Contributor's Notes–Laura-Eve Engel

Laura Eve Engel's work has recently appeared or is forthcoming from Black Warrior Review, Boston Review, Colorado Review, The Southern Review, Tin House and elsewhere. She blogs sporadically here. You can follow her on Twitter @hoostown.

Have you been to Amsterdam? What did you do while you were here? If you've not been yet, what do you think you'd do in our fair town?

I've never been, or really done much traveling at all to speak of. I'd probably arrive on your doorstep looking confused and ask you to hold me.

What is the first creative thing you ever did?

I remember writing a story in 2nd grade about some fairies on an island that I "self-published" in whatever remote room in my elementary school held all the cardboard and construction paper—in my mind, it looks a little something like a janitor's closet. I was convinced even then that I'd ripped off the plot wholesale from something I'd seen on TV, and having at this point no recollection of the story but a pretty good sense of where I stand as a fiction writer, I'd say I probably did. I'm still not sure what I stole from, though. I want to say it was a precocious 2nd grader's reinvention of A Midsummer Night's Dream, but it was probably more like a fan-fiction approach to Fern Gully.

What is the dumbest thing anyone has ever said to you about being a writer?

When I showed my self-published fairy story to my mom she probably said something like "You should be a writer!" Maybe that isn't dumb. Maybe more like tragic, or sabotage.

If you were an angle, what kind of angle would you be?

O boy, are you ready for this? A Laura Eve Engel. 

If you could meet a writer from the 15th, 16th or 17th centuries, who would it be? And what would you talk about?

I'd like to sit down with William Shakespeare and ask him if he's just one dude or, like, a bunch of dudes.

Tell us something few people know about you.

This is probably more like something I think only a few people know about me and actually everyone does, but I love Justin Timberlake. And Top 40 radio generally. I love the radio. I can't help it. As a kid first "discovering" listening to music that way, it made me feel intensely connected to everything else and I've never stopped feeling that way about it, even though now I couldn't disconnect myself from everything else if I wanted to.

Other than Versal (which has clearly been awesome), what's one great place you've been published?

I'm grateful to have a chapbook called [Spoiler Alert], co-written with Adam Peterson, that's out from The Collagist/Dzanc Books. Those are some great folks publishing great things and I feel lucky to be included.

Why did you send work to Versal? Be honest. 

I noticed a bunch of writers whose work I really admired citing Versal in their bios, and that's always a good sign. That's been the most reliable way I've found to get turned on to great, newer journals like you guys. I've also never had work published anywhere outside of the US, so that was a draw; it's exciting to know there are now two countries I owe some apologies to.

What has lasted you ten years?

I was vegetarian for 10 years. I've played guitar for 10 years. I guess, now that I think about it, this year was the 10-year anniversary of my getting a driver's license. Ten is the tin/aluminum anniversary which, I'll be honest, I've never really understood what that meant but I guess I'll be getting my license some campfire cookware or siding or something.

Tell us what you're working on right now.

I have a couple of manuscripts in...the fire? Like irons? One is a collection of poems called Things That Go, and the other is a long poem called I Write to You From the Sea that is growing more bloated and stubborn by the day. I just started a third thing that feels separate but hasn't quite defined itself for me yet. Otherwise, I'm getting pumped to spend this summer at the Young Writers Workshop, where I'm Residential Program Director, and which is my favorite place on earth.

Contributor's Notes–Luke Andrew Geddes

Interviews and guest posts from the writers and artists of Versal 10. This edition features Luke Geddes. Luke Andrew Geddes's stories have appeared or are forthcoming in Hayden's Ferry Review, Conjunctions, Mid American Review, and other journals. 

Have you been to Amsterdam? What did you do while you were here? If you've not been yet, what do you think you'd do in our fair town? 

Never been, sadly. If did go to Amsterdam, I’d probably have the Elvis Costello song “New Amsterdam” stuck in my head the whole time, and no matter what I did, I’d board the plane home feeling like I did the wrong things and missed out on all the stuff I should have done. 

What is the first creative thing you ever did?

From a very young age I wanted to be a cartoonist and liked to draw, but I didn’t have the talent or patience for it. Writing is what I do now instead, and although I find it marginally easier and the results better, the process isn’t nearly as fun—is usually not much fun at all, in fact.

What is the dumbest thing anyone has ever said to you about being a writer?

Pretty much everything my MFA workshop professor/thesis director ever said.

If you were an angle, what kind of angle would you be?

Acute.

If you could meet a writer from the 15th, 16th or 17th centuries, who would it be? And what would you talk about?

I’m hoping Chaucer counts (born in the 14^th century, died in the 15^th) because he tells better dirty jokes than Milton or Donne and probably Shakespeare, too.

Tell us something few people know about you.

When I first found out my book was going to be published, I didn’t tell anyone—not my partner, friends, or closest family—until about ten days or two weeks after I’d gotten the news. The joy and sense of accomplishment I felt when no one knew besides me (and my publisher) was purer than anything I’ve felt since. I loved being able to think about it all that time, knowing no one else knew. Now I’m never totally satisfied with any praise or congratulations I receive about it; it all seems facile, not sincere or glowing or enthusiastic enough. 

I’ve felt this way about a lot of my successes, that, while I want the world to know about my every minor and major achievement, the recognition only ends up cheapening it.

Other than Versal (which has clearly been awesome), what's one great place you've been published?

Hayden’s Ferry Review was a turning point, and the story they published I considered at the time (and still do in some ways) my very best. Beth Staples, the editor, is awesome.

Why did you send work to Versal? Be honest. 

I felt like “Mom’s Team v. Dad’s Team” was a weird length—longer than a short short but still shorter than my average story—and it seemed like that was just right for Versal. Also, I noticed in Alissa Nutting’s book that one of the stories was published in Versal so I wanted to publish a story here, too.

What has lasted you ten years?

An increasingly unhealthy sense of cynicism and growing mistrust of everyone I meet.

Tell us what you're working on right now.

At this very moment—as I answer this question—I’m working on promoting my book, I Am a Magical Teenage Princess, a short story collection about teenagers, rock ‘n’ roll, cartoons, the 1960s, cavemen, sex, and other things, and about which Publishers Weekly has said, “In a lesser writer’s hands the work would come off as puerile, but Geddes’s sure prose, empathy, pop cultural knowledge, and stoner wit make for a rewarding and unusual collection.” It comes out July 18^th and you can go to my website (www.iamamagicalteenageprincess.com) to find out more and marvel at the glowing blurbs from such luminaries as Chris Bachelder, Alissa Nutting, and Michael Griffith.

Contributor's Notes–Jessica Young

Interviews and guest posts from the writers and artists of Versal 10. This edition features Jessica Young. Jessica Young currently teaches at the University of Michigan, in Ann Arbor.  She completed her Master's of Fine Arts in Creative Writing (poetry) at UofM, where she held a Zell Fellowship, and received two Hopwood awards and the 2010 Moveen Residency.  Her undergraduate work was at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology where she received four Ilona Karmel prizes for her poetry and essays.

Have you been to Amsterdam? What did you do while you were here? If you've not been yet, what do you think you'd do in our fair town?

I haven’t yet visited, but would really like to. In fact, the current idea is to visit in October. First on the To Do list is the Van Gogh museum. Recommendations are very much welcome!

What is the first creative thing you ever did?

I remember doing experiments with household items.  For example, after seeing a bouquet of roses decay over the course of a week, I was curious what could sustain them longer. I remember buying a fresh rose, carefully removing all of the petals, and then on this rather organized and labeled grid, coating the petals with different materials. I had a control (uncoated) petal, one slathered with Vaseline, another with lemon juice, another with oil, etc. And I watched them over the next few days to see what happened.  I also remember subjecting my parents to “coffee bags,” after discovering tea bags and questioning why only certain beverages could be prepared like that.

What is the dumbest thing anyone has ever said to you about being a writer?

I don’t believe anything has been outright dumb, though I’ve certainly come across misunderstandings.  People who suggest, for example, that art isn’t difficult to do, or isn’t useful.  These statements lack an awareness or generosity about the difficulty of creating a world out of words and evoking emotions and images, or the idea that lives are affected and changed by art.  I find these ideas troublesome—do people think I’m wasting my time in la la land?  But I also understand, as I certainly don’t know what theoretical mathematicians do all day, or what their practical contributions to society are.  So I just try to respond, briefly, with what art has meant to me, as a way to suggest that its impact is very real.

If you were an angle, what kind of angle would you be?

Scalene.  No question.  And for no other reason than this is the angle that people seem to forget most, and it’s just a nice word… scalene.  We should say it more.  Say it with me—

If you could meet a writer from the 15th, 16th or 17th centuries, who would it be? And what would you talk about?

Not a writer in the conventional sense, but I’d love to do a chitchat with Galileo.  He was doing astronomy, of course, but writing was an integral part of his career because (a) he needed to secure funding, and (b) he needed to write a certain way so as not to upset the Church.  After he found proof of Jupiter’s moons (the first person to do so), he wrote a letter to the Grand Duke of Tuscany requesting funding for a better telescope.  In various versions of the letter you can see him trying out the wording… telescopes are good for warfare since we can see an approaching army, no, then, they are good for science, etc.  Words mattered.  And ultimately, as we all know, they resulted in his house arrest.  What we’d talk about—I’d love to tell him what came of his research and name, and what the current ideas and questions in astronomy are.  Maybe we’d even build a little telescope together.

Tell us something few people know about you.

That’s a dangerous question.
My grandmother died almost two years ago, and I still haven’t really reconciled that as fact.  I still know her phone number by heart.  That I’d dial that number and the voice on the other line wouldn’t be hers—I just can’t grasp that.  Let alone the idea that she’s not here anymore, that she doesn’t exist in that sense. I’m sad about it every day.

Other than Versal (which has clearly been awesome), what's one great place you've been published?

Massachusetts Review—I really enjoy the mix of poetry and essays (among other genres!).

Why did you send work to Versal? Be honest.

This is my second time being in Versal.  I submitted this time because I was stunned by the quality of the issue that first time—the level and range of the work, the book as an object of beauty.  So much energy, talent, and splendor in one book—cover to cover (covers included!).  To be a part of that, as a writer, means so much—community, hope, and warmth.

What has lasted you ten years?

I had a stick of deodorant that must have had a trapdoor into an alternate dimension made entirely of deodorant.  I used it, day in and day out, for years and years… twisting the little knob at the bottom to push more up… and it just kept going.  Eventually I just threw it away.  It wasn’t even done (I saw I had at least an inch more still in the tube), I was just that weirded out by it.

Tell us what you're working on right now.

On the individual poem scale, I’m just writing the poems that come to me without any particular goal or constraint.  On the book scale, I’m gearing up toward assembling my next collection.  My first one was very structured—it’s a re-envisioning of Alice in Wonderland, called “Alice’s Sister,” that is due out in Summer 2013 with WordTech.  This next one will be a compilation of individual poems, hopefully including the two currently housed in Versal.  Now, I just need to figure out how to put 60 poems together and find some sort of coherent theme…

Contributor's Notes–John Pluecker

Interviews and guest posts from the writers and artists of Versal 10. This edition features John Pluecker. John is a writer, interpreter, and translator. His work is informed by conceptual poetics and cross-border cultural production  and has appeared in outlets in the U.S. and Mexico, including the Asymptote, Picnic, Third Text, Animal Shelter, and HTML Giant. He has published more than five books in translation from the Spanish, primarily by Mexican authors. There are two chapbooks of his work, Routes into Texas (DIY, 2010) and Undone (Dusie Kollektiv, 2011). A third chapbook, Killing Current, was published by Mouthfeel Press in 2012. 

Have you been to Amsterdam? What did you do while you were here? If you've not been yet, what do you think you'd do in our fair town?

Never been to Amsterdam. If I went, I think I'd sit near some water, some canal, on some dike and drink a coffee. Then stay out all night.

What is the first creative thing you ever did?

Made a dam in a creek.

What is the dumbest thing anyone has ever said to you about being a writer?

"If you're not selling your work, you're doing something wrong. I have a friend that sells all his poems and stories and makes good money. You should talk to him."

If you were an angle, what kind of angle would you be?

Acute.

If you could meet a writer from the 15th, 16th or 17th centuries, who would it be? And what would you talk about?

Álvar Nuñéz Cabeza de Vaca. His years wandering through the land we now know as the state of Texas.

Tell us something few people know about you.

But then everyone would know.

Other than Versal (which has clearly been awesome), what's one great place you've been published?

Animal Shelter.

Why did you send work to Versal? Be honest.

My friend K. Lorraine Graham had mentioned the magazine to me, I think. I checked it out, bought a copy, liked it and sent in some of my work.

What has lasted you ten years?

My relationship with my man.

Tell us what you're working on right now.

A continuing collaborative experiment around language justice and language experimentation with my co-conspirator Jen Hofer: Antena. Last year, we did an installation at Project Row Houses in Houston, Texas—a temporary bookstore, reading room and literary experimentation lab—and we recently wrote a chapbook reflecting on our experiences.

Contributor's Notes–Bess Winter

Interviews and guest posts from the writers and artists of Versal 10. This edition features Bess Winter. Bess Winter's fiction has won a Pushcart Prize, and has appeared in American Short Fiction, Bellingham Review, Paper Darts, PANK, and elsewhere. She's the Podcast Editor at The Collagist, and currently lives in Toronto, Canada.

Have you been to Amsterdam? What did you do while you were here? If you've not been yet, what do you think you'd do in our fair town? 

Have not been to Amsterdam yet, but would love to go. Wish I could say I’d do something romantic, but realistically I’d probably fill up on chocolate and beer and fret about the possibility of bedbugs at my hostel. 

What is the first creative thing you ever did?

Honestly, play with dolls. I made paper dolls as a kid. Mostly out of old magazines and vintage book illustrations, which I’d take to Kinko’s, color photocopy, cut out and cover with clear tape like they were laminated. These made up a huge percentage of my toys. And because I was an only child who played alone quite often, I never bothered with making my dolls move or walk around or anything when I played. I just stared at them and made up stories. 

What is the dumbest thing anyone has ever said to you about being a writer?

When you write that bestseller you can support your family.

If you were an angle, what kind of angle would you be?

I failed math in high school. Therefore, I would be a circle.

If you could meet a writer from the 15th, 16th or 17th centuries, who would it be? And what would you talk about?

The Earl of Rochester, pre-syphilis. He was like the Hunter S. Thompson of the 17^th century. I’d probably just listen to whatever he had to say, rather than talk.

Tell us something few people know about you.

My online cribbage ranking is Princess. It took me 2 years to get there. Once I hit 1700 points I’ll be a Lady.

Other than Versal (which has clearly been awesome), what's one great place you've been published?

Paper Darts, coming out soon.

Why did you send work to Versal? Be honest. 

I grew up in Canada, so I’m in love with international journals. That was part of it. Also, the fact that you’re not an academic journal appealed to me. That Versal is your brainchild. I love that.

What has lasted you ten years?

A pair of Camper shoes with soles made of tire tread. 

Tell us what you're working on right now.

A collection, and a novel.

Contributor's Notes – Candy Shue

Interviews and guest posts from the writers and artists of Versal 10. This week, we hear from poet Candy Shue, a poet and reviewer who can be heard online on Poet as Radio. A recent recipient of a Kundiman Fellowship, she holds an MFA from the University of San Francisco. Her work has appeared in Spiral Orb, Eratio, The Collagist, EOAGH, Switchback, Washington Square, and recently in Drunken Boat and the current issue of Mead Magazine.  Right now Candy is putting together a chapbook titled "Whiskey, Water, and White Dwarves", which is looking for a home!

Have you been to Amsterdam?  What did you do while you were here? If you've not been yet, what do you think you'd do in our fair town?

  

Yes--I loved taking the trams to the outdoor markets and perusing the bookstores!  I found a first British edition of Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast in a secondhand bookshop, which was exciting. 

What is the first creative thing you ever did?  

When I was four, I turned my baby quilt into a magic carpet and sailed into the wild blue yonder.  On one adventure, I journeyed into the night of the forest (my bedroom closet) where I fell asleep and missed dinner.  

What is the dumbest thing anyone has ever said to you about being a writer?  

People have actually been really great about it.  I was filling out a medical form once and under “Occupation,” I decided to write “Poet”--the first time I had ever declared it officially.  My doctor looked at the chart and said, “You’re a poet?  That’s wonderful!” and told me about some Italian poetry he’d read, since he was Italian.  It surprises people when you tell them you’re a poet.  

If you were an angle, what kind of angle would you be?  

I’d be an angle fish.  I mean an angel fish.  An angel angler.  An angle wrangler.  I’m sometimes acute and often obtuse, but I’m not a right angle.  

If you could meet a writer from the 15th, 16th or 17th centuries, who would it be? And what would you talk about?

If I could go back to the 9th century, I’d like to hang out with Hanshan, the Chinese hermit poet.  He wrote on nature--bamboo, stones, wood, cliffs and even people’s houses.  I expect we wouldn’t talk very much, but that would be ok.  For a later era, I’d choose the Japanese Zen Poet Monk, Ikkyu.  I think he’d get a kick out of hearing how his character keeps popping up in Japanese anime and manga.       

Tell us something few people know about you.

I grew up swimming and playing water polo, so I spent a lot of time in pools!  The rhythm of swimming is something that I feel when I’m writing poetry, and I’m attracted to the imagery and dynamics of water in my work.    

Other than Versal (which has clearly been awesome), what's one great place you've been published?

Versal has been awesome!  I was also happy to have my poem “Love Is a Weather of Body” hyperlinked to the other poems in the journal Spiral Orb Four.  And I’m looking forward to have poems in Drunken Boat’s upcoming issue on Hypnopoetics.  

Why did you send work to Versal? Be honest. 

I was introduced to Versal when I was printing a poetry chapbook at the San Francisco Center for the Book.  The SFCB is a fantastic place--they have drawers and drawers of old metal type and three vintage Vandercook printing presses.  I was drawn to Versal’s crisp design, especially the contrast between the bold title type (DIN1451 Engschrift) and the seriphed body type (Bauer Bodoni).  I loved the crispness of the writing as well, so I was excited when my poems were accepted for the journal.

What has lasted you ten years?

I have an 11-year old station wagon, but I’m not sure it counts because I had to replace the engine a few years ago when it died as I was driving up the Grapevine (in California) in 113 degree heat.  Books last, though!  I was just re-reading my copy of W.S. Merwin’s The Miner’s Pale Children.  Here’s the first line from his story, “Ends”:  “When a shoelace breaks during use the ends do not always indulge at once in their new-found liberty.”  I love that.    

Tell us what you're working on right now.

I recently finished a syllabus for a poetry workshop and now I’m writing poems and working on book reviews for Poet As Radio.  I’m doing a series of poems on hypnogogia, which is the transitional state between being awake and asleep. 

Contributor Notes: Dora Malech

Interviews and guest posts from the writers and artists of Versal 10. This week, we hear from Dora Malech he author of Say So (Cleveland State University Poetry Center, 2011) and Shore Ordered Ocean (Waywiser Press, 2009). Her poems have appeared in publications that include The New Yorker, Poetry, American Letters & Commentary, and Poetry London. A graduate of Yale and the Iowa Writers' Workshop, she has been the recipient of a Ruth Lilly Poetry Fellowship, a Writer's Fellowship at the Civitella Ranieri Center in Italy, and inclusion in the International Writing Program's "Life of Discovery" creative exchange in China. She has taught writing at institutions that include the University of Iowa Writers' Workshop; Victoria University's International Institute of Modern Letters in Wellington, New Zealand; and Saint Mary's College of California, where she served as a Distinguished Poet-in-Residence. She lives in Iowa City, where she writes, creates visual art, teaches, and directs the Iowa Youth Writing Project, an arts outreach program for children and teens.

Have you been to Amsterdam? What did you do while you were here? If you've not been yet, what do you think you'd do in our fair town?

I have. I visited the amazing Jane Lewty and Wade Geary at Thanksgiving 2011, and it was most likely the best Thanksgiving of my life. I ate my weight in stroopwafel, had my mind blown across the spectrum of human emotion and ideas by art and history (visiting the Anne Frank house, going to the Rijksmuseum, taking a tour of the canals), and met some incredibly welcoming and brilliant writers and artists (including the Versal crew!). I also gave a reading at the English Bookshop and gave a Q&A with Jane's students at Universiteit van Amsterdam. I felt so grateful to have had the chance to see Amsterdam through the eyes of a tourist, but I felt even more grateful that Jane and others allowed me to simply live their Amsterdam lives with them for a few days.

I was also on a deadline to finish a piece as part of an International Writing Program collaborative exchange and performance. I went to Amsterdam with all of my thoughts and notes, and I spent most of my mornings there writing and revising in Jane and Wade's spare room. I ended up finishing the piece there and reading it for the first time at the English Bookshop reading. The piece is not "about" Amsterdam, but it deals with travel and flight and distance, and it will forever be linked to Amsterdam for me.

What is the first creative thing you ever did?

I know that when I made colorful crayon scribbles as a very small child, and my mother asked me to tell her what I was drawing (a house? a dog?), I would cryptically tell her that they were "designs." I hope that doesn't make me sound like I was a pretentious toddler. I also think that playing pretend was (and still is?) a big part of my creative life. I have an older sister, so for a long time, my creative life was collaborating with her on imaginary identities and worlds.

What is the dumbest thing anyone has ever said to you about being a writer?

I can't say the dumbest, but I can say the most obnoxious. When I finish giving a reading, I always feel very raw and pretty vulnerable and dazed. Whether or not it shows to the audience, I feel like I put it on the line emotionally when I read. It is, therefore, the worst possible moment for someone to play weird power games with me (intentionally or not), because I am off balance and overly receptive. Multiple times, someone (and yes, it's usually a man, and yes, he's usually older than me) comes up to me and says "Can I give you some advice?" Rather than saying, "Buzz off. Who just gave a reading, me or you?" I say "Sure." Then I get a lecture on what he would have done differently (I've gotten everything from "Don't give any context for your poems; leave the audience wondering" to "Don't look at your watch; it's distracting.") I always wonder if these folks give lectures to everyone, or if I have some kind of "kick me" sign on my back. Perhaps they're well-intentioned, and it's obviously not a huge deal in the greater scheme of things, but I keep hoping I'll come up with a witty retort for the next such occasion. I suppose it falls right into Rebecca Solnit's "Men Explaining Things" paradigm. 

If you were an angle, what kind of angle would you be?

I would be my Chihuahua mutt. Backstory: I named my dog "Angel" in a moment of pure, unadulterated sentimentality when she came into my life. She was a puppy that fit in my hand, and I was a weepy 20-year-old college student. She is my favorite creature on earth, but she is not angelic. At a certain point, we stopped calling her "Angel" and started calling her any number of different names, including "Angle," which is a much more accurate name. So, yeah, I'd be that Angle. 

If you could meet a writer from the 15th, 16th or 17th centuries, who would it be? And what would you talk about?

Oh lord it would be Shakespeare. We'd talk about everything. Everything. Everything. And then we'd spoon for a while. 

Tell us something few people know about you.

Well, I just told you that I want to spoon with Shakespeare, so my fantasies about other dead writers won't seem that revelatory now. I'll go less personal: I have an extra vertebra in my spine.

Other than Versal (which has clearly been awesome), what's one great place you've been published?

I've loved being published in Anti-, because it seemed like the editor, Stephen D. Schroeder, really believed in my work at a point when I didn't necessarily believe in it myself. I'm also just in great company with the other writers and artists he publishes, and I was psyched that Anti- included both my poetry and my visual art at different points.

Why did you send work to Versal? Be honest.

I met the Versal editors in Amsterdam and also got to spend some quality time with Versal 9. I felt like it was an aesthetically gorgeous and exciting publication, and it felt "curated" like a good art show, not just kind of thrown together. Megan Garr encouraged me to send work, and I was more than happy to do so. 

What has lasted you ten years?

My red Schwinn bicycle. A brown corduroy jacket with a fake-fur hood from TJ Maxx. Some amazing friendships (I started grad school in 2003, so I'm coming up on the ten-year anniversary of some of my dearest poetry-friendships).

Tell us what you're working on right now.

I'm working on a third book of poems that's still in flux, and on a number of other projects. Bringing my visual art and text together. Exploring anagrams as heuristics. Working on longer poems. Trying to find my way from one word to another.

Versal 10 Bakfiets nominations!

We are pleased to announced this year's Bakfiets Pushcart nominations from Versal 10:

Selections from Interface, Erin Costello
Audio Tour: The Paintings You Missed, Gerald Fleming
Who We Are Beneath the Glass, Roxane Gay
With Distinction(s), Dora Malech
Dear Mutated Gene in my Daughter’s DNA, Bill Neumire
The Garnet Cave, Bess Winter

Congratulations to the nominees! Maybe this year we get lucky!

Contributor Notes: Ben Merriman

Interviews and guest posts from the writers and artists of Versal 10. This week, we hear from Ben Merriman, whose story/stories "A Hard Place to Love" rock out starting on page 121. Ben's the fiction editor over at the Chicago Review and you can tumble with him here.

Have you been to Amsterdam? What did you do while you were here? If you've not been yet, what do you think you'd do in our fair town?

I have not yet been to Amsterdam, but I spend my time in most large cities the same way: visits to art museums and bookstores, followed by gossip or chatter with writers and artsy types.


What is the first creative thing you ever did?

This seems like an invitation to offer some kind of origin myth about my creative life, or retroactively square my early experiences with my current life, but in fact there is very little from my childhood that feels my own. I once compared the recollection of my own life to watching a poorly edited student film.

To say something dull that comes closer to answering the question: I began to make serious efforts at writing fiction in 2008, around the time I started graduate school.


What is the dumbest thing anyone has ever said to you about being a writer?

I am not sure anybody has yet said this to me so directly, but in conversations about writing I have often sensed that many people I have met want to be writers because they want to be personally loved for having written appealing words. This desire is not “dumb,” but it strikes me as quite possibly unhealthy: a writer may hope that people will love one's writing, though there is no assurance of this, but there is no reason why a reader should love a writer for what they write, and given that the best writers are so often unpleasant, or at least badly flawed, human beings, loving a great writer, by virtue of their being a great writer, could be a wounding and unsatisfactory kind of love, just as being loved for what one has done, rather than being loved for what one is, would certainly be a hollow kind of love, a mixture of tinny adulation and a fear, probably correct, that to continue being loved would require that one continue to earn it by new creative exertions. The psychic misery of celebrities demonstrates the basic pathology of this logic.

I hope that there may be a sincere and realistic impulse underneath this common unstated wish.  If “I want people to love me because I am a good writer” really means “I am smart and I want people to value this part of me,” then this could reduce to “I want to be in the company of people who value what I value.” Looking for intellectual peers seems to me like a good reason to write, and in fact not so different from what many of us are looking for when we read.


If you were an angle, what kind of angle would you be?

Oblique.


If you could meet a writer from the 15th, 16th, or 17th centuries, who would it be? And what would you talk about?

Marguerite of Navarre: I have ripped off a couple of stories from the Heptameron, itself substantially a ripoff, and Marguerite was famous in her own time as a refined and pleasant companion. I assume we would gossip.


Tell us something few people know about you.

I am probably the worst judge of what other people know about me; things that I take as common knowledge may be obscure, and things that I try to hide may be quite obvious. However, people who have only seen my name in literary magazines may not know that I am a sociologist, just as many acquaintances from my academic life don't know that I write fiction.


Other than Versal (which has clearly been awesome), what's one great place you've been published?

In general I have been very pleased by the places that have published my work, but one that stands out is The Lifted Brow, a bimonthly magazine published in Australia. As with Versal, publishing in The Brow has made me feel a little less provincial. More importantly, I am a great admirer of Australian literature, which, evolving in partial isolation, has become something very weird and singular, so I was flattered that Australians, or at least one Australian editor, would find my own writing worthwhile. I've been publishing there in a column, “Something Happens,” and I hope that my name will burrow itself down into Australian literary consciousness.


Why did you send work to Versal? Be honest.

I picked up a copy of Versal 9 at Printers' Ball in Chicago. My partner flipped through it and suggested that I could publish here. (In fact, said I could publish here “with no problem,” an estimation of my skill that is both kind and a good deal higher than my own estimation.) 


What has lasted you ten years?

Nothing so far, but my partner and I have been together for eight years. I feel sanguine about our chances of hitting a decade.


Tell us what you're working on right now.

I am revising a novella about reading Adorno's Aesthetic Theory, which I have titled Aesthetic Theory. If there happen to be any editors or publishers reading this, I would appreciate any help they could offer—I expect it will be rather difficult to get this work published.

I have recently gotten back to Chicago after a trip to China, so I expect I will soon be writing about my trip, if only for my friends, who are curious to hear about my time with bureaucrats, academic officials, and urban nouveaux riches. The highlight will be my account of the unsuccessful efforts of several provincial Party officials to get me drunk at a noontime banquet.

Contributor Notes: Lisa Annelouise Rentz

Interviews and guest posts from the writers and artists of Versal 10. Next up, a conversation with the wonderful Lisa Annelouise Rentz, whose story "Conrad's Hammer" can be found on page 91. Lisa's stories have been published most recently by the Oxford American, Liars' League London, the Not A Stitch gallery show in Philadelphia, and in a book from They Draw and Cook. She lives in South Carolina.

Have you been to Amsterdam? What did you do while you were here? If you've not been yet, what do you think you'd do in our fair town?

I have been to Amsterdam. I spent the summer in Germany after high school and we visited for just one day — my friend was still in school, so it was actually a field trip. We went to the Van Gogh Museum and the Rijks Museum, and walked all around town. This was 1988 — I remember the street bums and canals, finding an Indonesian shop that sold bags of krupuk, and hearing Creedence Clearwater Revival on the bus's muzak. Later I made sate sauce for everyone to go with the krupuk.


What is the first creative thing you ever did?

As an adult — when I was first dating my husband, I hand-drew a silly drivers license for him.


What is the dumbest thing anyone has ever said to you about being a writer?

Announcing "I'm a writer!" because they're in a critique group and keep a journal. I think most people are and can be and should be avocational writers — it's an important skill for daily life. For being a civilization. But at the same time, cool it with making "writer" into a title for a business card.


If you were an angle, what kind of angle would you be?

90 degrees all the way.


If you could meet a writer from the 15th, 16th or 17th centuries, who would it be? And what would you talk about?

Maria Sibylla Merian, she studied and documented insects by making beautiful drawings (which include writing, introductions, etc.) of the creatures and their habitats and predators and prey. I've only read up on her lightly, so if we met, I'd love it to be back in her 15th Century studio so she could show me around. She was German, so we might be able to chat. I'd like to hear how she financed and arranged her travels to South America, and how she stayed committed to her work. Show me the originals please, and let's see the notes too! I just googled her to refresh my memory-- and she eventually lived and died in Amsterdam, and according to wikipedia the city of Amsterdam sponsored her for a trip to Surinam! I have a newly finished story set in the near future with a character based on her. I learned about Merian from a friend, an accomplished nature artist and teacher. She's got a great out-of-print book that's a compilation of Merian's work.


Tell us something few people know about you.

I really like privacy.


Other than Versal (which has clearly been awesome), what's one great place you've been published?

Liars' League London, because it's London, and because their live reading-performances and e-audio files are a new format for me. Plus I don't know who else would have taken that piece about how Santa and Lillef (the future Mrs. Claus) met.


Why did you send work to Versal? Be honest.

Well I do judge a website by its cover, so I definitely approached Versal that way at first. And perhaps there was a suggested theme for issue 10 which I felt "Conrad's Hammer" suited. Either way, as I dig around looking for the right place for my work, I try to get a feel for the quality and editorial needs of the journal. Also, I like the low submission fee, it's very fair. I don't often submit to annual publications, out of impatience, but Versal appealed to me.


What has lasted you ten years?

Too much of some and too little of others.


Tell us what you're working on right now.

I'm working on a short story that's getting pretty long already. Like "Conrad's Hammer", it's set where I live now, more explicitly this time. It's about objects, antiques and heirlooms and art— the neat old stuff that's still around and how the current owners handle it all. Haves and have nots. The bad guy is a pastor, an Episcopalian priest. I tried to resist that, but it's true, I find a lot of religious people to be more harmful than good. It's also set at Christmas, and right now it looks like the end of the story will be a big Christmas bash, where I plan to kill off the pastor during the festivities.

Contributor Notes: Eric Magrane

This year we're posting "Contributor Notes": interviews and guest posts from the writers and artists of Versal 10. After a cucumber season hiatus, we're back with Tucson-based writer Eric Magrane, who recently visited the border wall between the US and Mexico and wrote about his experience there.


OF BORDER WALLS & LIGHTHOUSES
July 2012
(photos by Adela C. Licona)

Recently I visited the U.S./Mexico border wall on a scouting trip for a Border Wall Poetry Sounding. Glenn Weyant, sound-artist provocateur, has been playing the border wall as an instrument for six years and this is the first time that I joined him. Along with Wendy Burk and Adela Licona, we left Tucson before sunrise on a Sunday early in July, and drove the seventy miles to the border in Sasabe for our first stop.

As we traveled toward Sasabe, the border patrol presence was ubiquitous. We saw at least ten border patrol vehicles to every one non-border patrol vehicle, and the non-border patrol vehicles were likely off-duty border patrol agents. Clearly, this is big business.

The wall along this section of the border cuts through desert and grasslands and has a sublime presence. Stretching out across the rolling terrain, the wall continues to the border of the Tohono O’odham Nation and then abruptly stops. (This has sent many migrants through the T.O. nation, which extends over both sides of the current U.S./Mexico boundary.)

The wall is a manifestation of a geopolitical climate where the far-right state legislature of Arizona passes draconian and xenophobic laws such as SB 1070 (of which the U.S. Supreme Court recently struck down much, but left the “Show me Your Papers” provision intact), and a ban on Mexican-American studies complete with banned books (see one of our illustrious school board members discuss the Mexican-American studies ban on a piece from the Daily Show).

In the meantime, the number of deaths from border crossers trying to cross this terrain is staggering. As of the fourth week of July when I write this, the number of deaths since October 2011 stands at 94 (The humanitarian organization No More Deaths keeps a running tab on their website.) And the wall doesn’t just affect human migration; it keeps many other species from their natural crossings, threatening the biodiversity of the region.

With this backdrop, we are here to interact with the wall as something other than an embodiment of fear and divisiveness. Glenn describes it this way: “If it is accepted that the border wall can be repurposed as an instrument when played, then this symbol of fear and loathing is capable of producing beauty, encouraging listening, developing unity, engaging dialogue and presenting an alternative narrative.”

And now I’m thinking about lighthouses. In Megan Garr’s introduction to Versal Ten, she writes, “set at the boundary where sea and land converge, the lighthouse fixed itself in my young mind as my first metaphor, a personification of who I wanted to become and the site of where I thought the world’s honesty could be glanced.”

If we think of objects as metaphors and embodiments of ideas, the contrast between a lighthouse and a border wall couldn’t be more distinct. One is a beacon and the other is its opposite. What would it take to turn what divides us into something that brings us together? Or, in an object-oriented ontology, can we interact with this object and change it and how it thinks?

Along with Glenn’s musical equipment, we brought poetry along, some in the form of language on clear acrylic glass that could be reflected onto the wall. The language included the words “BRIDGE” and “MISERY” and the phrase “OPEN SESAME”. The video here shows the reflection of OPEN SESAME while Weyant and Burk play the wall.





What role does art have in the world? It may be solipsistic to think that playing the wall as an instrument and interacting with it as a location to practice poetics could be a form of alchemy and could shift deeply embedded social and geopolitical structures that are deleterious to our species and to the earth. However, I believe—and hope—that it may add to that “collective willpower of our humanity, of our art, and of our drive to protect both” that Garr also writes of in the Introduction to Versal Ten.

Contributor Notes: Renee Couture

This year we're posting "Contributor Notes": interviews and guest posts from the writers and artists of Versal 10. You may or may not know that Versal is closely linked to the mountain town of Missoula, Montana. Many of our contributors, past and present, also have ties to this "Paris of the West". This week we speak to artist Renee Couture, who has a show in Missoula this November.

Have you been to Amsterdam? What did you do while you were here? If you've not been yet, what do you think you'd do in our fair town? 

No, I’ve never been to Amsterdam. I’ve traveled a lot and lived abroad, and I love experiencing new places - people, architecture, food. I think I would do fine in town.


What is the first creative thing you ever did?

My father has this dough ball I made when I was perhaps five years old. I’d love to make a companion piece to it. It would be made from the same dough recipe, but it would be bigger. I would figure out the ratio between the size of the original dough ball to my weight as a five year old, and then use that same ratio and my current body weight to figure out the size of the new dough ball. I would make it look as similar as possible to the original.

What is the dumbest thing anyone has ever said to you about being an artist?
 

Someone said, “what a neat hobby you have.” (Shaking my head and sighing as I write that.)


If you were an angle, what kind of angle would you be?

An obtuse angle. Obtuse angles are nice and open. I try to be a nice, open person.

If you could meet a visual artist from the 15th, 16th or 17th centuries, who would it be? And what would you talk about?

“Anonymous” or “Unknown Artist”. There’s a lot great work out there by artist’s whose names are not known. I’m curious about those artists. Would the artist be coming to my time, or would I be going to his time? I think the time period might dictate some of the content of the conversation. I hope we would be conversing over bourbon on the rocks, though.


Tell us something few people know about you.

I hate parsnips. I really want to like parsnips, but I just don’t. I want to like them because they make me think of the book about Banicula, the vampire bunny. I loved that book.


Other than Versal (which has clearly been awesome), what's one great place you've been published?

Versal is the first place I’ve been published. I hope to find other opportunities similar to Versal.


Why did you send work to Versal? Be honest.

One of my friends had work in Versal a couple years ago. I bought the publication and really enjoyed it. I also wanted to “get my work out there” and I thought this would be great opportunity to have my work along side that of other great artists and writers. Plus I love that Versal’s format is the square.


What has lasted you ten years?

I have a pair of hiking boots I bought before leaving for Peace Corps in 2001. I still have the boots; I keep replacing the insoles. Now that I write this, I feel like I really need to go hiking more, that clearly I don’t hike enough because the boots are still in good shape.

Tell us what you're working on right now.

I’m working on some conceptual photographs and sculptures that focus on bio-regional ethics for an exhibit I have in November at the Brink Gallery in Missoula, MT.