In continuing to highlight our guest readers for this year’s Winter Wheat festival, we asked Dave Essinger, our fiction reader for Saturday, November 8th, about his experiences as a writer and editor, and to share what he will be reading.
Essinger teaches creative writing at the University of Findlay in Ohio where he is also the editor of the literary magazine Slippery Elm. Essinger’s new post-apocalyptic novel This World and the Next was released in 2024 and in the interview that follows, he speaks to what it’s like to be writing about the end of the world when you feel like you’re in it and the problems of trying to publish work that’s too close to reality. Essinger also speaks to what he’s seeing as an editor and how to stand out for literary magazines and make the most of your submissions.
Essinger will be reading alongside poet Jonie McIntire on Saturday, November 8th, at 1:15 p.m. on Bowling Green State University’s campus. Don’t miss the chance to hear him read! Check out Winter Wheat’s schedule of events here. Additionally, you can read Essinger’s full bio here.
You share that you are a writer who remembers fallout drills in preparation of nuclear war as a child and that the world ending is a part of what influences your work. Your latest novel, This World and the Next, is a post-apocalyptic novel. Can you share how current events and experiences inspire you and your experiences imagining and writing about the world ending?
Well! As it happened, I was joking all along that I just needed to finish my post-apocalyptic novel before civilization actually ended. And then, I failed to do so: I completed the manuscript in March of 2020. It contains…a pandemic. Agents and editors everywhere said, sorry, the book read way too much like real life just then. Then it found a home in 2024, and I told my publisher I wanted to get it out before the election, because, haha, I wasn’t going to get burned a second time there! The published book contains some updates from the 2020 version and attributes the fall of civilization to sociopathic political leaders dismantling opposition, inciting false-flag unrest to stay in power, and appointing incompetent loyalists to positions of terrifying power. But don’t worry! It’s totally fiction. Not current events or anything. I was trying to be cautionary, not prophetic.
As the editor of Slippery Elm literary magazine at the University of Findlay, what are you noticing about trends in submissions right now? What can you share with writers who are submitting to literary magazines as an editor?
Like many magazines, we’re getting enormous numbers of submissions, of which we can accept maybe 3-4%. And as anyone who’s worked reading submissions will attest, it changes the way I write, as I imagine my own work crossing the desk of someone overwhelmed with writing that’s competent, and often really good—so, what separates good writing from unforgettable, and what stands out in a sea of very good work? My advice is always to read widely, know what’s out there, and stand out—make it easy on readers and editors who have difficult choices.
And…don’t take rejection too hard, because it’s a competitive but totally subjective process…maybe don’t pay out for contests unless you love the cause and get something back for your entry fee (every entrant for Slippery Elm gets a copy of the issue in the mail, for example)…and if you don’t feel like paying reading fees, we and many other journals take General submissions for free and are fine with simultaneous submissions. With so many writers writing, and so many journals out there, why not make some of those numbers work for you? If publication is the goal, it’s possible to submit widely without breaking the bank.
For those who haven’t attended Winter Wheat before, can you share about your experiences at Winter Wheat? How does it feel to be coming to Winter Wheat as a reader this year?
I haven’t been to every Winter Wheat…but almost! And I’m beyond thrilled to be invited as a reader this year—for the 25th anniversary, no less! Winter Wheat is a fantastic cultural contribution to northwest Ohio and the Midwest, and I’m always counseling students and friends to attend and propose panels and presentations because it’s friendly, free, and close to home. Among everything else, Winter Wheat is a wonderful resource for students and new writers, offering an approachable first writers’ conference experience without the cost and commitment of flying across the country. Winter Wheat has become a literary institution in the region, and should be on every writers’ calendar.
Can you share with us a little bit about what you will be reading?
Could be a game-day call—sometimes I like to ask an audience what they want to hear, throw out a couple choices—but likely picks include excerpts from my latest published novel This World and the Next with lots of foreshadowing from the Last Day before the end of the world, and scenes from my recently completed book Compassion Fatigue, featuring a burnt-out veterinarian whose son is implicated in an active-shooter incident. Cheery stuff either way, I know, but what can I say, our writing is a product of our times. Or at least mine is.
Winter Wheat is just a little over a week away! As a part of the writing festival, on Saturday, November 7th, poet Jonie McIntire will be reading alongside Dave Essinger and sharing her work with us.
McIntire is a long-time Winter Wheat supporter, but additionally, she is deeply immersed in the communities she works within to support her writing and foster writing among others in Northwest Ohio. McIntire is a writer based in Toledo, Ohio and is the Poet Laureate of Lucas County, Ohio. She is the poetry editor for Of Rust and Glass and serves as Membership Chair for the Ohio Poetry Association. Additionally, she hosts a monthly poetry reading series, Uncloistered Poetry, which has been going for over six years and currently runs in-person and on-line events each month. You can read Jonie McIntire’s full bio here.
In the interview that follows, McIntire shared with us how she found her communities or formed them when they weren’t there. She discusses the value she finds in community, how they support and encourage her, both in helping her to generate and develop her writing. She also shared with us a little bit about what she will be reading for us at Winter Wheat and why you should attend. Read on to learn more!
You are a part of many literary communities including the Ohio Poetry Association where you serve as a Membership chair, and with the monthly reading series you host, Uncloistered Poetry. What are some of your favorite things about the writing communities you belong to?
What I love about artistic communities is how they overlap and interplay. I have been a part of the Ohio Poetry Association for many years, but during the pandemic, I took on the role of Membership Chair because I loved the work they do and wanted to help them grow. OPA is so well-connected to Columbus, Cincinnati, Cleveland, and other major areas in Ohio, and they work to move events around the state whenever possible. More and more poets from the Toledo area have been getting involved in OPA events, from the Underground Railroad readings to the recent River Roots anthology. I love seeing our local poets reach out and establish themselves in the wider writing community! In 2024, I moved into the role of Treasurer and, though we are searching for a new candidate to fill the position, I have loved seeing the group expand its reach and offerings. They have a lot planned in the next year or so. I can’t wait to see more activity in our corner of Ohio!
During the pandemic, I also found some new communities who have become dear to my heart. In particular, the Women of Appalachia Project, founded and led by the incredible Kari Gunter-Seymour. Working with Haley Haugen-Mitchell, Kari edits a yearly anthology of writings by women in and from Appalachia. I was born in Pittsburgh and found so much resonance in what these talented women had to say. Finding WOAP really helped me build my voice and give me a chance to focus on some stories from my past. And I truly find kindred spirits every year I get to read with the group. In fact, through this group, I came to learn about a writing retreat Pauletta Hansel hosts in Kentucky which I have now attended a few times and am excited to return to in the future.
Beyond that, I have a couple writing workshop groups that I regularly interact with. One includes a few teachers from Toledo School for the Arts as well as a good friend I’ve known since college (Justin Longacre, Adrian Lime, Heather Smietanski, Lydia Horvath, and Kerry Trautman.) Kerry, Adrian and I have been writing together and reading together since the late 90’s. They are truly pivotal to who I am today as a writer, and they continue to be the best editors a gal could find. The other group I write with is online – a small collection of poets who are mostly new to me, but we email poems to each other, using a final line from the poet before us to start our next poem. I’ve been in this group for a few years now and it’s delightfully challenging but easy-paced (which is the right pace for me!)
Your reading series, Uncloistered Poetry— how did you come to create it? What prompted you to start it?
Uncloistered Poetry started in 2016, when my first chapbook “Not All Who Are Lost Wander” was released. There was a new brewery downtown called Black Cloister with the most delicious beer and a lovely little stage. So I asked if we could have readings, made our first reading a book release, and thought we might as well make this a monthly reading. At first, it was called “Cloistered Poetry.” Unfortunately, the location did not work out and we were only there for a few months before we had to move to Calvino’s. I changed the name to “Uncloistered Poetry,” and we stayed at Calvino’s for about three and a half years before the pandemic made us move to an online format. During that time, we were able to pay performers through an Arts Commission of Greater Toledo Accelerator Grant, and even raise funds for NAOMI House, Library Legacy Foundation, and Toledo Streets Newspaper. At the time, there weren’t many open mics going on. I was involved in Broadway Bards, which read at The Original Subshop and had been going for many years, but Hod Doering, who ran the series, was slowing down a little and I wanted to help build more stages for poets. Calvino’s opened on Sunday nights just for us, made us feel at home, fed us, and really gave us a space to grow in.
When the pandemic moved us online, we found a new community there. People from Australia, New Zealand, Canada, England, Italy, the Phillipines and all over the United States joined us and shared their work. It was really an incredible experience to find new poets each month.
As we were able to meet in person again, I wanted to maintain both series, the in-person and on-line. So we moved to The Attic on Adams for our readings in Toledo. The Attic has given us space to host all kinds of events over the years, from “Back to Jack” to book releases, even a few wakes for poets who had passed. And we were able to visit a few other locations, like the Switchboard, The Trunk (a long-time favorite haunt for local poets), and even The Peacock, all of which were incredible hosts.
As a writer based in the Midwest, can you speak to our community specifically? How does being a Midwest writer influence how you think about your work or impact the way you engage with the community?
Where you live and where you come from seep up through the pores in your writing. It’s in what objects you focus on and what attitudes you have about rain. Midwest writers talk about work even when they aren’t talking about work – because so much of what we do and where we live is centered on it. I guess I would say in my work, there is always a cloud – the dead body in the love poem, or the sadness of a sunny day. That’s pretty freakin’ Midwestern. I talk about the economy, about working class situations quite a bit, about women trapped by work and family, decaying houses and old dogs.
I suppose you can tell I’m a Midwest writer because I shy away from the stage sometimes, but when I get up there, I say what I mean whether you like it or not. That feels pretty Midwestern to me. A begrudging frankness. But a need to see other people get up, a true deep joy when they push themselves to say something difficult and find that they are not alone. Maybe that’s not just Midwest. But it’s what I love about the poetry scene in Northwest Ohio. We show up for each other.
Much of Winter Wheat is similarly about creating an environment for community and connection. As a past participant of Winter Wheat, I wonder if you can speak to some of your experiences for those who haven’t attended Winter Wheat before.
Oh you are in for a treat! I learned how to make little books at Winter Wheat. I learned how to use fairy tales in poetry to take allusions and assumptions and turn them. I learned how to do yoga and turn that into poems about the body. I learned about what journal editors look for and what they immediately reject. I learned about incorporating memoir into prose poetry. I learned about writing theater pieces that interweave multiple storylines. I learned about drinking tea and making that an experience that generated many poems. I learned about building poetic communities.
Winter Wheat is a reunion of writers. Not just local and not just academic, but from all over and from all genres and styles. Because the presenters can be from any walk of life, the classes can cover any aspect of literary art – from the physical production of paper/books/broadsides/collage, to the ideation of poems and plays, from craft to presentation. I love the creativity that workshop leaders bring. And of course, there’s the bookfair – another favorite of mine. You get the chance to talk to journal editors about what they are looking for, get free copies sometimes or purchase some to get a better idea where to submit. There’s always the opportunity to get to know the other writers at lunch time or between workshops. And then there’s the open mic – THAT IS THE BEST! No, seriously. Open mic at the end of Winter Wheat is how I want to let go this mortal coil. Walk out with the exhausted, inspired, frantic joy of feeling everything renewed again. Open mic is where you get reborn.
Finally, can you share with us a little bit about what you will be reading and how you selected it?
What I’m going to read is a collection of various writing over the years. Because I want to tell the tale of how I got here. How I went from writing in college, to having kids and working, returning to poetry, retiring from corporate work at 43 years old, finding the courage to write about difficult things, returning to work at 50, and maintaining a sense of community through all of it.
With Winter Wheat just around the corner, we asked our guest readers, Paula J. Lambert and Juan Rojas about their work, what they will be reading, and about their Winter Wheat experiences to share with our readers and participants.
Lambert and Rojas were asked to respond to the following questions via email and what follows is their written descriptions depicting the beautiful working relationship they have developed to produce their works of translation and the importance of their communication and understanding of each other.
Can you share with us a little bit about what you will be reading?
Paula & Juan: We’ll be reading poems excerpted from Juan’s full manuscript El camino que lleva nuestros nombres / The Path that Carries Our Names in the original Spanish and the translated English. The last section, as you know, was published in MAR as a featured translation chapbook, so we expect to finish the reading with that last section of the book in full. We also look forward to discussing the translation process itself, as time allows—how it unfolds, and the key elements that shape it.
Your work is a work in translation. Can you speak to the process of translation?
Paula:For us, the work was as much a process of editing as it was translation, as Juan came to me when he’d finished the first draft of the manuscript, and the poems needed quite a lot of work. I’m a very good editor, and many of the poems that were quite long and rather confusing were edited down to something far more concise. Additionally, some of the poems had already been translated to English by another poet who was not a native English speaker, and though that should have made things easier for me (I actually don’t speak or read Spanish) it actually made some things more difficult, as we had to sort out what was problematic from the original words Juan wrote and what may have been a problem with an inaccuracy in the first translation. So, ours was a sitting-side-by-side process, with me asking him over and over, “Is this what you really mean? Is this what you intended?” Sometimes that led to him realizing the drafted poem was not very clear, and sometimes it meant there was something in the language or the cultural references that I was not yet understanding. And of course once we got through all the individual poems, all translated fully and clearly into English so that I had a much clearer understanding of the overall story being told, we had to take a look at how the poems were working together—where there were redundancies, for example, or how some parallels needed to be highlighted.
Juan:The translation process involved four essential elements: excellent communication—between poet and poet, poet and editor, and poet and translator; a willingness to explore new creative possibilities; trust in our instincts and in the original poetic essence; and the courage to embrace transformation.
For me, it was crucial to truly listen to Paula—not only as a translator, but also as a poet and editor in her own right. I wanted to ensure that what I originally intended to “chant” could be creatively reimagined through translation. After all, every translation is its own new creation.
I made a point to reflect on the changes Paula suggested—not simply agreeing or disagreeing but engaging in meaningful discussion. Dialogue has been essential throughout—before, during, and even after the translation of the manuscript—especially as we’ve shared this work together in multiple conferences and literary festivals.
How did you come to collaborate and what was that process like collaborating?
Paula: We’ve been friends and colleagues for many years. I’m not honestly sure where we first met, but I’d heard him read on the local poetry scene and, as I was hosting Peripatetic Poets here in Columbus and a show called “Celebrating the Night Sky” at Perkins Observatory in Delaware, I invited him to read. When he read at the observatory, he brought his two children, very young at the time, who played “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” on the violin as he read his poems over their music. It was magical. When that event evolved into the Sun & Moon Poetry Festival, I invited him to take part in the Haiku Death Match. It was fascinating watching audiences respond to his performances. People literally swooned over his tiny, powerful poems. So, I invited him to do a little chapbook for Full/Crescent press, and that turned into De caña de maíz y miel: 12 haikus de Ohio / On Cornstalks and Honey: 12 Ohio Haiku. Haiku are very hard to write, and the original poems he gave me needed a lot of work, so the process was similar. “Is this really what you mean? Why did you use this image?” And so on. I was not yet his translator, but we found through that process that we worked very, very well together as poet and editor. It turned into a gorgeous little pocket-sized, hand-stitched chapbook with a cover that was just beautiful. And it sold out almost immediately. When he found himself in need of a new translator a few years ago, he told me he had a new manuscript and asked if I might like to try working together on that, to ensure the work was solid in both languages. And here we are. We’re co-workers and friends, able to be very honest with one another. I’m able to tell him when something is not working—and of course, when it’s working incredibly, beautifully well. He’s able to tell me that something needs to be a certain way and can’t be changed. It’s very give and take and very rewarding for both of us.
Juan: My collaboration with Paula has developed alongside our friendship. Not long ago, translation was often limited to the works of deceased authors. Today, the translation of contemporary poetry is increasingly common—and vital. Many poets now see their work published in multiple languages and take part in international festivals, a trend that reflects the global reach of poetry.
When a poem is translated, the process depends greatly on the poet’s involvement. If you know the language, you work closely with the translator. If not, you trust that the translator will remain faithful to your voice and vision. I feel very fortunate that Paula and I have spent countless hours together on this project—reviewing, discussing, and fine-tuning every line until we both felt completely satisfied.
I always know when Paula is truly moved by a poem—she gets goosebumps. That’s when I know we’ve done something right.
Paula: (Yeah, that goosebump part is absolutely true.)
As past participants, how does it feel to be coming to Winter Wheat as a reader this year? How might that experience feel different for you?
Paula: Well, I can say for myself that I’m thrilled, as I last read in Prout Chapel as an MFA student in 1995 and 1996. I was focused on fiction at the time and read both years with poet Tania Runyan, who is still a close friend. So to come back as an invited guest reader, and as a poet, and as part of a translation project, is deeply meaningful. It’s an honor to have been invited back to read, and it’s humbling to think of all the ways my work as a writer has changed in nearly 30 years!
Juan: It’s an honor—one I will always cherish—to have been invited to Winter Wheat. It’s a meaningful opportunity to engage with both regional and national writers, to learn from their work, and to share my own.
As a poet who writes primarily in Spanish, my mother tongue, I’m aware that language can sometimes limit access to new readers. But translation changes that. It opens doors, allowing English-speaking readers to connect with and appreciate my poetry.
I was genuinely thrilled to learn I’d been invited as a guest reader, alongside my friend, poet, and translator Paula J. Lambert. It feels like a living testament to the idea that poetry—shared across borders and languages—can make the world a better place.
Winter Wheat offers a moment to connect with other poets, to explore new paths, and to feel welcomed by the vibrant Ohio poetry community.
Can you speak to your experiences at Winter Wheat? What have you encountered/experienced? What has kept you returning?
Paula: I’ve heard so many extraordinary writers at Winter Wheat! Tyehimba Jess was a favorite, when Leadbelly was brand-new. That was a favorite poetry collection for so many years. Carl Phillips was just lovely, as was Camille Dungy. Allison Joseph…so many great writers and readers. For a while, several years after I graduated from the program, I came back to BGSU to teach, so it was easy to attend, and it always felt like a reunion of sorts, as many former students and faculty would come to town for it. In recent years, I’ve tried to come up more often again and though I recognize fewer attendees each time, it’s always great to meet new people, and it’s interesting to see what the current MFA students especially are interested in and wanting to teach. And of course it’s been a chance to think through whatever new project I’m working on, as when Juan and I together taught a workshop on the long poem. At the time, I was writing very, very long poems, and Juan and I had just started working on his manuscript, which is made up of short poems but together tell a single, long story. Teaching is always a wonderful discovery process as, if you’re going about it right, it makes you think hard, in explaining to someone else, about what exactly you’re doing and why. And of course you learn so much from your students in the questions they ask and what they share of the projects they’re working on. I think all writing, ultimately, and even all teaching, is at its core collaborative. It’s a discovery process for everyone.
Juan: Paula and I first participated in Winter Wheat two years ago. At that time, we presented some of our initial translations and reflected on the fresh, unfolding experience of co-creation. It is a true joy to return as invited guests—to share what has happened since, how the manuscript has evolved, and what we envision for the future of El camino que lleva nuestros nombres / The Path that Carries Our Names.
Winter Wheat has become, for us, a kind of homecoming—a return to the wellspring of language and creative energy. Like going back to the well to draw water, we return in search of poetry—expecting it, welcoming it, dreaming it.
There’s a poem in the manuscript that speaks to this feeling:
“Wandering my Dreams, I Find Direction”
We’ll drink water from the well.
We’ll meditate.
We’ll meditate within these dreams,
unraveling mysteries not yet revealed.
Paula J. Lambert and Juan Rojas’ translation chapbook, The Path that Carries Our Names, a collection of poetry written by Rojas translated from Spanish by Lambert, was published in the most recent issue of The Mid-American Review. Rojas is a Mexican-American transborder poet, essayist, and scholar. He currently serves as the President of the Hispanic Ohio Writers Association. Lambert is an alumna of Bowling Green’s MFA program and author of five full-length poetry collections. Lambert owns Full/Crescent Press, a small publisher of poetry books and broadsides, through which she has founded and supported numerous public readings and festivals that support the intersection of poetry and science. You can read our guest readers’ full bios here.
I’ve been tasked with capturing the spirit and experience of Winter Wheat 2024. I’ll offer first a series of images and momentarily shift responsibility to you, earnest reader: imagine the Education Building, in all its eastern bloc nobility; a gaggle of impassioned writers, buzzing in disquiet; dark, fall evenings with winds a shade warmer than we deserve; and a smooth Saturday morning where hope sprinkles in tease of snow. There was coffee. There were snacks. Writing was done. Some learning, too.
But it’s all best stated by our presenters, guests, and organizers.
Nathan Fako, poetry MFA student and co-presenter of the Elegies for Disappearing Nature workshop, finds that Winter Wheat “was fine, wonderful. It was warm. Gatherings of writers… I feel like we’re all kind of awkward people. We wanna keep to ourselves. We like to be alone to think. There’s an apprehension, generally, when we get together, but the warm atmosphere assuaged that feeling. It was fun.” He felt that the “workshops were accessible. There was clear work put in to make the content accessible to someone with no experience with writing, but also to make it interesting to those who are experienced.” His concluding thoughts, which should be remembered: “I’ve never been to a literary festival before, and I really enjoyed it. I thought it was great. It was nice to see so many people passionate about the same thing. I find that heartwarming. Or terrifying. I don’t know which.”
Liz Barnett, fiction MFA student who presented on adaptation, found that Winter Wheat “went really well.” They stated, “In the end, I had a lot of people tell me it was fun. [The workshops] I went to were accommodating; they provided materials, it never felt like I wasn’t prepared, and it didn’t feel like I was being excluded from any activities.” Liz said finally that they’re “looking forward to running a workshop again next year” that will explore revenge stories.
Michelle, an attendee, offered similar sentiments on the warmness: “I had concerns that Winter Wheat would be workshops where the presenters sort of droned on about things they didn’t seem to really care about, but I was happy to find that the presenters had interesting topics that I didn’t know much about. They seemed excited to be there but also relaxed. It felt like nobody was going to make fun of me for my lack of poetry knowledge.” She thought “people were going to be stuffy and have very specific and intense rules for writing,” but stated, “Thankfully, I was wrong. I feel like everyone there was open-minded and interested in exploring many different styles of writing.”
Abigail Cloud, Editor-in-Chief of Mid-American Review, thought “it went really well. People really needed it this year in a big way. There was a lot of worry going on, particularly among our population. People needed to be together and create together. [Attendees] wanted that opportunity to work in inspiring circumstances that are safe, where they can create and not be worried about anything else besides new work and new ideas.” Cloud spoke at length about the generative importance of Winter Wheat, how it “puts focus back on creation, the generation of new ideas and work,” an attitude shared by Haley Souders, Winter Wheat Coordinator. Souders stated, “I always come out of [Winter Wheat] wanting to write more. This year I left wanting to take a look at my thesis project. I feel like I’ve been in a little bit of a gray area with it, where I’m not feeling as much joy writing it, but after spending a few days talking to people who are interested in writing, I feel inspired.”
Cloud also highlights regionality, the “quintessential midwestern aspects of comfort and value of togetherness.” For Cloud, Winter Wheat fosters a sort of camaraderie: “The region, as much as it is here, it is a place, it is more about the attitude and knowledge that we are coming to a place that represents some level of comfort to people.” Souders also touched on the importance of place, stating, “I feel like the words “literary community” have gotten thrown around a lot when talking about Winter Wheat, but having events that are free to attend is important because people from all over can come together to talk about art and writing. Who knows in five years if we will be able to do these things? Humanities are being defunded across the board. It’s important to have [Winter Wheat] and maintain it.”
Finally, Cloud defines Winter Wheat: “The word I’m going to pick is fervent. There’s a real desire to put new work together and take advantage of seeing friends. That’s how I felt. I had some friends there that I haven’t seen in a really long time. I wanted to fervently soak time up with them while they were there with me. I think that’s the best energy that we can hope for and create, just having an immediate connection and desire to what we were doing.”
And here’s what I’ve been thinking about lately, pre and post Winter Wheat: among a few other pesky things, John the Savage tells us to find poetry, God, freedom, sin, and goodness. His distant cousin Alexander Supertramp tells us to honor Ahab, but advises we not forget the dominant primordial beast. Locate ambition, but do not forget hubris. Writers are strange; sometimes we are arrogant, sometimes self-dismissive. Maybe we have ethereal jobs, biblical duties, and great importance – maybe not. It does not matter. Find a warm atmosphere with gentle souls like Winter Wheat, sit awhile, and play toward peace.
Jacqueline (she/her) was interviewed for an hour in the early afternoon on September 26th, 2024. This interview occurred in East Hall at Bowling Green State University, just a few hours before Jacqueline read at Prout Chapel for our reading series. We were thrilled to sit down with Vogtman and talk behind the scenes of life as a writer. This interview is split into two parts; the second part will be posted next week.
Jacqueline Vogtman received the New Jersey State Council on the Arts Fellowship, awarded earlier this year, 2024. Jacqueline graduated from BGSU’s MFA program in 2010. She currently teaches composition at Mercer County Community College in New Jersey. Vogtman’s short story collection, Girl Country, won the 2021 Dzanc Books Short Story Collection Prize and was published by Dzanc Books in May 2023. Vogtman’s book Girl Country is available for purchase with the following link:https://www.dzancbooks.org/all-titles/p/girl-country
Interviewer:
You were recently in the woods as part of your fellowship. Could you tell us a little bit more about that experience?
Jacqueline Vogtman:
I used some of my fellowship funds to book a cabin in the woods for a week as a DIY writing retreat. I went alone, with my dog, to this nice, little cabin. What was really amazing was returning to a solitude that I hadn’t experienced in so long. I normally dedicate so much time to being a mother, caring for family, and my students. The silence and the solitude were really refreshing, and they helped me have headspace to think through my novel and begin working on it.
The first part of my writing process is on paper: brainstorms, scribbles, mapping things out. I did some of that, and then I was able to begin actually writing. I did a decent amount while there. Being out in nature is inspiring to me. I took a lot of walks while there. I find walking to be meditative and a good way to let ideas flow. The combination of solitude, silence, and just being surrounded by nature helped me get started on this novel.
Interviewer:
Has it always been your natural inclination to go to secluded spaces or natural spaces when you’re in the writing process?
Jacqueline Vogtman:
Absolutely! For me, it’s helpful to have a private space to write; I’ve never been one to do my best work in a crowded coffee shop. I find so much inspiration in nature, being surrounded by woods, or being in the countryside, even in a suburban backyard visited by birds and deer. These are things that help my creative process.
Interviewer:
Can you tell us more about the moment you realized that you had a collection of short stories that would eventually be Girl Country?
Jacqueline Vogtman:
I can’t recall an exact moment—but after writing several of the stories, I realized that they were all fitting together thematically and that my short story “Girl Country” was kind of the thematic thread holding them together. From there, I was writing new stories with these themes in mind—that they’d all somehow have something to do with girlhood, womanhood, motherhood, the body, nature, magic, and finding light in the darkness.
Interviewer:
Is nature integral to your writing? How do you not go crazy being alone in the woods for so long?
Jacqueline Vogtman:
I’m definitely inspired by nature. I feel like I am at home in the woods. I have more of a fertile imagination when I’m out there. I know some people thrive in a city but that doesn’t do it for me. It was nice being alone in the woods because I constantly have stuff to do: teaching, mothering. I like stepping away from all that to be alone in silence. Silence makes me the opposite of crazy. Silence gave me clarity for the first time in a long time.
Interviewer:
I can see how that would be a relief. How do you feel about being back at BGSU? We read in one recent interview that your cohort had great rapport.
Jacqueline Vogtman:
Yes! It feels surreal being here. On the one hand, everything looks the same. On the other, things feel different. It’s all such a long time ago but feels like yesterday. I would say some of the best years of my life were at BGSU.
I don’t know if everyone feels this way, but when I came here and met everyone, I felt like I was finally meeting my people. When I was growing up, I felt like a bit of a weirdo. Probably a lot of writers do, so getting to the MFA and meeting people who are on the same wavelength and interested in the same things was eye opening. I finally found myself.
Interviewer:
That’s awesome. Do you keep in touch with your cohort?
Jacqueline Vogtman:
Yeah, I made some great relationships. Now, we’re all sort of scattered around the country. It’s nice because we still have those connections. This past summer, a few of us had a mini workshop via Zoom because we’re all in different parts of the country. It was so nice to reconnect. I felt like I lost my writing community after leaving the MFA.
Interviewer:
We are scared to graduate! Thank you for the wise words. So you live in New Jersey now. How did you go about making a literary community where you are?
Jacqueline Vogtman:
The sad and short answer is I haven’t really. I find a lot of inspiration in non-writing communities and through my kid. She’s a kid, you know? Kids are imaginative. For my own adult writing community, I don’t really have one aside from sporadic mini workshops with my old BG friends. I don’t want to sell myself short though. I advise a creative writing club on campus where I teach. Obviously, the club is more focused on students, but it still gives me a sense of being a part of that world.
I was also the editor of this literary journal called the Kelsey Review that has been running for a really long time. We focus specifically on the county. It’s not a national literary journal; it’s for people in Mercer County, NJ to submit their work. I felt lucky when I got the job as Editor-in-Chief. That’s another writing community I was a part of. It was really nice to see work from the community.
Interviewer:
So you were the Editor-in-Chief of the Kelsey Review, you aren’t anymore? Do you still have a role on the masthead?
Jacqueline Vogtman:
Yeah, I recently handed it over. I’m no longer the editor. Some of my colleagues took over. I was the Editor-in-Chief for nine years. That was nice. But at this point, my main involvement is helping the new editors transition into their roles.
Interviewer:
How did you make that decision to give it up?
Jacqueline Vogtman:
It was difficult. On one hand, it was such a nice part of my job that was a refreshing break from grading research papers. It was also very time-consuming, and there was a lot of red tape, working with the administration on money things. I don’t have a head for money. I don’t want to. I don’t want anything to do with money.
Running the Kelsey Review took a lot of time and headspace. At times, it became stressful. That all played a part in my decision to move on. I also wanted to step away from helping others publish, so I could focus on my own work. After publishing Girl Country, I am working on a novel now. I want to focus on that now.
Interviewer:
When you were in the MFA, was your thesis a short story collection?
Jacqueline Vogtman:
Yes. I worked on short stories. Actually, three of the short stories from thesis ended up in the book. I wrote a whole thesis here. At the time, I was happy with it. When I left Bowling Green, I tried submitting the manuscript to a few places.
I wasn’t very aggressive about it. It wasn’t picked up. As time went on, I was not super happy with it. I basically put the whole project aside for a long time. Years later, I sat down and wrote a few, new stories that are in the book. One day, I realized that I have a collection here. I looked back at my thesis; some of my short stories fit into the new collection. It was a matter of taking those three old stories and somehow fitting them into the collection.
Interviewer:
Did you ever consider taking your thesis in a novel direction?
Jacqueline Vogtman:
Not really. I didn’t feel ready to write a novel. It’s such a different beast than a short story collection. I didn’t feel ready, and I wasn’t that interested at the time.
Interviewer:
What changed to make you feel that you’re ready to write a novel?
Jacqueline Vogtman:
I finished this project of short stories, Girl Country. I figured I’d written all the short stories that I wanted to write. Sure, I still have ideas jotted down for a few new ones. But I’m not as interested in writing them right now. I want to try something new, the novel. I’ve had these thoughts of a novel for so long. Maybe there’s some maturity that’s happened like I can handle it now. Back then, the novel felt like a beast.
Interviewer:
Is the novel not a beast now?
Jacqueline Vogtman:
It still is just not as big of a beast. I think it will always be a beast. With a novel, it’s so big. There is more structure, more to plot out. In general, there’s lots of pieces to put together with the novel. And that was the most challenging part.
Interviewer:
Have you heard the hypothetical: would you rather fight like ten horses, or thirty duck-sized horses, or one horse-sized duck? Would you say that is accurate to short stories versus a novel?
Jacqueline Vogtman:
Oh, I haven’t heard of that. It’s an interesting hypothetical to be sure. Short stories are more of a fight with a bunch of duck-sized horses, while novels are more of a fight with a horse-sized duck. A huge duck is one solid thing. So that feels right.
Short stories feel more manageable. Arranging the collection was putting pieces where I wanted them. Right now, I’m still in the thick of the novel, and there are lots of pieces. I’m trying to figure out how to create and mold the huge duck.
Interviewer
That’s awesome. It’s interesting how a writer’s voice changes over time. I’m at the stage now where I’ll look back at my previous writing and not like what I was writing a few months ago. Does that stage end?
Jacqueline Vogtman:
You mean that feeling where you’ll look back on something you wrote like six months ago and go “Oh that’s such utter shit?”
Interviewer
Haha. Yes.
Jacqueline Vogtman:
It has changed a little for me. There’s always going to be shitty first drafts. It’s always going to be messy in the beginning. I think what I write now, like even the stories that I wrote for this collection, a lot of them came not fully formed. Obviously, there had to be a lot of revision, but I didn’t look back on them six months later and think “Oh god that’s so awful I’m so ashamed I don’t want to show this to anyone.” That does change. As you navigate this steep growth curve, it sort of levels out. Again, the first things you write are going to be messy for the most part, and once in a while, you’ll get a gem that just comes out and it’s like “oh my god I wrote this almost perfect thing and I don’t even have to do much to it”. That’s very very rare, but it might happen.
Interviewer
Thank you for your time.
The final part of this interview will be posted on Wednesday, 11/21/2024.
