MAR Asks, Melissa Stephenson Answers

Melissa_StephensonWe have quite a few new contributor interviews for issue 35.1 in the hopper, but until then, let’s focus on this fun, witty interview with Melissa Stephenson. Her poem, “After Mating for Life,” appears in 34.2.

Melissa Stephenson lives, plays, and writes in Missoula, Montana. Her fiction, nonfiction, and poetry have appeared or are forthcoming in various journals, including Cutbank, Other Voices, The Chattahoochee Review, New South, Memoir (and),  and Passages North. She holds a B.A. in English from University of Montana and an M.F.A. in Fiction from Texas State University. She is currently at work completing a collection of poems and revising her first book-length work, a memoir.

Quick! Summarize your story/poem/essay in 10 words or fewer.

Divorce sucks. Divorcing with kids is worse.

What can you share about this piece prior to its MAR publication?

This poem was born more or less intact. It bubbled up one morning as I was struggling to meet a deadline for writing textbook materials. Cheating on paid work is a great motivator and time-saver for me. I stole a half hour, banged it out, set it aside, and tweaked it a few months later.

Before the poem was published, I also had the random luck to come into contact with the creator of one of the films that inspired my draft. The title of my poem, “After Mating for Life” is based on a misreading of a local film festival schedule. Cindy Stillwell, the maker of a documentary on bird migration called “Mating for Life,” read my poem and enjoyed it. Her film contrasted her choice to stay single with the mating and migration patterns of the sandhill crane. It was deeply satisfying to me to see how her art inspired mine, and how both our stories were acts of mid-life reckoning with the romantic choices we’d made.

What was your reaction upon receiving your MAR acceptance?

I texted my ex-husband and offered him one of the two contributor’s copies to honor our 50/50 divorce agreement about intellectual property created within the marriage. (We were still legally married when I wrote the poem.) A year before, he’d made a similar call to me, only his coup was a hefty advance on his first novel, which we both shared.

He laughed when I called. We share a similarly dark shade of funny bone.

What was the worst/best feedback you received on this piece?

In the past few years, I returned to writing poetry after a 15-year break, so I have no poet-friend readers. I am not a Master of Poetry. I received no feedback before publication. But afterwards, a friend called it “wonderfully dark.” This tickled me and bummed me out at the same time, since I thought of “After Mating for Life” as my almost-funny poem.

You’re at a family reunion and some long-lost relative asks about your writing. What do you say?

“I’ve become a poet.” This usually stops the questions.

What do you consider your biggest writing-related success?

Finishing a full draft of my memoir-in-progress while raising two young kids 98% on my own.

Your biggest writing-related regret?

Taking years to realize that trying to please the majority with your writing will leave you with a pile of bright, shiny, lifeless words.

Your biggest non-writing-related regret?

Not becoming an auto mechanic that summer I was in Anchorage and had the chance.

Tell us one strange thing about yourself that does not involve writing.

I was raised to believe myself a distant relative-by-marriage of the silent film actor Lon Chaney and have recently researched enough to find out this can’t be true.

Tell us one strange thing about yourself that does involve writing.

Running long distances does more for my creative self than my MFA in Fiction ever did.

Can you show us a photo of you holding your MAR contributor’s copy?

I wish. My close friend and my ex-husband’s aunt have both absconded with my contributor’s copies. I think MAR being theft-worthy is high praise.

Thanks for the interview, Melissa!
Laura Maylene Walter, Fiction Editor

Accepted: “Porch Light, Moonlight, or the Neighbor’s Bedroom”

porchlightIn our “Accepted” column, Mid-American Review editors discuss why they selected stories, poems, or essays for publication. In this post, Assistant Poetry Editor Jenelle Clausen discusses a poem that appears in issue 34.2. This will be the final “Accepted” entry for 34.2; stay tuned for columns from 35.1.

Genre: Poetry
Titles: “Porch Light, Moonlight, or the Neighbor’s Bedroom”
Authors: Carroll Beauvais
MAR issue: 34.2/Spring 2014
First lines: “When we were children, we dreamed the moon / full of pink lakes, swimming holes without water moccasins.”

In the title, “Porch Light, Moonlight, or the Neighbor’s Bedroom,” Beauvais presents us with three possibilities. Already, we want to know more. And then, the epigraph: “For my sister, if I’d had one.” The epigraph is brief and thoroughly surprising; it establishes the poem as fiction, which is perhaps a nod to the inviting trap of assuming that a poem’s events “really happened” or that the poem’s speaker is the poet himself or herself (a problem we don’t encounter nearly as often when reading prose).

But the epigraph doesn’t diminish the sincerity of the poem. In the first two lines, we are immediately impacted by a striking image—pink lakes on the moon—that is unusual and that establishes the active world of children’s imaginations. This imaginary world on the moon is also defined by what it lacks: “swimming holes without water moccasins.” There is no danger here. This first stanza continues in describing this shared dream-world, a world where girls could wear as little as boys in summertime and where stars would shed glitter on the grass.

The second stanza uses images to firmly ground us in time; the speaker and sister were children when “Buffalo nickels and baseball cards” were popular. We also see the title verbatim and learn that the children would bet on what kind of light it was that “tipped in through the blinds.” The speaker says, “I always chose moonlight and you always won.” This suggests that the speaker’s childhood was characterized by hopeful idealism, which she later realized to be unrealistic.

The death of this hopeful idealism is addressed in the very next stanza, where we’re brought to the present day, many years later. The speaker mentions that “scientists claim water exists on the moon,” but this potential fulfillment of a childhood dream does little good now for an adult filled with worry by the stark reality of life’s hardships: “What good does that do us now that we’re old / and you just called to say they found another tumor?”

Like the first two stanzas, the final stanza is characterized by compelling images that create an emotional impact on readers. It is no longer summer, but autumn; this transition of seasons reflects the aging process. The “sugar maple…is growing bare.” How does something grow bare; how does growth lead to loss? The language here is subtle, and it indicates the disillusionment and sense of loss that comes with growing older, when childhood is left behind.

We are left with a final striking image, not star glitter on the grass, as in the first stanza, but “yellow leaves” that look like “the small, wilted hands of a child.” We can all relate to the sense of loss associated with giving up childhood dreams; this poem has universal meaning.

But wait—remember the epigraph? We’re told that none of this happened. For the speaker, there was no sister, no cancer. This leads to the wonderful intentional ambiguity of the poem: Which is worse? To have lived through this experience, this suffering and disillusionment, or to have not had anything, or anyone, to lose?

What MAR editors said about “Porch Light, Moonlight, or the Neighbor’s Bedroom”:

“The epigraph is really attention-grabbing, and even though it makes it clear that the poem as a whole is fiction, that in no way lessens the emotional truth and impact of it.”

“The author uses great images to let us know where we are in time. There are a lot of imaginary images, like pink lakes, but there are also images like Buffalo nickels and autumn leaves that let us know when the speaker was a child and where we are now.”

Jenelle Clausen, Assistant Poetry Editor

Photo: Jeremy Stratton

MAR Asks, Estanislao Lopez Answers

Estanislao Lopez
Estanislao Lopez

Our first contributor interview for 2015 will also be our penultimate contributor interview from Vol. XXXIV, Number 2. Turn to page 150 of that issue, and you’ll find Estanislao Lopez’s haunting  poem, “The Politics of Rivers.” From the opening lines (“Behind brown sheets of dust, my grandfather’s voice / ripened with stories he thought forgotten”) to the stunning conclusion, this poem is about memory, cultural identity, homesickness, time, and so much more.

Estanislao Lopez studied philosophy and creative writing at the University of Houston. After graduating, he began teaching literature and creative writing at the secondary level. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Ninth Letter, Meridian, New Ohio Review, and elsewhere. He currently lives, works, and flounders in Houston.

Quick! Summarize your poem in 10 words or fewer.

Water (fluid) demarcates cultural identity (static?)—turmoil ensues.

What can you share about this piece prior to its MAR publication?

This is my first relatively successful poem to tackle ethno-cultural themes. Most attempts previous to this poem (and following) fail to achieve the kind of nuance I think the issue deserves. As a second-gen Latino writer on the assimilated side of the spectrum, I find it difficult to pin the speaker right between those two worlds, struggling with a sense of alienation from both.

What was your reaction upon receiving your MAR acceptance?

I took back what I said about never getting published again.

What do you consider your biggest writing-related success?

My first publication appeared in an issue with two wonderful mentors of mine, Tony Hoagland and Ange Mlinko, both of whom (along with my primary advisor, Kevin Prufer) guided me in my undergraduate senior thesis. Seeing their names beside mine is still kind of surreal. Definitely a high point.

You’re at a family reunion and some long-lost relative asks about your writing. What do you say?

I pretend I primarily write fiction.

Your biggest writing-related regret?

The same as every writer I’ve ever talked with: not writing more. I have very poor executive function, so this might be a bigger problem for me than most. Once I start writing, the world hushes, but getting to that start point requires a Herculean effort. I had a regular schedule going at one point about a year ago, but eventually I started to rebuke my own authority. Hopefully, I can bring sexy discipline back.

Tell us one strange thing about yourself that does not involve writing.

I often meander from room to room, forgetting any initial motive for walking in there (related to the poor executive function).

Tell us one strange thing about yourself that does involve writing.

I am an obsessive revisionist. At one point, I believe I was revising a single poem at least nine times a day for a month. I definitely can find myself over-editing a poem—chiseling out its soul. Luckily, I can spot this error after creating some distance for a while and then checking back—or when someone else clues me in on the fact.

Do you have another favorite piece of writing in this MAR issue? If so, name it and tell us why.

My favorite piece in this issue would have to be “Panacea” by Philip Jason. This short story rivets us with its authoritative imagination. The unsettling humor provides just enough buoyancy to counterbalance those heavier, epiphanic moments. I find this story is one of those sparkling few pieces of writing that harnesses the true power of surrealist/absurdist stylization, which is to reach sincerity through them. The sincerity juxtaposed against the playfulness of style makes for one hell of a moving piece of literature.

Can you show us a photo of you holding your MAR contributor’s copy?

Lopez2

Thanks for the interview, Estanislao!
Laura Maylene Walter, Fiction Editor

Winter Wheat Preview 2014: Writing Collaborative Poetry

“Two Heads Are Better Than One: Writing Collaborative Poetry” with Callista Buchen & Amy Ash
Saturday, Nov. 15, 1:00-2:15pm (Session E10)

two headsIn this workshop, participants will move beyond writing a poem as an isolated act by a single author. Instead, we will explore the possibilities of writing collaboratively, examining the legacy, future, and publication of collaborative poems. The bulk of the session will be devoted to writing collaboratively, discussing and trying out innovative strategies and approaches for writing poetry with a partner or partners. Presenters Callista Buchen and Amy Ash offer more details below:

Who should attend?
Everyone! Collaboration is a great way to stretch your creative muscles and find those you didn’t even know you had. Working with others energizes and inspires you and brings you into immediate conversation with writing partners. There are lots of little victories to celebrate (and you never have to celebrate alone).

What can attendees expect from your workshop?
A concise discussion of the history and resurgence of collaborative poetry, and lots of time to write. We’ll do work all together, exquisite-corpse style, as well as engage in different methods of writing collaboratively. No need to come with a partner(s). We’ll work it out.

Name one fun fact or bit of trivia about this session:
Want to publish your collaborative poems? We’ll talk about how and where.

Quick! Summarize the benefits of this workshop in 10 words or fewer:
Two heads really are better then one. Come find out.

Any last words?
“The most delightful part about our collaborating is the shared creative burden. Even when we think we are stumping one another, providing lines that seem almost impossible to finish, the other can usually think of something to follow right away. We are open to mess and mayhem. We have found what we believe to be a third voice, a voice that is neither Maureen’s nor mine, but rather some poetic hybrid.” —Denise Duhamel, on her collaboration with Maureen Seaton

Image: Tambako the Jaguar
wheatpencilnobackThe countdown to Winter Wheat 2014 has officially begun! In these final weeks leading up to the event, we’re giving our presenters some space here on the blog to share additional details about their sessions, so be sure to check back for more previews. (Remember, this year’s Winter Wheat is bigger and better than ever — see this sessions list for proof.) For more information on the conference, which takes place Nov. 13-15 on the campus of Bowling Green State University in Bowling Green, Ohio, visit the Winter Wheat site.

Contest Deadlines Extended!

the hands of timeThe weather’s changing, the clock hands have been struck back an hour, and the winter darkness is upon us. But there’s a bright spot on the horizon: MAR has extended the deadlines for the Sherwood Anderson Fiction Award and the James Wright Poetry Award until November 15.

That’s right – you still have some precious time remaining to submit to these two contests. With a $1,000 prize + publication in each category, and with Alissa Nutting judging fiction and Oliver de la Paz judging poetry this year, you don’t want to miss out. The entry fee is only $10 (hey, compare it to other contests — $10 for a $1,000 prize is not too shabby) for each story up to 6,000 words or up to three poems. So learn more here and enter now!

Photo: stnorbert