Barrie Jean Borich

The Truth about Writing “The Truth” I am a poet sort of prose writer, by which I mean I don’t write to argue or to narrate so much as to listen, illuminate, and wander. I rarely know, …

Source: Barrie Jean Borich


Cheryl Strayed, “Tiny Beautiful Things”

Reader: Marcia Aldrich Before she published her best-selling memoir Wild,  Cheryl Strayed was an advice columnist. She wrote Dear Sugar for The Rumpus, a series gathered into the book Tiny Beautifu…

Source: Cheryl Strayed, “Tiny Beautiful Things”


Torrey Peters

On “Transgender Day of Remembrance: A Found Essay” Today is Transgender Day of Remembrance 2016, two years after I wrote the Facebook post that eventually became “TDOR: A Found Es…

Source: Torrey Peters


Sonja Livingston

On “Light, from Faraway Places” “Light, from Faraway Places” is just over a thousand words. I could easily write several times that length trying to unpack it and would prob…

Source: Sonja Livingston


Introducing WAVEFORM

“[Waveform] rides the ‘new wave’ in nonfiction essay writing with bravura, intelligence, and sensitivity.”—Kirkus Reviews


The idea for Waveform began some years ago when I became the editor of Fourth Genre: Explorations in Nonfiction. Submissions to that journal came from an abundant number of women writers, and I was consistently impressed by the quality of this writing.

It was clear that something needed to be done to shine a light on the wealth of essays by women writers, and in the fall of 2015, through conversations with the writer and teacher Jill Talbot, the idea for a collection by contemporary women essayists was born. From the start, I wanted an anthology that emphasized their innovations, rather than a collection organized by theme.

There are many nonfiction anthologies that highlight the range of the contemporary essay but do not focus on women. They attest to the enthusiasm for creative nonfiction and the demand for more diverse materials in the classroom. What has been missing is an anthology focusing on contemporary essays by women. What has been missing is Waveform.

Waveform grows out of the recognition that in our moment extraordinary writing is being done by women. I hope that it will have an impact upon the way we think about the contemporary essay. I am especially hopeful that it will be an attractive choice for use in the classroom.

My intent in the Waveform site is to give a little help to teachers and students who may be using Waveform. The site contains reviews and interviews, information about ordering the book, news of events, and brief reflections by the contributors on the composition of their essay. These comments are excellent sources for discussion. Also there are readers’ responses, informal engagements with the essays that report on the experience of reading and provide discussion questions.

The site will evolve as other materials appear. I am excited about discovering the ways it can serve the reading community that grows around Waveform.


“It’s all here, just as it should be: birth, death, sex, longing, regret, anger, love.”—Booklist


Look Away, Stay True

Recently a fellow writer, Chelsea Biondolillo, posted on Facebook: “I’m wearying of the push to turn ourselves into clickbait so our writing can go viral and we can get paid.” A number of other writers chimed in along these same lines.

I found myself responding: “Look away, stay true.”

I mutter these words with some frequency when bombarded by news of viral success and the concurrent prescriptions about what writers must do to have greater impact. I feel the grip of a toxic reaction when reading about awards or publications or the holy grail of going viral. Sometimes I have to take myself in hand.

Given the nature of social media, with the retweets and shares, the news of a single success comes over and over again, like the same obituary posted many times. At the first sounding, I may be genuinely pleased for the writer, but after multiple notices during the day, and—with longer-lived pulses in the media ether—the day after that, my pleasure wears thin, and the cuffs start to show wear.

There’s the inevitable turn to self-scrutiny, to what is called, in the technical terminology of emotional health, beating myself up. You assess your own career, wherein nothing is happening for you. No editors or agents are banging on your door after reading that thing you published, because it didn’t go viral. It’s hardly been read, you suspect, except by loyal friends and family.

Many will recognize this way of measuring against others in this socially mediated crapshoot we call writing in the age of the Internet.

Happily, I can also report that, after slushing around in the pits of despair, a more appealing version of myself usually pops back up and sincerely congratulates the Viral One.

It feels odd now to publish an essay in a journal that doesn’t have much of an Internet presence, where the content is hard copy only, a throwback to days when we woke up and looked first at the sun, not our Device. In that era, unless someone wrote me about the experience of reading, I didn’t know how many people read my work. I suspect very few. There was a kind of freedom in that, the freedom of not knowing.

Recently I’ve published two essays, and the differences between the attendant emotional jaunts have been instructive. “Float” appeared in the Normal School, a journal I admire greatly, available only in hard copy. “Float” is the first published taste of the memoir I am working on called Haze, and naturally I wondered if it would garner some attention and response. It did not, as far as I can tell. It came and went, a wing in the dark.

Two weeks ago “Bring It” went live on The Rumpus, an online journal I also admire. The response was modest but satisfying. Some writers I respect commented upon it, and a few shared it. Despite my resolution to remain even-keeled, I felt my pulse, an excitement and anticipation. I did track the responses, and participated by acknowledging comments and sometimes commenting back. There was a small but steady stream of readers the first day. Then the responses dwindled and, before long, my pulse returned to resting state.

During this same period, I posted a video of my dog Omar swimming out into Puget Sound to catch a ball. By the end of the first day it had been viewed by more than four hundred people, a far greater number than read my essay. My husband jested that I could get a bigger audience if I attached one of my essays as a voice-over to visuals of Omar.

The two efforts of mine that received the largest response online were “Weight,” published on the Roxane Gay–edited Toast/Butter, and a blog post, “Waiting.” The first probably got a response because of the following Gay has developed, and perhaps because of its timeless subject matter. The second small hit benefited from being picked up by the WordPress Reader.

I wouldn’t be able to duplicate these two small successes even if I tried, though I wouldn’t want to try because I am resistant to formulas. There is something mysterious and miraculous about writing well, a stance contrary to the advice articles, the packaged wisdom, penned by editors, agents, and writers who tell others, yearning for success, what to do.

I have to remember who I was when I started writing, why I wrote and what I expected my efforts to produce. I want to reclaim the writer I used to be, who never thought about networks or sales, who believed (naively) that if her writing was “good enough,” something would come of it. She didn’t have fantasies about money or recognition. She thought it a miracle that she could create something good. Where did it come from? she asked. Who wrote that? Her writing was a gift, and more than she had ever dreamed.

I never want to forget how much being a writer is—how it has anchored me and given me purpose and outlets that couldn’t have been mine otherwise. I want to remember to write what is mine to write and to write it as well as I can, to look away from what others are doing and stay true to whatever small gift I have.

A prescription you might put like this: go viral inside.


Essay

Time to share this.

Animal: A Beast of a Literary Magazine

by Gilmore Tamny; for more information, visit http://linesdotscircles.tumblr.com by Gilmore Tamny; for more information, visit http://linesdotscircles.tumblr.com

Edge

by Marcia Aldrich

In every man’s heart there is a secret nerve that answers to the vibration of beauty.

—Christopher Morley

Start with a dead deer at the side of Hamilton Road. A major artery between Okemos and Dobie roads, it is my route to work, to the supermarket, to the post office and bank, and the only means of access to Tacoma Hills, the subdivision in Meridian Township where I have lived for the last five years. The speed limit on Hamilton is 25 miles per hour, slowing to 15 at the roundabout a quarter mile to the west. Nevertheless, a driver has struck the deer, and now it lies in the grass in front of a condominium complex. It is a white-tailed deer, odocoileus virginianus, the smallest and most nervous member of the North American deer family.

How…

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