 Jhon Sanchez is a Colombian-born writer who came to the United States seeking political asylum in 1998. He received a law degree from Indiana University and an MFA in English and creative writing from Long Island University. His work has appeared in Breakwater Review, The Overpass, New Lit Salon Press, the Bronx Memoir Project, The New York Mills Dispatch, and Letting Go, An Anthology of Attempts. His short story, “The Japanese Rice Cooker,” edited by Casey Ellis was recently nominated for the Pushcart Prize. His email address is [email protected]. You can read Jhon's essay, "Album for a Poem," in Letting Go: An Anthology of Attempts. "I write a piece and while writing I live the piece. It is entirely mine. It’s like a love affair – not a marriage. Then, when I read the piece, it seems entirely new to me. There is some kind of energy in it. It’s like a person I want to bring to bed. Sometimes, I read things I have written and I ask myself, 'Who wrote this?' Letting Go is an anthology of true stories. As a writer of fiction, did you find it harder to write a nonfiction story? Well, I also write poetry and I have written memoir. That’s what I do every day during my writing exercise - I write some of the events that happen in my life. The other day I was in a workshop and the instructor told us to write a secret about ourselves and to write a lie about ourselves. Then he asked, “What was the most difficult?” Everybody said that the most difficult was to write the secret. I disagreed. I knew my secrets, but I wasn’t withholding any lies. And even going beyond that, a lie can be the reverse side of the secret. I think there is this idea that fiction is easier because it’s a lie and memoir is more difficult because it’s the truth. No. Both require an emotional encounter and a battle. I can see that sometimes we face the question, “What will people think about me?” But this question would pop up in any fictional story that we write and in each of those stories there is a piece of me in each character. I cannot deny that. The question is: Is it difficult to accept myself as a character in the memoir or myself as a character in the fictional story? The answer depends on what I’m writing about and not the genre. What do you enjoy most about writing? The opportunity for reflection as well as the movement of the story. Once you tell a story, the story starts to acquire its own shape or to walk its own path. It’s fun for me to discover these elements. What’s the hardest part about writing for you? There are many that cross my mind now. One is to stick to the story. I have so many stories to tell and I need to say to myself, “First this one and later the other.” On the other hand, editing is challenging. I’m an English-as-a-second-language speaker and when I write I don’t realize what is acceptable, what is understood and what would be a good poetic language. I need to leave this language in “reposo,” which means resting in Spanish, and this process will often take me months. Where do your ideas come from? I come from a large family where everybody makes a lot of jokes. I think my ideas come from the ability to see the absurd and the impossible at the same time. They also come from personal situations. Sometimes, I do some meditation exercises that help me to think about things and I write and write. It’s a process of writing and putting everything in motion. The piece in the Letting Go anthology, “Album for A Poem,” is meant to be part of a large collection of essays about my writing process. Sometimes, I walk to explore other places and get obsessed with things I see. Then I read about them, and I walk along avenues, enter museums and meditate in churches. In “Major Ascension Luna,” one of my short stories published by Breakwater Review, I got obsessed with rue or the plant of grace. I read about it and I even bought some. I also wrote an essay about how the story came to light. The story came as I was walking in the Bronx and I entered one its Botanicas. How much time each week do you devote to writing? It all depends. I try to write at least 15 minutes every day. I find that timing is important for me. I set the clock and I concentrate during that time only on writing. What are you working on? I have several projects at the moment. I’m editing several short stories. I have some poems here and there. I also have a novel that I need to return to. The other day during my daily practice came an idea for an essay; but more than an idea it was an experience of pain when I thought about a moment in Colombian history. I started writing about that but I cannot write it now; I literarily don’t have the time. What has been the most surprising about learning your craft? That I forget. I write a piece and while writing I live the piece. It is entirely mine. It’s like a love affair – not a marriage. Then, when I read the piece, it seems entirely new to me. There is some kind of energy in it. It’s like a person I want to bring to bed. Sometimes, I read things I have written and I ask myself, “Who wrote this?” Do you think workshops have helped you become a better writer? Yes, definitely. When I came from Colombia, I was skeptical of workshops. I thought that a creative writing class was a literature class where you learn the forms and the formulas like mathematical equations. The first workshop was with Clark Blaise who told me to submit an essay for the next week. It was like going for the first day of classes in medical school and being in an operating room with a scalpel in hand. I wrote something and Clark didn’t allow me to workshop it. After class, he approached me and said, “This class is an exploration of yourself. The essay you gave us is too philosophical. Just try again.” Of course, a workshop is always an exploration of yourself. You walk through paths that you have never walked or never thought you were going to walk. I never thought to write a sci-fi story but reading my classmates’ work helped me to explore this avenue. In a workshop, I have a captive audience. Of course people may like or dislike your piece but you hope the story may have a certain impact, or certain direction. If not, I have to ask myself, “Why?” or to see whether the new directions are valid paths to continue exploring. On the other hand, classes like Martha Hughes's and workshops like John Reed's or Don Scotty's, as well as the Wordsmith workshop, Under the Accent of My Skin, and the workshops offered by the Bronx Writing Center, among many others, have helped me to develop my aesthetic vision. Tell us any secret rituals you have for getting started each day. I write my dreams every day. I have been writing my dreams since 2009 on a regular basis. They aren’t meant to be read or published. They are only part of my daily routine. I sit at my kitchen table, drink my coffee and start typing. Any writers you like to read to inspire you to write? I cannot think of any particular writer. The truth is that when I read a writer who inspires me, I feel that he is talking to me, only to me. It is like I getting a letter with special note, For Jhon only. Murakami is whispering to me. Garcia Marquez came to tell me that little secret. Chekhov always tells me to be careful with the pistol if you put it there in the scene. Who do you trust to read your work while in progress? I usually don’t allow anybody to read anything that I consider unfinished. This is not a strict rule and sometimes it can be rather restrictive. I feel more comfortable with a piece that has a sense of wholeness. Let me give you an example: Someone draws a tiny black line in the upper side of a piece of paper. Then he asks you, “What do you think?” Then you may ask, “What is this?” The artist answers, “It is a hair.” Well, you may start thinking that it may be human hair, or animal hair, or the hair from a dead body, of just hair laying on the floor or floating in the air. The only thing I can do with that is to speculate on something that is completely blank, a white page. What I have found useful is to talk about my writings and in the process of talking and conversing I found ways to continue. Then once I have a draft from beginning to end, sometimes, I found the critique of someone who tells me, “There is something missing here,” or “This is not complete.” In those cases, I have drawn something that allows me to see the intent but it is something blank on the page. I have the fortune to count on good friends who read my stories and are able to give me their opinion. It’s a matter of sharing similar aesthetic vision. Not all my friends are good for that and not all writers are good for that either. It’s a mutual understanding. Do you have any advice for other writers? Write every day and handwrite. You may find it’s probably more efficient to type but emotionally it’s better to handwrite. It is like a process of reaffirmation to draw the contour of each letter. Well, eventually you need to type it but to start something it’s good to write by hand. Both are things I try to do myself. 
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 Dennis James is a retired attorney living and writing in Brooklyn, NY. He previously practiced employment law on behalf of employees in Detroit, Michigan. His short stories have been published in Mobius, The Summerset Review, The Griffin, The MacGuffin, and Struggle Magazine. A collection of ten of his stories and the nonfiction, “Algeria Journal,” were published in 2012 in a special supplement of The Legal Studies Forum, a quarterly publication of literature by lawyers. His article, “Cuba: State of the Arts,” was published in 2013 in the quarterly magazine of the North American Conference on Latin America. Dennis and his wife, Barbara Grossman, travel extensively (but not on a Harley). He is currently working on Songs of the Baka, a book based on their travels, to be released by Skyhorse Publishing next year. He can be contacted at [email protected] If you've ever had the urge to pack it all in and just drop out, you'll want to read Dennis's essay, "Leaving Big Sur," in Letting Go: An Anthology of Attempts. "In some ways non-fiction is harder [than fiction]. Reality is a moving target, subject to the vagaries of memory and vulnerable to challenge. This means fact checking must be rigorous, in the course of which the author can lose touch with why he or she is writing this anyway." Letting Go is an anthology of true stories. As a writer of fiction, did you find it harder to write a nonfiction story? Yes. In some ways non-fiction is harder. Reality is a moving target, subject to the vagaries of memory and vulnerable to challenge. This means fact checking must be rigorous, in the course of which the author can lose touch with why he or she is writing this anyway. What do you enjoy most about writing? The fun of creating characters and situations that have a life of their own. The pleasure of working with the English language. What’s the hardest part about writing for you? Looking at the blank screen on a day when nothing will gel. Struggling with the computer. Where do your ideas come from? My life. I am 77 How much time each week do you devote to writing? It varies wildly. What are you working on? Finishing a manuscript that is a collection of essays on my extensive and unusual travel experiences. It will be released in hardbound in 2017, with photos by my wife, Barbara Grossman. The working title is Songs of the Baka: Travel Discoveries After Age 65. The publisher is Skyhorse Publishing Inc. What has been the most surprising about learning your craft? That people like to read my stuff. Do you have any advice for other writers? Join a good group with a a good editor like Martha Hughes. Use characters from your own life that you can remember in detail. Do you think workshops have helped you become a better writer? Yes. Tell us any secret rituals you have for getting started each day. Then it wouldn’t be a secret. Any writers you like to read to inspire you to write (or if you're blocked?) Raymond Carver, Alice Munro, George V. Higgins, John McPhee, Photo: projockphoto   Marione Malimba Namukuta lives and works as a researcher in Kampala, Uganda. She has keen interests in other cultures, together with a command of several languages and loves to write and travel as well. Marione writes children’s short stories and is a member of the Uganda Children’s Writers and Illustrators Association. You can read her essay, "The Battle Within" about her struggles to leave a difficult past behind in Letting Go: An Anthology of Attempts. "Making a decision to put my work out there, especially when it is crammed with personal recollections, presents the greatest challenge. I keep wondering whether I have said enough or too much." Letting Go is an anthology of true stories. As a writer of fiction, did you find it harder to write a nonfiction story? I don’t have a neat answer to this question. In certain aspects yes, it was harder (when you consider the emotional bearing particularly the vulnerability). However, it was relatively simpler given the information conveyed was about me and real events. Fiction, at first glance, may seem without challenge - after all as a writer you are expected to possess a vivid imagination - but this is not entirely true. It is artistically demanding, requires enormous amounts of dedication and effort, and at the same time involves a great deal of imagination and research. At the end of the day, for any composer, it is about knowing that you have told a story and told it satisfactorily - fiction or not. What do you enjoy most about writing? Writing frees. Every time I feel strongly about something, I like to let it out and writing is my process. It is therapeutic even when folksy. I have with me scribbles of lyrics, poems and stories dating way back; if looked at carefully it would be like looking into my soul. Sometimes, unintended even, our work reveals us. In some instances it is those parts we would rather disguise that sprout. Even in our best effort to “hallow” what we express, these traces of who we are at that given point in time come to life in every choice word; be it happy, sad, good, lost or even dark… When our inner self comes to the surface, freedom is achieved. What’s the hardest part about writing for you? Making a decision to put my work out there especially when it is crammed with personal recollections presents the greatest challenge. I keep wondering whether I have said enough or too much? What happens if I am misunderstood - after all there is likely to be varied interpretations of my work? Would I write again if my work was reviewed negatively? Those with a lot of experience have perhaps out-grown some of these fears but I still struggle this way. Where do your ideas come from? I would expend many pages answering this question but to put it simply - more often than not, my ideas are birthed from the familiar. Something I have seen, read, heard, dreamt etc. History has proved that there’s always a recurrence of events and ideology only they are given a different “face” or name and just like they say, there’s nothing new under the sun. What are you working on? I am working on a children‘s short story whose title is, “There is magic in that old burgundy veil,” for now anyway - I have changed it a number of times already. The story at this stage is too short to share an excerpt. It is about three courageous little girls (six, eight and eleven) who set out on an adventure. They have with them a cloak they believe to have magical powers. In the story I highlight their moments of both disaster and victory.   My name is María Stellatelli. I’m a 25-year-old Argentinean journalist. Nowadays, I’m an editor for an Argentinean magazine specializing in human and social topics. I believe in the importance of telling stories that can help and inspire others. In addition to writing, I enjoy singing, cooking and every other activity that motivates creativity. You can find me on Instagram @merystellatelli. Anyyone who's ever tried to walk away from an abusive relationship will appreciate María's essay, "Letting Go of The 'Perfect' Man" in Letting Go: An Anthology of Attempts. "What I enjoy the most is this imaginary world I create for myself. When I’m writing, it’s as if the world stopped. It’s just a blank page and me. And in that moment, it seems as if I’m caught up in a world I’ve created in my head." Letting Go is an anthology of true stories. As a writer of fiction, did you find it harder to write a nonfiction story? I totally found it harder. I believe everything we write, even when it’s fiction, is steeped in a bit of ourselves. Still, writing nonfiction challenges you in a very wide and different way. Throughout the process of writing my essay, I realized that trying to remember details and writing them down was harder than I had imagined. What's more, I realized I had never let go of that part of my life completely. I was forced to face it and deal with it in a different way than I had before. Yeah, it made me cry. But it also made me reflect on how much it had hurt me and how badly I wanted to move on. So I guess after all, writing about letting go helped me to start a process to really let go of this. And I think it all has gotten better ever since. What do you enjoy most about writing? What I enjoy the most is this imaginary world I create for myself. When I’m writing, it’s as if the world stopped. It’s just a blank page and me. And in that moment, it seems as if I’m caught up in a world I’ve created in my head. Inside that world, there are characters that only I know and that, in some way, reflect my dreams and fears. I enjoy being inside that world for a while. Spending some time over there is like playing with a child. Creating a world that’s only mine is quite exciting. What’s the hardest part about writing for you? I guess the hardest part is the moment when I start thinking maybe what I’ve written isn’t as good as I imagined, and for a while negative thoughts fill my head. I try not to let them win me. Where do your ideas come from? I’m not quite sure where they come from. I’ve been making up stories for myself for as long as I remember. Sometimes I write them down; sometimes I just enjoy them at the moment and then let them go. I believe some have to do with my own life, with what I’ve lived and with the people I’ve met. It’s like they live in the back of my head and pop up all of a sudden when I’m spending some time on my own. How much time each week do you devote to writing? I guess it depends on what I’m working on at the moment. I try to write at least a little each day, whether it is part of a novel or a magazine article. When I’m working hard on something I can spend hours with it. Still, some days I dedicate fully to editing texts, which I quite enjoy, too. What are you working on? Nowadays I’m an editor at an Argentinean magazine, so basically most of my energy is put there. Right now I’m mostly making up new ideas for the magazine and looking for new writers who would like to take part in it. I write some articles for it, too. So I’m learning quite a lot. I’ve got a long way to go yet. And then I have this personal project that started as hobby a few years ago: I’m writing a novel. I’m really enjoying it and hope someday it gets published. What has been the most surprising about learning your craft? The most surprising has always been the possibility of writing about anything that comes to my head. The creative world for writers is very huge. And there’s always something new to try. There always is an untold story that’s waiting to be written. And in the process, I get to discover my personal writing style. I guess that’s something you keep on discovering all through your life. It’s exciting. Do you have any advice for other writers? My advice would be to never be discouraged by yourself. To give it a try, even if sometimes you don’t think your stuff’s good. Ask for other writers’ opinions. Write a lot. Believe in your ideas and in your talent. I think most times I’m my worst enemy. And it’s not worth it. Trust in yourself and work hard to get what you want. Do you think workshops have helped you become a better writer? Yes, totally. It always helps to learn from older writers and editors. There’s always something you can make use of in your own writing. Also reading other books helps a lot. I’ve learned and been inspired by the work of other writers and the techniques they use. Tell us any secret rituals you have for getting started each day. A cup of chamomile or linden tea. Tea is good for the soul. Any writers you like to read to inspire you to write? I’ve always liked Julio Cortázar’s style. Also Gabriel García Márquez. And more recently, I was really inspired by Kate Morton’s The Forgotten Garden. Not only the way in which she tells the story and combines each part of it, but also the main character is mysterious and captivating in a very crazy way.   Evalyn Lee is an Emmy Award-winning news producer, who worked for CBS News in New York, for twenty years, both in radio and television, including seven years at “60 Minutes.” She now writes and lives in London with her husband and two children.She completed the Faber Academy novel writing course in London studying with novelist Louise Doughty. She is currently drafting her first novel:The Rise and Fall of Jackie Bridges. You can read "Throwing Out the Trash," her remarkably honest essay about struggling with depression, in Letting Go: An Anthology of Attempts "What I love best about writing is the freedom and the sheer wonder and wildness of language. I always marvel at how, just by adding or changing one letter, a grave can turn into grace and a word can become a world." Evalyn Lee Letting Go is an anthology of true stories. As a writer of fiction, did you find it harder to write a nonfiction story? I have loved to write all my life; especially poetry and short stories and I have kept a daily diary since the age of eleven. After graduate school, I was hired by CBS News to work in radio where I learned how to listen and write for the ear. After a decade, I changed mediums and moved into television and learned to write with images. But times and life change, and so I found myself living in England and working for BBC News Online looking for the words to make audiences “click” on a story. But having earned most of my living writing in other people’s voices, I left hard news to pursue my dream of writing in my own voice. This is my first nonfiction story, in my own voice about my own life. But the publication of this essay leaves me feeling strangely vulnerable and shy and given the continuous flow of current events in our world, it feels presumptuous to write down and share the mistakes I have made in my own life. But a lot of people, myself included, struggle to put aside their shame about depression and share what they’ve learned from their experience. My essay “Throwing Out the Trash” is the result of this struggle. What’s the hardest part about writing for you? Giving myself the time to succeed and that fact that each story needs its own time to grow in my heart. Where do your ideas come from? Oh, I so do not have a problem coming up with ideas. Ideas come to me with every breath --I can’t look out a window, talk to a stranger, read a newspaper, watch television or go to a movie--and not be assaulted by ideas. If anything, I have too many ideas. I have an endless curiosity and a mind that is prone to making odd and unexpected connections between disparate facts. I’ve spent the last decade trying to learn how to harness these connections and make them clear to the reader on the page. How much time each week do you devote to writing? It is a terrific week if I get twenty hours in with fingers on keyboard just on my own work. What are you working on? I am in the middle of the third draft of my first novel—The Rise and Fall of Jackie Bridges-- the story of a woman at war with secrets of her own. What has been the most surprising about learning your craft? What has taken me the longest time to really understand, all the way down, is that even though we read a book in a "linear" fashion—a writer needs to structure the story in a circular fashion. A story with a beginning and ending that expand and resonate with one another allows words to hold more meaning. Do you have any advice for other writers? I am still laughing at Sue Parman’s Letting Go Anthology blog answer about writer’s not taking advice. I love advice and just wish I could more quickly figure out how to implement it in my own work. Every story I begin seems to require me to learn more about how to write. So, although other writers might not need or take advice, one of the tricks I learned as a reporter was to listen and look for those gaps between what a person is saying and how he or she is acting—always a useful moment to describe and to look for both in writing and in life. Do you think workshops have helped you become a better writer? Absolutely without a doubt writing workshops have helped me to become a better writer, if simply by offering expertise, friendship and communal experience for what can be at times a lonely job. That said, it is important to note that not all classes are equal—but the well run ones, like those run by Martha Hughes or Faber Academy under the direction of Richard Skinner—can give you the chance to understand, in real time and in your body, what works and what doesn’t work with your story as it meets a group of experienced readers. Tell us any secret rituals you have for getting started each day. No secrets here: getting out of bed seems to be key. Any writers you like to read to inspire you to write (or if you're blocked?) Five books about writing that I’ve found to be helpful are: Into the Woods: How Stories Work and Why We Tell Them by John Yorke; The Getaway Car: A Practical Memoir About Writing and Life by Ann Pratchett; How Fiction Works by James Wood; Reality Hunger by David Shields; and Modern Library Writer’s Workshop: A Guide to the Craft of Fiction by Stephen Koch. Currently I am reading a lot of poetry, War Reporter and New Life by Dan O’Brien, Erratic Facts by Kay Ryan, The Light User Scheme by Richard Skinner. I am also re-reading Shall We Gather at the River by Peter Murphy and Train Dreams by Dennis Jonson and I just finished a beautiful novel called Astrid & Veronika by Linda Olsson. The books I return to most for inspiration are A Lesson Before Dying by Ernest J. Gaines, The Leopard by Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa and Go Tell It On the Mountain by James Baldwin.   Maria R. Ostrowski, a novelist and poet, is currently working on Cliffwood, an atmospheric mystery set in 1930s New England following the historic Fairfax and Pinthis shipwreck. After receiving a degree in English at the University of Connecticut, Maria assisted in coaching young adults in performance poetry through the Connecticut Youth Poetry Slam Team and has recently taught poetry workshops in Hartford, CT, through the Bushnell’s Partners in Arts and Education program. She lives and writes in Springfield, MA, with a husband who patiently accepts the chaos of a household run by a writer. You can read her poignant essay "Lionheart" in Letting Go: An Anthology of Attempts - just released in paperback and eBook. And you can follow her on Twitter @The_RoughDraft "I am always surprised by how physical writing is – the agitation I feel in my body when I’ve got to get something out, that warm whiskey rush when I’m on a roll, and the fevered pacing and note-taking when I’m trying to figure out a problem." Maria R. Ostrowski Letting Go is an anthology of true stories. As a writer of fiction, did you find it harder to write a nonfiction story? Yes. Fiction gives me distance and a powerful escape that I’ve used throughout my life as a survival tool, a passionate type of dissociation. With fiction I can delve into my most raw and painful places behind the veil of a beloved character. Writing “Lionheart” was challenging. This story reveals parts of my life that I carried, locked up in separate boxes deep inside me for years. I put them away. Buried them. Or so I thought. But working on this essay forced me to look at all of these experiences and weave some together as part of my personal history. I felt exposed and vulnerable, reliving painful moments of loss and fear, which became a physical experience at times with moments of anxiety and sorrow at seeing these truths staring back at me in black and white. But when I finished the final draft, I felt a sense of peace, and I also found that with this nonfiction piece, there wasn’t really an ending for me, rather a beginning, and that was a really hopeful and positive takeaway. What do you enjoy most about writing? I love what my characters reveal to me about the world in which I live. I learn from them and they’ve helped me reconcile questions in my soul. Writing, whether fiction, nonfiction or poetry, provides clarity. I may never understand why something happened, but writing helps me accept that it did happen. I’ve found peace in that. What’s the hardest part about writing for you? Every time I write, I approach the page with respectful fear as much as joy, which for me is the hardest part of writing. Fear can be both exhilarating and crippling, and the challenge is to fight the flight instinct and distract myself and keep my mind focused on those vulnerable, raw places inside. This takes courage and perseverance. How much time each week do you devote to writing? I write every day. When I left my marketing position to write full time, I kept my work hours, beginning at 8:00 a.m. and ending anywhere between 4:00 and 6:00 p.m. During the work day, I write for an hour or two and then do research for a couple hours and then back to writing. The structure helps me stay focused, but it is difficult to set the work down. I’m never away from the novel. It’s something I work on to stay present with those I love. What are you working on? I am working on the third draft of my novel, Cliffwood, an atmospheric mystery and romantic suspense set in 1930s New England at the fictional Cliffwood College, following the historic Fairfax and Pinthis shipwreck that took the lives of 50 people in the Massachusetts Bay. After my husband, working on this novel is the love of my life! What has been the most surprising about learning your craft? I am always surprised by how physical writing is – the agitation I feel in my body when I’ve got to get something out, that warm whiskey rush when I’m on a roll, and the fevered pacing and note-taking when I’m trying to figure out a problem. It’s a sickness and a passion. Do you have any advice for other writers? I can only offer what helps me stick to it, and that’s intense exercise. I believe that writing and rewriting requires courage and perseverance. When I conquer a long, vigorous workout at the end of the day, not only do I feel strong physically, but I also feel a sense of accomplishment. It clears my mind and gets me ready to tackle the manuscript again, and again, and again . . . Do you think workshops have helped you become a better writer? This past July, I attended the Peripatetic Writer’s Workshop and Retreat in Woodstock NY, and when I left, I felt this particular workshop helped me become a better writer. The mentorship from the faculty, the writing exercises, discussions about the craft, and the feedback from other writers sparked creativity and provided a wonderful sense of community. Any writers you like to read to inspire you to write (or if you're blocked?) Daphne du Maurier, Colette, Wilkie Collins, Jack Kerouac, Evelyn Waugh, Edith Wharton, F. Scott Fitzgerald . . . are just a few that always inspire me, but lately I’ve also been finding children’s books to be inspiring and refreshing. I’m not studying them, just enjoying the simple, elegant stories and lovely illustrations. In particular, I enjoy The Lion and The Bird by Marianne Dubuc and The Invention of Hugo Cabret by Brian Selznick. 
30 amazing authors in one great book. And it's now available for Kindle.
You don't need to own a Kindle device to read it - you can download - for free - one of the Kindle reading apps. I'm still not sure how to describe this book. Personal essays? Yes.. Memoirs? Sort of. True life stories comes closest but doesn't really convey how well written they are. How very different from each other. And maybe different from anything you've read before. When we had to pick categories, we picked Personal Transformation, which falls under Religion & Spirituality. Or else Self-Help. But that doesn't come close to capturing it either. Because the strength of the stories lies in their honesty. It takes courage to write about something you've held onto too long. And the beauty of the stories lies in the art with which they're told.  6-year-old Mina selling her early works You can read Mina Samuels' moving essay, "The Wooden Spoon," in Letting Go: An Anthology of Attempts - just released in paperback and eBook. Mina Samuels is a full-time writer, editor, performance artist, book and movie-o-holic and fellow citizen. In addition to many ghostwriting projects, her previous books include, Run Like a Girl: How Strong Women Make Happy Lives, a novel titled, The Queen of Cups, and The Think Big Manifesto, co-authored with Michael Port. She has written and performed two one-woman plays: Do You Know Me? and Hazards. When she’s not writing or performing, she might be found out on the roads or trails, running, cycling, or cross-country skiing, among other things. She lives in New York and Truckee, CA with her partner and their feline diva. Her website is minasamuels.com "The work always comes down to the same thing. Just start. Turn off the editor. Remove the filter. Write." What do you enjoy most about writing? Writing. I just love writing. Simultaneously letting words flow through me, and diving inside myself to find the words, the expression, the metaphor or juxtaposition that most accurately captures what I’m trying to say. There is, too, the surprise of re-reading something I wrote and not quite recognizing it as my own; the startling separateness of the work from myself. Whereas in my life I often feel clumsy, both physically and psychically, I feel (sometimes, at its best, not always of course) that my writing has a delicacy that is apart from me. Then there is what writing reveals to me about myself, and the world. Most often it’s not me who sees what’s been revealed, it’s a reader who catches the thread of a theme. What’s the hardest part about writing for you? Starting. Starting again when I have broken with a project for some amount of time. In both cases I tend to circle around the project-in-waiting as if it is a dangerous animal I have to tame. I have started countless ideas only to have them die as my fingers touch the keyboard. That’s natural. I know. Still, I’ve noticed that in almost every case of idea-crib-death it is because I spent too long trying to tame the idea. In those cases, I am a one-woman version of the ubiquitous group of men hovering around a plumbing project without ever picking up a tool. I know what I have to do, which is start, no matter how raw the idea seems. But I’m scared that it won’t work, and then where will I be? Will I ever have another idea? If I’m honest with myself, I’ve had countless un-hovered-over ideas die too, but I don’t notice, because I call that playing around or free writing. And when I write with no agenda, instead of bemoaning what doesn’t work, I am often surprised by something with legs. I’ve also had luck with what start out as artificial “exercises” or “challenges” someone else sets for me, as a way of loosening up my writing muscles. Write a story about your favorite mountain run and suddenly I have a piece that’s working: Castle Peak. The work always comes down to the same thing. Just start. Turn off the editor. Remove the filter. Write. Where do your ideas come from? There is nowhere my ideas don’t come from! Daily life and the extraordinary. A passing remark overheard on the subway and an intense life event. How much time each week do you devote to writing? Not enough. When I’m fired up about a project I’ll set myself a word threshold for every day, no matter what. Write 2000 or 2500 words, even if what you write is garbage. Then I might also spend time after that editing or rewriting something other than what I wrote that morning. When I’m not working on a specific thing, my writing discipline is erratic and is then further erratic-ized by my disappointment in my self. Why am I not like all those writers you read about who get up at ungodly hours, and even if they are working a full day at a job, they find time to write every day? Not me. Sigh. What are you working on? It makes me nervous to say, because then I worry I won’t do it. But then again, making a point of speaking our intentions publicly is conducive to following through! Herewith: A book proposal for a follow-up of sorts to Run Like a Girl. And a novel, which has been in the deep freezer for 18 months, but which I’m trying to defrost, to see if it’s irreparably freezer burned, or salvageable. I’m also pursuing an idea I have for a new play. What has been the most surprising about learning your craft? That it is a craft and not just an art; that there are guidelines, techniques and methods, which can actually help you to be a better writer—show don’t tell; details make a piece richer; one strong word or image is more powerful than strings of words or images in search of the best; be mindful of repetition and stating the obvious; start in the middle and so on. Most important—know that other people you trust as readers/editors will see these craft points much better than you in your work, so seek others’ thoughts; while maintaining the integrity of your intent and your writing process.   You can read Kerry Guerin's deeply personal essay, "The Boy Who Saved Me" - about how difficult it is to let g0 of rage when your child is the target of bullying and discrimination -in Letting Go: An Anthology of Attempts available now in paperback. The eBook is available for pre-order. Kerry Guerin has had an interesting, if not terrifying, ride so far but hasn’t published her first novel yet. It’s time now. Besides, she reports, her husband says, “You’re a nicer person when you’re writing.” Another reason to forge ahead. So, that’s her goal – finish and get published. She also began writing poetry last year, under the guiding wisdom of poet Susan Sindall. Guerin lives in Upstate New York, where she attended Marist College, before completing her undergraduate degree at St. Patrick’s College in Maynooth, County Kildare, Ireland. If she had to choose, she’d do all four years in Ireland. Of course, that was a time in her life before she got sober . . . and eventually met her husband, Joe Muldoon. Between them they have six children. Don’t call after 9:00 p.m. They’re really tired. Letting Go is an anthology of true stories. As a writer of fiction, did you find it harder to write a nonfiction story? Yes, I found it incredibly hard to write nonfiction. I have only ever written fiction and poetry, and have just finished writing my first novel (after a total of about five years of writing over 20 years! Motherhood!). I knew it was important to not have the story sound like a laundry list of facts, and also not to let my emotions get the better of me, and use motherfucker as punctuation at every turn. I was writing about a terrible time in my son's life, and in my family's life, and those old feelings of revenge came back and hung around while I was writing, like a piece of annoying hair you can't see to push away, but it's there. What resurfaced was, in fact, the rage I thought I had let go of. So, lesson learned for me. Apparently I let go in increments. I don't know how long the pieces of that terrible time will remain or resurface. I do know that several years past it, his life and our lives are so much better than they were. What do you enjoy most about writing? What I enjoy most about writing is less about joy and more about need for me. There are joyful things in the creative process. There is nothing like a beautiful, authentic line that strikes at the right time from the right character. To be that conduit is spectacular. Truth be told, writing is a release. It's how I deal best with the world even though I am not writing about my world. I am a nicer person when I am writing. I am less of a brooder, a hand-wringing worrier. I am not a multi-tasker, and I hate that word. So, when I am writing, I can only focus on the story, on those characters who have become people, who I run around after and eavesdrop on. What’s the hardest part about writing for you? The hardest part of writing for me is being consistent about it. I stop when life gets in the way, and life often gets in the way. I have little discipline to set aside time, put me first, etc. Describe it how you will.- I let it go. It's the last thing I should let go, as I am a nicer person when I do it, per my answer above. What are you working on? I have completed my novel Memoirs of a Budding Drifter, and am on the dreaded hunt for an agent - query letter writing. The novel's protagonist is an American college student studying abroad, in Ireland, at a co-ed college attached to Ireland's oldest seminary. Impermanence rules the day. It has humor and devastation. It's Irish. Do you have any advice for other writers? I can only give other young/new writers the advice I was so afraid to take - be open to criticism from someone who knows what they're talking about, and for god’s sake don't argue with that person about re-writing. I used to see rewriting as a chore, and worse, something that would kill the creative juice of the story. What I discovered was there were layers under my story, and my characters. Rewriting deepens your creativity, and it helps you develop your craft. A craft has to be practiced.
Any writers you like to read to inspire you to write (or if you're blocked?) I read poetry every day. I don't like everything I read. Not everything I read inspires me, but I read it every day. Many times I am inspired by the succinctness of expression in a poem. I tend to be a minimalist in my writing. Sharp, I hope. Poetry inspires my sharpness. Currently I am reading At Swim Two Birds by Flann O'Brien (Brian O'Nolan). Published in 1938, O'Brien was overshadowed by James Joyce and those lost generation writers (whom I enjoy). It is hysterical. Brilliant, as my Irish friends would say. Two volumes of Seamus Heaney are also near my chair, along with Someone by Alice McDermott. Alice can tell a story. Every couple of summers I read A Movable Feast by Hemingway.   Self portrait, Sue Parman You can read Sue Parman's beautiful essay, "The Holy Ghost Bird,"in Letting Go: An Anthology of Attempts just released in paperback; eBook available now for pre-order. Retired professor of anthropology and the author of numerous academic books (including Scottish Crofters, now in its second edition), Sue Parman lives in Oregon where she has won numerous awards for poetry, plays, essays, short stories, and art. Her most recent book combines poetry and art (The Carnivorous Gaze, Turnstone Press, 2014), and her most recent article is a memoir based on her correspondence with Tolkien (“A Song for J.R.R. Tolkien,” The Antioch Review, 2015). Web site: www.sueparman.com Letting Go is an anthology of true stories. As a writer of fiction, did you find it harder to write a nonfiction story? I love the power that fact lends to story-telling. Fiction is always grounded in nonfiction (the details of memory and observation), and nonfiction requires the rules of fiction to take flight. A story about a bird requires knowledge of birds; a detailed description of a bird would be boring without the underlying structure of plot and character. Having said this, I think it’s harder to write nonfiction for two reasons: one, you can get so mired in “facts” that you go off the rails of a good story; and two, the details of memory are frequently painful. I found it very difficult to write “The Holy Ghost Bird” because the memories that inspired it were so painful; but it was cathartic to shape it into a story. Fiction can heal. Birds make great metaphors. Because they fly between the ground and the sky, they can represent freedom, or messengers between gods and men, or vehicles to convey souls to the land of the dead. In New Guinea, men call themselves “dead birds” because of a myth that explains why men must die. In 2012 a short story of mine called “The Spirit Bird” was published in The Grove Literary Review. Similar title to the one in Letting Go, similar emotions of longing and loss, but a completely different story vehicle: a young Muslim widow visits the grave of her ancestors in Sulawesi. Fiction gives us wings. What do you enjoy most about writing? I find writing to be cathartic and freeing. I love the words themselves (I read the OED as a form of play and source of poems), and I love the rhythm of language and its capacity to build worlds, arguments, persuasions, expressions of love and hope, fury and disdain. I miss letter-writing but am intrigued by the potential of social media for haiku-like utterances. Writing takes me to a liminal zone where I can transform the mundane realities of life into beauty. The pursuit of beauty is paramount—it is the essence of a creative life well lived, whether as a writer or any other occupation. At the close of a Navajo Blessing Way ceremony are the words to walk in beauty. With beauty all around me may I walk. In old age wandering on a trail of beauty, lively, may I walk. To be a writer is to walk in beauty—immersed in it, gathering it, experiencing it, sometimes capturing it. To be a writer is not poetry or journalism, school or reputation. It’s a way of life, consciously living from one unpredictable moment to another without a skin--a kind of pilgrimage to live out all the lines of one’s body. As a writer, my goal is to have created beauty that leaves people breathless and thinking what, where, how, why, and I am. How much time each week do you devote to writing? I write every day. When I was teaching, I got up at 4 a.m. and wrote until 7 a.m., then went to work. I still get up at 4, but now I can write in chunks throughout the day, and how long I write depends on what project I’m caught up in. Sometimes I get caught up in art projects instead. I worry sometimes that I’m less systematic and disciplined than I was when I was working, but I’m having a lot more fun. What are you working on? Last June I joined an art critique group, and after one of our meetings I dreamed of a flower that was shades of brown. I woke up with an art mantra running through my head: “Color gets the credit, value does the work.” I sat down and wrote a short story, “The Brown Study,” that I entered as a first book chapter in a contest sponsored by the Oregon Writers Colony. It won first place, and within two months I had the first draft of a book tentatively titled The Flowers of Rappaccini from the Nathaniel Hawthorne story about a woman raised by her father in a garden of poisonous flowers who herself becomes poisonous to others. I’m now on the third draft, and have been describing it as a literary-eco-thriller set in the Amazon rainforest. What has been the most surprising about learning your craft? At the heart of every creative act lies a burst of spontaneous humor, a form of play. I’ve come to recognize this feeling, this sense of surprise, without which a writing project is flat, uninspiring, and boring. I touch on these ideas in my essay, “An Evolutionary Theory of Poetry,” VoiceCatcher (posted July 29, 2013) Do you have any advice for other writers? Are you kidding? Writers take advice? Do you think workshops have helped you become a better writer? Yes and no. Yes, in the sense that workshops, critique groups, and First Readers provide useful feedback, training in getting used to putting your writing up for public view and criticism, and the opportunity to learn from other writers. No, in the sense that unlike an art workshop, you can’t really learn from other people’s techniques; you only catch little glimpses of finished writing. The usefulness of a workshop depends a lot on where you are in the writing process. New writers benefit from discussions of craft—how to construct plot and character, for example. Writers who have finished two or three drafts of a manuscript would benefit from workshops that work on whole manuscripts. I’ve found very helpful information about workshops from magazines such as Poets and Writers, and from fellow writers in local writing organizations (such as the Oregon Writers Colony). Tell us any secret rituals you have for getting started each day. I write as soon as I wake up. Sometimes I have an idea from a dream; sometimes from something I’ve been reading, especially nonfiction (e.g., James Prosek’s “Eels”). I write my initial ideas sitting in my favorite chair that looks out a window; I use a yellow pad and pens that vary with what I’m writing (a fountain pen for poetry, a liquid gel pen for prose—I LOVE pens). Once I get going, I write with a computer on a treadmill desk—a great alternative to sitting. But the most important ritual: write. Or as my father used to say, “Don’t get it right, just get it written.” Any writers you like to read to inspire you to write (or if you're blocked)? I’m an omnivorous reader, from Tolkien to Sci-Fi (The Ship Who Sang, The Foundation Series, Something Wicked This Way Comes) to poetry (Anne Carson, Kay Ryan, Dylan Thomas) to mystery (Raymond Chandler, The Bee Keeper’s Apprentice, Scandinavian noir) to literary (Cloud Atlas, J.M. Coetzee, Dickens) to books about writing (Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Novel, The Making of a Story). The OED inspires me to write. The writing on the back of cereal boxes inspires me to write. Michael Frayne’s “Copenhagen” makes me want to write plays; Montaigne’s Essays make me want to hole up in a tower and blog.  |