I have no big picture. Like many women of North America who are artists and writers of this time, I have changing pictures of a changing life, and I am lucky to have been able to make change, in some small ways. With few impediments, by some standards, I’ve achieved relative comfort, performing my teaching duties and writing tasks, and answering my calling–poetry that sharpens my days and wakes me day and night. This much I do on a daily basis, like breathing. Most with attention, some worry, not enough lightness, at times.
The honest reckonings of individuals, the capacity for justice in a society, and a language that is deft, honed, clear and beautiful, are all very much connected. Which makes our role as writers, whether we are writing determinist realism out of the school of Dreiser and Sister Souljah, or gonzo non-fiction in the tradition of Hunter Thompson and Charlie LeDuff, whether we are memoirists or fantasists or poets or playwrights or practice the dark arts of sci-fi and speculative fiction, vitally important in this moment.
Like you, I’m a devotee of letters and the imagination, of Imaginative Literature, and what I have to offer you, writers poets dreamers storytellers, keepers and people of the word, in addition to my steadfast belief in the human capacity for love, are some thoughts on books and writing and art