lot of snow. There is a lot of blood. I spent so much of my childhood on my grandparents' farm and at my other grandparents' bar/resort, and this feeds a lot of the poems. During the time I was writing, my grandmother had Alzheimer’s, my Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer, my 8-year-old became a teenager, I had a baby. There is a lot of life existing alongside death. I'm into taxidermy. I'm terrified by climate change. A friend once said my poems are "the domestic gone feral," which I like. The collection is bleak, but I think hopeful, and maybe an argument for living, for seeing this mess through.

AH: Can you give us a sneak peek of what you hoped to share at the event?

 AVH: Sure! This was originally published in the Spring 2017 issue of Arkansas International.

Controlled Burn

The doe ran into the road, flipped

over our hood and dragged her back legs

across the highway into woods. The same day,

they were killing a man in Oklahoma

who wouldn’t die, they were deciding

when to try again, and men in masks

and bright orange suits set fire to the marsh—

the burning flesh of milkweed and switchgrass.

We are told to be fruitful. We are told

to rejoice. The next day, a hospital bed

is set up in the front room of the farmhouse

whose roof might collapse at any minute. As though

the heavens are aware of the weight

of a minute, as though each minute

responds solely to the sky. It’s illegal

to follow an injured deer

into woods with a gun,

but is it ok to tell a child about heaven

if you don’t believe it exists? Yes,

sing the chorus frogs,

who’d burrowed into the heart

of the marsh to escape the flames.

No, hisses the body

of a vole squashed flat,

perfectly filling

a crack in the blacktop.

AH: What are some words of wisdom you’d give to the aspiring poets out there?

AVH: I’ll yell again about community here, because finding people to support you feels so good. And read, read, read, read, read. Anything that speaks to you.

“Giving Away How An Act…Is Done Doesn't Make It Lose Any Of The Magic”: 5 Questions with Tessa Fontaine

Rome Alfonsas Balciunas

Some say that life is stranger than fiction.  It’s a claim that’s hard to dispute when one reads Tessa Fontaine’s debut memoir The Electric Woman, which recounts Tessa’s experiences performing in the last traveling show in America while simultaneously processing her mother’s declining health. Hailed as an “assured debut that doesn’t shy away from the task of holding the ordinary and otherworldly in its hand,” (New York Times Book Review),  “fascinating and heartfelt” (Booklist), and “ a behind-the-scenes peek at carnival life, and an ode to unconditional love" (Omnivoracious), indeed, the book has made quite a splash since its publication in 2018.  It’s gripping, poignant, and vivid in a way that fully embodies the undeniable beauty of nonfiction.

I had the honor of interviewing Tessa, who will serve as this summer’s nonfiction writer-in-residence at The Priory Writers’ Retreat. Apply now for Tessa’s workshop: “Beauty In Brevity: Finding Power In Flash Creative Nonfiction And Memoir.”

Rome Alfonsas Balciunas: Regarding the experiences in The Electric Woman, at what point did you realize you had to write about that time in your life?

Tessa Fontaine: As a person with a brain wired for writing, every experience has the potential to end up in a piece of writing, whether directly or indirectly. It was clear to me pretty early on that the stories of all the other sideshow performers were amazing, stories I wanted to record. I took copious notes while I was on the road, hundreds and hundreds of pages, but I had no idea what form it would take. I wrote short "Notes from the Road" essays while I was out there, and published them as I went. And then, when it was over and I had all these notes, I started sifting through them, trying to find some organizational principle. The more I reread all the moments, all the stories of the sideshow world, the more convinced I was I needed to try to write it out as a book.

RB: One of my favorite things about the book is how your descriptive language is vivid to the point of being visceral, and indeed hair-raising in some places. Reading your accounts of the different carnival acts made me feel like a member of the audience, witnessing the show with every one of my senses. How did you achieve such a hyper-realist style? Did any writers influence this style?

TF: Thank you! I worked very hard on describing the acts as thoroughly as possible. Giving away how an act, like sword swallowing, is done doesn't make it lose any of the magic—I think understanding that a real person is really putting a sword down their throat makes it all the more magical. Lots of writers influenced my writing - a few people I read over and over again while working on the book were Tim O'Brien's The Things They Carried, Lidia Yuknavitch's The Chronology of Water, Jesmyn Ward's Salvage the Bones, and poems by Li-Young Lee. All those writers are able to describe a world that I feel, as a reader, I get to fully inhabit.

RB: Your memoir does an incredible job of juxtaposing the difficulties of your mother's health and eventual passing alongside your experiences in the last traveling sideshow in America. When did you see these two strands of your story fitting together? Why did you choose to join the last traveling sideshow, as opposed to any other adventure?

TF: When I was first culling my notes, I thought I'd write a narrative nonfiction account of my time in the sideshow without my mother's story in it. Never in a million years did I expect to write a memoir. But as I was working on the draft, something kept falling flat—like, I wasn't being honest about what I was doing out there, or why. So it eventually became clear to me that I had to tell the whole story. As for why the sideshow—when I went down to Florida to interview the performers and watch the show, before I had any inkling that I'd join myself, I was amazed by these people who could stand on stage and perform away their fear, like their bodies were indestructible. And because I'd been watching my mom's body suffer so much, the sideshow performers seemed almost like they were outside suffering, or perhaps choosing how to suffer, to control their own pain. I wanted to do that myself.

“...when I went down to Florida to interview the performers and watch the show, before I had any inkling that I’d join myself, I was amazed by these people who could stand on stage and perform away their fear, like their bodies were indestructible.”

RB: What are you working on now?

TF: A novel!

RB: Your presentation at The Priory Retreat this summer will be about the beauty of extremely short creative nonfiction. What about flash nonfiction speaks to you in a way that longer styles of writing don’t?

TF: I think flash nonfiction offers us insight into being human through micro-experience - a moment, an object, a morsel. It allows for a super zoomed lens on something that then speaks for something else, much larger, almost the way a haiku can point to something so specific while also raising bigger philosophical questions. Also, it can be a delight for the eye. I love encountering white space on the page - literally, gaps between the text that force the reader to make some narrative connections herself. It allows for the great pleasure of juxtaposition and accumulation of imagery. I'm really looking forward to exploring this form with writers at The Priory Writers’ Retreat this summer!

For more on  Tessa’s course at The Priory, click here.



A Sneak Peek At “The Story of Your Life”; 6 Questions With B.J. Hollars On His Upcoming Event

Angela Hugunin

The past holds power. It pulls us toward reflection, helps us connect with others, and, somehow, also propels us forward. Yet it’s an elusive beast, one that can be difficult to catch while going it solo. How can we do it justice in our writing?

An upcoming event provides the perfect opportunity to refine our story-gathering skills. On March 10th, B.J. Hollars will give a craft talk titled, “The Story of Your Life: Writing Your Forgotten Past” from 6-7 p.m. at the L.E. Phillips Memorial Public Library. The event is part of the Eau Claire County Reads series. Isa Small, programming and communication manager for the L.E. Phillips Memorial Public Library, shared her excitement for B.J.’s event, connecting it to the protagonist’s journey in A Man Called Ove, this year’s selected title.  “It really is in sharing his past that Ove finds his future,” Isa said of the book. 

But in order to share our past in an engaging way, we could all use a guide. A seasoned storyteller in his own right, B.J. Hollars is the ideal leader for this sort of expedition. He’s the author of numerous books, including  Midwestern Strange: Hunting Monsters, Martians and the Weird in Flyover Country, The Road South: Personal Stories of the Freedom Riders,  Flock Together: A Love Affair With Extinct Birds, and From the Mouths of Dogs: What Our Pets Teach Us About Life, Death, and Being Human. In addition, he is an English professor at the University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire, and the founder and executive director of the Chippewa Valley Writers Guild. He has made story an integral part of his life and loves exploring it with others.

I recently had the pleasure of chatting with B.J. about the upcoming event. He shared insight about the value of writing about one’s past and how that can spark important connections with others.

Angela Hugunin: In some of your recent writing, including a piece for the Washington Post  (congrats, by the way!), you noted that you want to share unforgettable experiences with your children while you can. In Midwestern Strange, you set out to explore legends shared by communities, some of which have a long history. How has writing helped you rediscover important parts of your own past that you might otherwise have forgotten? 

B.J. Hollars: Writing, for me, is a time machine that travels both ways.  Some days I’m digging deep into my forgotten past, other days I’m dreaming up a future I can barely imagine.  No matter which way I’m traveling, I’m always trying to create an experience that will be meaningful to others.  The best way to make that happen, I think, is to continually strive to connect with the human heart.  Sure, you always run the risk of sentimentality, but when you get it just right, you can open up doors that allow readers to explore their own pasts and futures. 

Of course, the past gives us the most material.  As Flannery O’Connor famously said, “Anybody who has survived his childhood has enough information about life to last him the rest of his days.”  There’s a lot of truth there.  The hard part is separating the sepia-toned version of a past event from the authentic version.  That’s where the hard work happens.  That’s where I grapple the most.  

AH: Some memories are fuzzy, faraway and tough to pinpoint. What tricks do you have for conjuring up the past?

BH: Throughout the craft talk, we’ll work through half a dozen writing exercises specifically geared toward conjuring past events.  The fun part about writing exercises is that you’re never quite sure which exercise will trigger which memory.  Some exercises seem geared toward recalling the tough times, others more toward light-hearted moments.  But often, things become messy in the memory.  I’m always astonished when a seemingly simple exercise helps me dredge up a forgotten memory.

One of my favorite exercises involves drawing a blueprint of one’s childhood home.  Then, I ask writers to label the rooms, and attach a memory or two to each space.  It’s amazing what you can remember about your childhood home’s laundry room, for instance, when you really stop to consider it.

AH: I’ve heard that smell and sound are strongly linked to memory. What’s a specific scent or song that sparks a special memory for you?

BH: I have so many!  Somewhere in my bathroom I still have some half-filled cologne bottle from high school.  When I really want to take a stroll down memory lane, I’ll start there...

As for songs, I have different ones for various eras or moments.  For instance, my reflective teenage days were once embodied by Dave Matthews Band’s “Crash into Me” (quit laughing, I’m being honest here!  Ha).  A recent trip to an island off the coast of Ireland is captured by Bon Iver’s “Jelmore.”  Sometimes I’ll create full playlists when working on a manuscript in an effort to get my brain in the time and place it needs to be to write the piece. 

AH: I’ve been lucky to gain awesome writing tips from you in classes at UW-Eau Claire. For this event, you’ll be bringing your teaching off campus, likely with folks of a different age group. What do you most enjoy about teaching in a setting like the L.E. Phillips Memorial Public Library, where more community members are present?

BH: Well that’s awful kind, and here’s the 20.00 I owe you for saying so…JK.  More seriously, one of my favorite things about teaching in community settings such as the L.E. Phillips Memorial Public Library is the opportunity to connect with all sorts of folks with all sorts of backgrounds and experiences, all of whom share a common interest in the written word.  Of course, such a community can be found in a college classroom, too, but the community courses tend to lend themselves to more intergenerational teaching, which I also love.  The more different we are, the richer the stories.  For instance, once, while a young student asked for help on an essay on the 1940 Chicago Cubs, a non-traditional piped in, “I went to all the games that season!”  The observation lit up the room.  I realized I’d probably never hear such a comment in a workshop again.  Ever since that moment, I’ve been doubly committed to creating experiences for community writers.  We’re all better when we can share our knowledge.

AH: Sometimes I hesitate to write about my life because I’m afraid it’s not exciting enough. What advice would you give to those who aren’t sure their stories matter?

BH: If you’re concerned about potentially “navel gazing,” so to speak, then there’s a good chance you’ll avoid it.  Often, the problem is when people don’t have any clue that their stories don’t resonate with others.  A mentor once told me that the most important lesson we can teach our students is that their stories matter, and that “they all flow into the same river.”  That last bit sort of puzzled me for awhile, but I think I know what he meant.  And I know he’s right, too. 

The writer Brian Doyle has an apropos quote which I think about often.  I’m paraphrasing, but the gist is “Writing is not about you, it’s about us.”  This is the thought I always carry with me.   It’s the safeguard that steers from away from the navel gazing.

AH: In your opinion, what’s the value of exploring one’s past?

BH: Self-reflection is how we get better.  It’s how I’ve become a better teacher, a better writer, a better husband, a better father, and a better human.  Of course, I still have a long way to go on all of these fronts.  In the same way athletes watch game tape, writers return to their pasts.  I don’t think we’re necessarily trying to analyze our errors as much as keeping an eye out for meaningful moments that, when skillfully rendered, might make meaning for others, too.   I guess that’s the trick of this, and something I look forward to chatting about during the craft talk: How do we take a personal moment and make it meaningful art for others?

Join B.J. Hollars at the L.E. Phillips Memorial Public Library on Tuesday, March 10th from 6-7 pm for an evening of discovery, writing, and peering into the past!

What To Know "Before and After The Book Deal": An Interview with Courtney Maum

 by Elizabeth de Cleyre

One of my MFA professors once brought in a freshly-printed book deal and said, “One day, if you’re lucky, you might have one of these.” Aside from one hour in the presence of a contract, the two-year curriculum did not include a comprehensive guide to the ins-and-outs of publishing. Most graduate programs focus on the writing itself, not what happens after its written. And yet this naive graduate student had once hoped a book deal would be handed out with diplomas.

 Most writers cobble together an understanding of publishing and promotion through articles and books, lacking cohesion and leaving holes in one’s understanding. The often mystifying process feels that much more bewildering when discussed in bits and pieces. There are the known unknowns—that which we know we don’t know, like how advances actually work and how much to expect—and then there are unknown unknowns—all that we don’t even know we don’t know.

 Thankfully, Courtney Maum breaks down the mystifying process of publishing in promotion in her latest book, Before and After the Book Deal: A Writer's Guide to Finishing, Publishing, Promoting, and Surviving Your First Book. The comprehensive guide is equal parts entertaining and enlightening, informed by her own career as a novelist and extensive research and interviews with agents, editors, writers and authors.

 In November, Maum delivered the endnote address at The Loft’s Wordsmith Conference in Minneapolis, where she pointed out the precariousness of publishing and offered practical advice for redefining success.

 I ran into Maum at the elevator, and quickly blurted out how much I adored her chapbook Notes from Mexico, a slim book that stayed with me long after its publication in 2012. Her funny and heartfelt debut I Am Having So Much Fun Here Without You garnered praise from seemingly everyone, including Vogue, Vanity Fair, Elle, O Magazine The New York Times Book Review, Washington Post and The Wall Street Journal. In Maum’s second novel Touch, a trend forecaster for a tech company envisions people moving away from smart devices and back toward “in-personism;” I count the remarkably prescient and palpable book among my favorite novels. Her latest was published by Tin House in July of 2019, which Margaret Leonard of Dotters Books called, “a wonderful coming-of-age story, the heat of Costalegre makes it the perfect summer read.”

 Now in the depths of winter, Maum generously answered questions via email about her first work nonfiction, the importance of writing residencies and workshops, dispensing sage advice in her free newsletter, and running a collaborative retreat in Connecticut. 

Elizabeth de Cleyre: What inspired you to write Before and After the Book Deal: A Writer's Guide to Finishing, Publishing, Promoting, and Surviving Your First Book? 

 Courtney Maum: In America, there are tons of books that purport to teach you how to write well enough to get a book deal, and there are lots of classes and conferences you can attend for the same purpose. But when you actually achieve your dream and get that book deal? Good luck finding any advice! I wanted to write this book because it doesn’t exist and I felt it really needed to. What does life look and feel like as a published author? How do you navigate the very weird transition between being your book’s writer and then becoming its author (and its ambassador and social media manager and PR manager and…)

EDC: The experience of publishing and promoting a book about publishing and promoting a book seems so meta. Has the publishing and promotional experience been any different from your last four books? Was there anything you learned in the writing of this book that helped you with the publishing and promotion process? 

 CM: Meta indeed! This was a different kind of publishing experience, for sure. It’s my first book of non-fiction, and it’s also the first book of mine that has content that I can easily teach, so touring for this book has been an entirely different ball game. I’m working with students, teaching at writing centers, lecturing. There’s something of a built-in audience for Before and After the Book Deal, so I know when I do events that people will actually show up, whereas with novels, you never know what to expect. If you get five people, you’re super lucky.

 This year, I published two books: Before and After the Book Deal and Costalegre. I’ll never do it again, it’s honestly too much work having books six months apart, but one of the positives is that I haven’t had the free time to worry  about how either book is doing. I just do what I need to do and move on. There quite literally isn’t time to sweat the small stuff—that has been a positive for me, because you don’t get far in publishing when you are obsessed with control—so many factors are out of your hands, sometimes it’s just healthier to let go, trust your team, and see what happens.

EDC: In the section entitled "When the show goes on the road" you mention how audience members (usually men) will ask touring authors advice on how to get their own books, and you suggest directing them to the "'writing reference” section in the bookshop where they can find this book." How many times has this happened to you? Has it happened to you on this tour? 

 CM: Incredibly, this is probably the ONE tour where I haven’t had “that guy” ask this question. It’s amazing, right? Before, it didn’t matter which novel I was touring for, I always had someone who would be like, okay, I don’t really care what you’re saying, the real question is how can you help me? I guess having non-fiction out posits you as an expert in your subject. The questions during my Q&As (and they are actual questions! Not comments cloaked as questions) have been serious, thoughtful, savvy. The audience members, too.

 EDC: You recently mentioned that early feedback on the book idea was to self-publish. Why? Did you consider it? Why did you want to work with a traditional publisher? 

 CM: I didn’t consider it for an instant. I self-published a collection of short stories in my late twenties and it was a very positive experience that I considered a stepping stone to traditional publication. I don’t think that certain gatekeepers understood the shape this book was going to take when they were imagining it as a published object. They thought it was going to be an exposé about the industry or a memoir—my “publishing memoir.” (You can’t see me, but I’m laughing.) It wasn’t until I got the entire thing under their noses where they were like, oh, wow. Now we get it. This is actually a really empowering book.

 EDC: How long did it take you to find a publisher, and how did the connection with Catapult come about? 

 CM: It didn’t take long at all. Our submission list was really small and Catapult responded right away— Julie Buntin, my editor for this book, saw the value in the project immediately because she herself is both an editor and a writer. This being said, when it was on submission, it was only “After the Book Deal.” Catapult rightly argued that the book would find a wider audience if I added a “Before” section to it so that we could offer people a really comprehensive resource. I think that was a smart call.

 EDC: Before and After the Book Deal is easily the most comprehensive and compelling book on the publishing industry that I've read, one that should be required reading for all writers. You mentioned interviewing nearly 200 individuals for the book. How did you condense all that research? What was the process like? How did you decide how to structure it? 

 CM: Thank you! Gosh, it was such a great process. Usually the writing of a book is so lonely—not so with this book. From the get-go, I was in touch with authors and publishing professionals WAY above my station. So many people were so generous, giving me their time and sharing their knowledge before I even had a book deal for the project.

 I wrote the table of contents first. Then I did a beat sheet, basically, sketching out what my intro to each section would be about and putting placeholders for either the exact contributor I wanted or what kind of quote I wanted, then I’d find the right person to offer tonality of quote. I pulled from my own contacts maybe 40% of the time, and for the rest of the book, I asked people to recommend people—I wanted to make sure that I was talking beyond my circle of colleagues and friends. There really wasn’t anything cut from the book. Except my run-on sentences.

 EDC: Was there anything you came across in your research that really surprised you? Or did it feel like you were mostly affirming and structuring what you already knew or had experienced? 

 CM: I think what surprised me, as you intuited, was also an affirmation—what surprised me was how ready people were to talk about this topic, about what life is really like off of social media, behind the curtain, for the published writer. We are educated to be hashtag grateful all the time, and people were just so ready to say, you know what? Sure, publishing is a privilege but it is really hard. It makes us raw. It makes us vulnerable. Things don’t go the way we want. When they do go the way we want, we don’t know what to aim for any more. Success is always a moving target in this industry and that can be hard to sit with.

 EDC: Part of what makes the book compelling and hard to put down is the injection of humor. You've written witty columns for Tin House, taught online courses through Catapult on how to be funny on the page, and have an upcoming AWP panel on humor in fiction. Much of publishing advice is serious and a little stiff, so why did you decide to incorporate comic elements? Was it difficult, given the subject matter or publishing standards for this kind of book?

 CM: What would have been difficult would have been to write this book without humor. Writing is hard enough, who wants to read a somber guide about writing and publishing? I think that a sense of humor is the number one tool you’ll need in your survival kit if you want to be a published writer. There is just so little you can control, so many arbitrary things that happen, lucky strikes that come out of nowhere, terrible luck that ruins your book launch—if you don’t have a sense of humor about the whole thing, or learn to develop one, I am not exaggerating—you are going to have a nervous breakdown.

 EDC: You founded a collaborative retreat in Norfolk, Connecticut for people working in the arts. What was the inspiration for The Cabins, and how has it evolved? 

 CM: My husband is a filmmaker, and it was on the short film festival circuit that I first got the idea for The Cabins. I thought, gosh, isn’t this ridiculous, all these short film filmmakers who will never meet the short story writers whose work they are in a perfect position to adapt. Originally, I envisioned The Cabins as a collaboration between writers and filmmakers, but it turns out that filmmakers are impossible to pin down. Much like actors, they are in the gig economy and have to be able to drop everything at a moment’s notice.  It’s hard for them to commit to anything. So when I finally did create the program, I made it  truly interdisciplinary. It’s like an adult summer arts camp where everyone learns from each other. We get out of our silos. We learn things we didn’t even know we wanted to learn.

 EDC: In addition to writing books, you also lecture and teach at workshops like Tin House Winter Workshop and the Loft Wordsmith Conference, among others. Can you speak to the role or importance of writing residencies and workshops? 

 CM: Your success in the publishing industry is going to be largely based on your ability to forge and maintain relationships. Going to writing workshops and conferences teaches you how to be a good listener, it teaches you how to small talk, how to give feedback, how to take feedback. For many, the writing workshop is one of the first places where we get a glimpse of how our work will be received by the outside world. But perhaps more importantly, sometimes we meet someone at these things—even in passing—who changes our approach to writing. Or to life. I took a one-hour master class with Michelle Hoover back at the Wesleyan Writers Workshop in 2011 and I am telling you, it changed my writing. I started getting published. That one hour, with one great teacher, made me a better writer.

 EDC: What books are you reading and recommending lately? 

 CM: Thank you for asking! I just finished Jacqueline Woodson’s Red at the Bone. My God. I’ve never read such a gorgeous book. I just adored it. I am currently reading Sally Rooney’s Normal People. I wanted to wait until the hype died down to do so. I pre-ordered Jenny Offill’s Weather and I’m sure I’ll be a wreck when it arrives because I will wish that I could write a book like that. And I can’t wait for my friend Marie Helene Bertino’s Parakeet to come out this spring!

 EDC: What's next for you? What are you working on now? 

 CM: I’m excited about this newsletter I’ve launched called “Get Published, Stay Published.” People can sign up on my website CourtneyMaum.com – it’s free. I’m getting ready for the June edition of The Cabins, and I’m revising a memoir about depression. And I’m still promoting Costalegre and Before and After the Book Deal around the country.

Find more of Courtney Maum’s books on her website, https://www.courtneymaum.com/books

 Elizabeth de Cleyre is a writer and editor. Find her at cedecreative.com.

Chippewa Valley Writers Guild to Host The Priory Writers’ Retreat for Second Summer

credit: Justin Patchin

From June 25-28, 2020, the Chippewa Valley Writers Guild is thrilled to host The Priory Writers’ Retreat for a second year.  Retreat dates are June 25-28, 2020. 

Originally established as a monastery for Benedictine nuns in 1964, today The Priory serves as an ideal location for creativity to flourish.  Situated on 120 wooded acres just miles from downtown Eau Claire, the property features 48 single-occupancy dorm style, air-conditioned rooms, several common areas, and no shortage of natural splendor. 

This summer’s course offerings include:

• Tessa Fontaine’s “Beauty in Brevity: Finding Power in Flash Creative Nonfiction and Memoir"

• Nickolas Butler’s “Great Tales of Action and Adventure (and Horror, too…)”

• Kimberly Blaeser’s “Poetry of Spirit and Witness”

• Peter Geye’s “The First Chapter, the Last Chance: How The Opening Pages of Your Novel Can Make It Or Break It”

“This summer is poised to be our best yet,” said Guild executive director, B.J. Hollars.  “We’ve worked hard to bring participants our most unique offerings to date, including courses on flash nonfiction and memoir, action and adventure narratives, and more.  We hope there’s something for everyone.”

Hollars also noted that while the daily schedule will mostly remain the same (sustained creative time in the morning, workshopping in the afternoon, and celebratory readings, music and performances in the evening), the retreat will showcase some changes as well.  “We’ve overhauled our entire menu,” Hollars said, “and also secured partnerships with SHIFT Cyclery and Coffee Bar and The Brewing Projekt.  We want both local and out-of-town writers to enjoy some of Eau Claire’s local offerings.”

Additional sponsors include: the UW-Eau Claire Foundation, Pablo Center at the Confluence, Wisconsin Writers Association, Visit Eau Claire, Wisconsin Arts Board,  JAMF Software, and Write On, Door County.

In addition to robust writer-in-residence led workshops, participants will also enjoy craft talks from Nickolas Butler, Kimberly Blaeser, Peter Geye, as well as a keynote address from Tessa Fontaine.  On Saturday, June 27, The Priory Celebratory Reading will be held at Pablo Center at the Confluence.  Tickets will soon be available to the public.

Priory participant Erin Stevens recently commented on her experience during The Priory’s inaugural summer.  “What I love most about The Priory is the opportunity to learn from writers of all genres.  While I had signed up for and worked most closely with the essay group last year, it was incredibly beneficial to hear the craft talks from the fiction and poetry writers-in-residence.”

The cost is 480.00. This includes three-nights lodging, on-site meals and drinks, personalized instruction and critique, commemorative mug, craft talks and keynote address, bus transport to and from Pablo Center at the Confluence, complimentary ticket to the Writer-in-Residence Reading, and all other on-site events. For non-lodging participants, spots are available for 380.00.  Scholarships are available, including our “Writer Exchange Contest,” which provides a free stay at Write On, Door County’s retreat.

Applications open February 1.  To apply, prepare a 500-word writing statement, as well as a writing sample. For prose workshops (Nickolas Butler, Tessa Fontaine and Peter Geye), please submit no more than 10 double-spaced pages of a single piece (excerpts are fine) or multiple short pieces, if preferred.  For our poetry workshop (Kimberly Blaeser), please submit 3-5 poems. 

Be inspired, inspire others, and we hope to see you this summer!

Five BIG Updates to The Priory Writers’ Retreat

B.J. Hollars

Our first summer at The Priory Writers’ Retreat was nothing short of magical.  In no small part, this was due to the perfect combination of committed writers, engaging writers-in-residence, and a comfortable setting.  But in the spirit of perpetual improvement, over the past six months we’ve listened to participant feedback and worked hard to make every suggested adjustment we can to the facility.  Thankfully, most of these fixes were quick and easy!  And they’ll make a world of difference!

We’re pleased to have partnered with UW-Eau Claire’s Camps and Conferences Team to bring these changes to next year’s retreat.   

1.)   A New and Improved Menu.  Food matters!  And because food fuels the work, we want to be sure to offer participants the very best.  This summer, we’ve dramatically overhauled our menu while keeping costs relatively the same.  Participants will now enjoy three hot meals a day. 

• Breakfasts include a variety of the following: croissants, hashbrowns, crispy bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs with cheddar, Garden vegetable quiche, mushroom and spinach quiche, donuts, breakfast breads, and more! 

• The lunch menu includes Chimichurri Flank Steak Sandwich, Buffalo chicken wrap boxed lunch, Spicy Italian Baguette Boxed Lunch, and cookies, chips and fruits. 

• Thursday’s dinner (“Little Italy”) includes Caesar Salad with Homemade Croutons, Vegetarian Antipasto Platter, Assorted Rolls and Butter, Sautéed Fresh Zucchini, Pasta Bar with Spaghetti, and Penne Pasta with Marinara Sauce and Pesto Cream Sauce, Home-Style Meatballs in Marinara Sauce, Traditional Chicken Cacciatore, Tiramisu, and more. 

• Friday’s dinner (“Asian Fusion”) features Asian Salad, Sticky Rice, Garlic Lemon Ginger Broccoli, Vegetable Lo Mein, Cilantro Breast of Chicken, Teriyaki Glazed Salmon Filet, Fortune Cookies, Coconut Lemon Almond Gourmet Bar, and more. 

• Saturday’s dinner will be on your own in downtown Eau Claire—with plenty of choices for every palate. 

• Vegetarian options are available.  And do let us know about any allergies!

2.)   Craft Coffee Brought To You Bright and Early. While paper and pen may be the traditional tools of the writer’s trade, let’s never, ever overlook the power of coffee.  Good coffee.  Great coffee.  Strong coffee.  The kind of coffee that will snap your eyelids back and send you soaring to the keys.  This summer, participants can enjoy 6AM freshly-brewed coffee courtesy of Shift Cyclery and Coffee Bar—Eau Claire’s premiere shop.  And enjoy your cup of joe in your very own, brand new Priory mug!  You can even take it with you as our gift to you.

3.)   New and Improved Classroom Space.  While there are no shortage of writing nooks at The Priory, last summer we did struggle to find ideal classroom spaces for all of our courses.  But not anymore!  This summer, a new classroom will be created to ensure that each of our four courses can have its own intimate space.  In addition to contributing to the overall audience, this additional space will also help manage acoustics. 

4.)   Decorous Occasion Social Hour.  Last year we were thrilled to have an evening of live music on Friday night.  This year, we’re excited to have MORE live music.  But rather than a sit-in-your-seats concert, this year it’ll be what we’re calling our “Decorous Occasion Social Hour.”  Following a lovely dinner, we’ll all gather in the main hall for live music, socialization, networking, and a cool drink of your choice (non-alcoholic options available, of course.)

5.)   Upgraded Towels, Sheets and Linens.  Your comfort matters.  This summer, we’re pleased to offer all our participants upgraded towels, bedsheets and linens.  Additionally, extra mattresses are available upon request.  Having said that, our on-site lodging participants should be aware that our rooms are of a dorm room quality.  Each private room has a desk and twin bed.  Participants are encouraged to bring whatever might improve your comfort: books, art, additional bedding, etc. Or, if you prefer, you can stay off-site.  In short, there are many options for your comfort.

This is only the beginning.  Over the next few months we’ll continue to work hard to curate the perfect experience for you.  When you’re at The Priory, your primary responsibility is to give yourself fully to your craft.  Let us ease your mind of the day-to-day tasks.  You’re here as our guest.  You’re here for your work.  Applications open February 1!

CVWG Receives Cultural Arts Grant!

The CVWG is thrilled to announce that we’ve receive a $1000.00 Cultural Arts Grant courtesy of Visit Eau Claire and the Wisconsin Arts Board! This money will be used to ensure that we can bring the best writers-in-residence to our retreat, while also keeping costs low for our participants.

2019 poetry write-in-residence Dasha Kelly

credit: Justin Patchin Photography

“Our retreat participants deserve guidance from the very best,” said CVWG executive director B.J. Hollars. “And thanks to the generous support of Visit Eau Claire and the Wisconsin Arts Board, we can now entice writers-in-residence from throughout the country to work closely with regional writers for three days this summer at The Priory Writers’ Retreat.”

credit: Justin Patchin Photography

The Priory Writers’ Retreat is a vibrant, inclusive, and collaborative writing community in the heart of Wisconsin’s Chippewa Valley.  Originally established as a monastery for Benedictine nuns in 1964, today The Priory serves as an ideal location for creativity to flourish.  Situated on 120 wooded acres just miles from downtown Eau Claire, the property features 48 single-occupancy, air-conditioned rooms, several common areas, and no shortage of natural splendor. 

Applications for the summer 2020 retreat open on February 1.

The retreat will be help from June 25-28, 2020.

For more information on Visit Eau Claire, click here.

For ore information on the Wisconsin Arts Board, click here.

For a personal reflection on last summer’s Priory Writers’ Retreat, click here.

If you or your business would like to become a 2020 sponsor, it’s not too late! Drop us a not at chippewavalleywritersguld@gmail.com to learn how you can help!

ANNOUNCING: The Writer Exchange Contest with Write On, Door County!

It’s a new year, and we’ve got a new partnership! The Guild is thrilled to collaborate with Write On, Door County, one of the most active writing communities in the region, to provide an incredible retreat experience for writers across the state.

In summer 2020, the Chippewa Valley Writers Guild and Write On, Door County will partner to host its first ever “writer exchange.”  One lucky Door County writer will enjoy a free retreat at The Priory Writers’ Retreat in Eau Claire, Wisconsin, and in exchange, one lucky Chippewa Valley Writers Guild member will receive a free week-long stay at Write On, Door County’s writers’ residence in Fish Creek, Wisconsin.  (CVWG membership determined by social media following and/or free newsletter subscription.)

The Write On, Door County residence is on 40 acres of woods, orchards, and meadows between the water of Green Bay and Lake Michigan in beautiful Door Country, Wisconsin. For decades, writers have taken inspiration amid the landscape while avoiding the distractions that hound them at home.  Both spaces are committed to creating the conditions that allow writers to thrive.

“The Chippewa Valley Writers Guild has long admired the fantastic literary citizenship work taking place in Door County,” said CVWG executive director B.J. Hollars.  “In many ways, Write On, Door County is a model for what a thriving writing organization can be.  We’re so excited to share writing expertise with one another.” 

Jerod Stanek, artistic director of Write On, Door County added, “Wisconsin has such a rich, vibrant writing community. It's wonderful to develop a program that connects writers from different parts of the state and introduces them to new audiences." 

Each organization will be responsible for selecting the writer who will take part in the exchange.  The Chippewa Valley Writers Guild will host a contest which opens on January 1, 2020.  Applicants will be screened in a blind submission process and selected by a panel of three writers.  The winner will receive a residency in August 2020, though there is some flexibility, depending on availability.

Why should Guild members apply through the Guild? For one, the contest submission fee is half the Write On, Door County application price. And all proceeds help offset the cost of the exchange. Additionally, there’s far less competition. We know for certain that one of our Guild members will win!

To apply, click here.

Please find The Writer Exchange Contest rules below:

Rules:

• Our panel of three judges will read each blind submission to determine, in their opinion, which submission receives the highest ranking in terms of quality. Identifying information will only be visible to the contest organizer and not the judges.

• Submit up to 5 pages of poetry OR 10 double-spaced pages of prose through Submittable (click “Apply Now” above or below) between January 1, 2020 and March 1, 2020. Prose pages can be a selection from a larger work, or several short pieces combined into a single document.

• Do not include your name or any other identifying information on your submitted creative work. 

• Include your name and contact information on the Submittable page prior to uploading your submission. 

• Include a brief cover letter, including the title(s) of your creative work and a brief biographical statement in the provided space.  This will only be visible to the contest organizer and not the judges.

• Applicants must be at least 21 years old and members of the Chippewa Valley Writers Guild. (Membership is determined by social media following and/or free newsletter subscription.)

• The winner will be announced in mid-March 2020.

• Application Fee: $20.00 (half off Write On, Door County’s usual application fee)

5 Reasons to Give to the Guild This #GivingTuesday

credit: Justin Patchin

B.J. Hollars

Executive Director

 Another #GivingTuesday is upon us, which means—in additional to our humble plea for the financial gifts that will ensure a robust year of programming ahead—it’s time to take a moment to reflect on the work we do and why we do it. 

To my mind, there are dozens of reasons to give to the Chippewa Valley Writers Guild.  But in the interest of time (time is writing, after all!), I’ve narrowed the list to my top five reasons.

5.) People.  First and foremost, the Guild is all about people.  We’re here to connect you, collaborate with you, and build community with you.  We’re here to celebrate with you, commiserate with you, and be a present and positive force all year round.  Thank you for being you.  

Credit: Justin Patchin

4.) Programs.  Our wide array of programming is the best way to build our community.  We’ve got something for everyone: the Sound & Stories series, Writers Anonymous, 6x6: A Reading Series, Barstow & Grand, Oddly Enough, and a multitude of craft talks.  And have we mentioned our Weekend Writers’ Retreat at The Oxbow AND The Priory Writers’ Retreat?  Taken together, this is the most robust literary programming I’ve ever been a part of.  In their own way, each program contributes to our shared goal of improving our collective literary work.  Our testimonials speak for themselves, including this one, which we received on the final day of The Priory Writers’ Retreat: “I have been writing for many years.  I'm a college professor...and direct the writing center on campus. However, it was not until this retreat that I find myself as a writer, not just an academic. A writer! The type of writer I wanted to be when I was ten years old but lost sight of over time..." Welcome home, Writer! 

Credit: Justin Patchin

3.) Partnerships. An organization such as ours is only as strong as its partnerships.  As such, we make it our business to foster and grow our relationships with an array of literary-minded and arts-loving groups and businesses.  We are so grateful to our partners, just a few of whom I’ll name below: the University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire Foundation, Pablo Center at the Confluence, Wisconsin Arts Board, Eau Claire Community Foundation, JAMF Software, Royal Credit Union, Wisconsin Public Radio, Volume One, The Oxbow Hotel, Odd Humyns, Visit Eau Claire, Write On, Door County, Friends of the L.E. Phillips Memorial Public Library, L.E. Phillips Memorial Public Library, Chippewa Valley Book Festival,  Converge Radio 99.9, Brewing Projekt, Modicum Brewing Co, Shift Cyclery and Coffee Bar, Dotters Books, 200 Main, University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire’s English Department, Chippewa Valley Technical College, NOTA, BANFF Film Festival, and more!  In addition, we’ve also been named to the Wisconsin Poet Laureate Commission, which provides us a seat at one of the most vital “literary tables” in the region.  These partnerships create possibilities: we’re better able to do what we do because they do what they do.  Thanks to all!

Credit: Justin Patchin

2.) Projects.  We’re not just in the business of educating, we’re also in the business of creating!  Some of our most rewarding experiences have come by way of community members reaching out and saying, “So I’ve got an idea…”. From there, the idea grows into reality!  Barstow & Grand is a fantastic example.  When B&G editor Eric Rasmussen first approached the Guild with his plan to create a regional literary journal committed to professionalizing our region’s writers (while also providing a great publication opportunity!) we jumped at the chance to join in.  For the past three years, Eric’s overseen every aspect of the journal—from building a team of readers, to providing internship opportunities for students, to creating, promoting, and marketing three beautiful issues.  (Buy yours today!). We couldn’t be prouder of the projects we’ve created together.

Credit: Luong Huynh

1.)   Because this Guild is YOUR Guild.  Without people, there are no programs, no partnerships, and no projects.  Simply put, this Guild is yours, and everything good that comes from it is thanks to you. As such, we are all responsible for its financial stability.  Let today be the day you give to our shared organization.  If everyone reading this became a 5.00/month sustaining member, we would be able to meet our target goals for the coming year.  Which include: creating a summer retreat scholarship for writers of color, enhancing our craft talk series, subsidizing ticket prices for all our paid events, and providing honoraria for our webmaster, editors, series leaders, and interns.  All of this is possible with your help. 

Here at the Guild, every member counts.  And since we refuse to collect dues, we rely on your generosity, instead.  Please prove that we can thrive on this model.  Let’s keep it free by giving today!

In closing, a humble thank you for giving today. Let’s grow the Guild for all.

Be inspired, inspire others,

B.J. Hollars