Tell us about your poem “The Weekend” in Volume 22. How did it come to be?

It came, firstly, as a response to SZA’s song “The Weekend,” leaking like syrup into my ear, on repeat, for what felt like a full year. I wrote the poem last fall and still the song is playing right now, SZA’s “My man is my man, is your man. / Heard that’s her man too. / … I just keep him satisfied through the weekend” coming out like cool smoke from my laptop speakers. 

I was fresh into a long distance relationship. My partner was in Minnesota and I was in New York. A whole few states of distance between us, but my desire was large and held me captive as if she were near and within reach. It ransacked me really, so much so that I started desiring everyone, everything—the woman in the auburn jacket sitting across from me on the A train, the man playing the jazz saxophone on the platform at Nostrand Ave. I craved touch and taste, so I craved the juices of the apples at the market right outside my subway stop, and the gold hue of each individual sunflower gathered into a bouquet. They were only seven dollars you know? Those sunflowers I mean. I could fulfill one desire so quickly and conveniently, but my partner, the real want, remained so far away. 

I’d argue SZA was expressing a similar feeling—to be so overcome with your desire for someone that you’d make do with sharing, make do with seeing them only on the weekend. The poem “The Weekend” became an opportunity for me to channel my kinship with SZA. It became a canvas where I could record what desire was doing to me, a place where I can try—and also fail—at answering those desires on the page. 

 What excites you as a writer? What turns you off, makes you turn away or stop reading a piece of writing?

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I’m so easily excited about writing. The sounds of words together! I don’t think I can ever be bored with such a bounty. (Bored and bounty! What a fun pair of words to put together in a sentence.) I really can find pleasure in almost anything I read if I try hard enough, if I squint long enough, which is why I think I’m such a slow reader. And so the pieces I eventually turn away from are the ones where I might be required to try too hard to arrive at that pleasure. I’m perhaps hedonistic in this way. The writing that gets me most giddy—syntax, topic, the audacity of it all—are the ones I turn to face for longer periods of time. 

(I think it’s important to also mention that I am way turned off from harmful pieces—writing that doesn’t take care of the reader. I like writing that traverses difficult, painful or violent landscapes with nuance or at least a fair bit of care for a reader.)

What was an early experience that led to you becoming a writer?

Hanif Abdurraqib used to often tell a particular story while he performed. It’s the story of how he went to see Anis Mojgani in a basement somewhere in his undergrad years, I think, and from watching Anis read and perform poetry, he learned how to write in one night. I went to see Hanif Abdurraqib feature at a Button Poetry slam in 2016, and then, because I loved his work so much, I flew to New York that September for my birthday to see him, Anis Mojgani, Sarah Kay and Clint Smith read poems at The Sheen Center. That night, Hanif told the story, again, of how he learned to write in one night from Anis. I left New York the next day after mulling over all of the poems Hanif read; after writing some of my favorite lines down, riffing off of them in my own way; after, like him, learning how to write in one night.

The fun thing about this story is that it echoes. Since 2016 I’ve spoken to numerous, down right many poets who love Hanif’s work, who say they learned something new, learned something about their own writing from finding his. 

 What books, writers, art, or artists inspire you and your work? Do–or have–you had any mentors in your writing life?

I’ve said it already (in probably too many words I’m sorry), but I’m a writer because of Hanif Abdurraqib. I’m a writer because of Brigit Pegeen Kelly, Ross Gay and Aracelis Girmay. Because of John Murillo. Because B. H. Fairchild, sure, sure. But I’m also a writer because of Nancy Huang, and Peach Neely. Because of Elliott Case, Janelle Tan, xtian, and Kamelya Youssef. Because of Catherine Chen and Sonja Bjelić. I’m definitely a writer because my homies are writers. We nourish each other, I think. And how lucky is that? 

Do you practice any other art forms? If so, how do these influence your writing and/or creative process?

I sing in the shower (haha). I love music, and I really do sing a lot while walking down the street, or while waiting for the cashier at a bodega to ring me up, or loudly while inside my room while my roommates are trying to find rest. 

I think my love of music really translates to my love of music in poetry—that is, my love for the sound of language (see “bored” and “bounty” in the same sentence in question 2). I’m driven heavily by how things sound in my poems. The same reason I sing songs often in my leisure is the same reason I, at random times, repeat lines I love that are stuck in my head from poems I’ve heard at some point. Right now doing the rounds is a poem by Danez Smith. I just remember the words, the “boy after boy after boy….pulling me down … into the dirt.” 

 What craft element challenges you the most in your writing? How do you approach it? What is your quirk as a writer?

Editing can be difficult for me. I’m alright with small edits, with changing a word or a phrase so it’s closer to the thing it’s trying to translate. But substantial edits, re-entering a poem after I’ve written it, after I’ve walked away from it for a bit, can be hard. It’s hard to hear its music again. It’s hard to re-enter the world of a poem after I leave it. Memorizing the poem helps. Rewriting it from memory, as I remember it, helps a ton (thank you for that tool, D. Allen!). Anything I can do to trick my psyche back into the world of the poem helps. 

How does the current political climate influence your art or creative process?

I’ve been coming to terms that the current political climate is the same political climate that has perhaps always hung over this country like a plump, gray cloud. Which is to say: There is maybe no specific time period that has ever been “good” on this planet. And so I’m fascinated by the act of writing poems and how poems can perhaps change that, can perhaps get us closer to the world we thought we had, the one that’s better than this one. I think poems pull us toward a better way of being. I think they tug me out of these decades, these centuries, and pull me toward the bevy of possibility, pull me toward the world that me and all my homies try to imagine, the one where we dismantle “the current political climate,” even the language of it, and start anew.  

 What are some themes/topics that are important to your writing?

I’ve recently learned that wonder twirls at the core of my craft. I’m always in delight with something, or else finding a way into delight by presenting questions to the things that enamour or trouble me. I spend a lot of time wondering about masculinity, about love and desire. I’m wondering today about birds and wondering what kind of bird is on the branch outside my window (fyi it’s a house finch) and wondering  what kind of tree is the branch attached to (fyi I’m not yet sure of it’s name, but I hope I find a way to it soon).

What does your creative process look like? How does the environment you are in shape your work or where do you like to write?

I tend to write any/everywhere. When the moment strikes, I can sometimes get whole poems in one sitting, i.e. sitting on the bus or subway train, or sitting in a diner while a friend laughs over pie. Otherwise I try to write whatever fun language comes to me, and then I figure the rest out later when I’m sitting down at a laptop, trying to jostle a poem free from a wild and rowdy Google Doc of found language.

 What projects or pieces are you working on right now?

I just finished a draft of a poem about how my professor said something like “This year might be an emotional hurricane year” many months before it became a literal hurricane year, a year where Hurricane Dorian ransacked two islands of my country, the Bahamas. I’m beginning the early work on a nonfiction project that aims to unravel the effects of Dorian while trying to educate readers on the status and stakes of the current climate crisis. 

Elsewhere I’m working on a manuscript of poems, June, that is mostly about the sudden death of my two friends while they were traveling in Turin, Italy. 

Bernard Ferguson (he/him) is a Bahamian immigrant poet and  MFA candidate at NYU. He is the winner of the 2019 Hurston/Wright College Writers Award, a winner of the 2019 92Y Discovery Contest, winner of The Cincinnati Review’s 2019 Robert and Adele Schiff Poetry Prize, winner of The 2019 Breakwater Peseroff Poetry Prize, winner of the 2019 Nâzım Hikmet Poetry Prize, and an Adroit Journal Gregory Djanikian Scholar. He has served as Assistant Editor at Washington Square Review and has received fellowships from the Atlantic Center for the Arts, NYU’s Global Research Initiative, and New York City’s Writers in the Public Schools. Bernard’s writing is published, featured or forthcoming in The National Art Gallery of The Bahamas, The New Yorker, The Paris Review, Narrative, The Southampton Review, Winter Tangerine, and the Best New Poets 2017 anthology, among others. You can learn more about Bernard’s work on his website. 

It’s that time of year again when we all start to prep and plan out the most important thing about AWP—our conference clothes! I’m kidding of course, but it’s no secret that the stakes can feel high about what to wear at the biggest literary conference of the year. Since AWP can feel like one giant imposter syndrome event, take a peek at Sonia Greenfield’s delightful Twitter account AWPFashionFeed. I promise this is a fun and kind-spirited account, and Sonia’s wit might help break down some of those writerly insecurities a lot of us share. But on to the real stuff! 

At Water~Stone Review, we like to promote the tireless work of our many contributors and editors, so I’ve put together a mini list of events worth checking out!

Sheila O’Conner

Our own fiction editor Sheila O’Connor is going to be a busy woman at AWP (in addition to her already-busy life promoting her MBA-finalist book, Evidence of V: A Novel in Fragments, Facts, and Fictions). First, you can catch her reading at the South 85 Journal contributor reading on Thursday, March 5 at 5pm at the GrandHyatt. After that, Sheila, along with Hamline CWP faculty member

Angela Pelster-Wiebe

Angela Pelster, will be featured on the panel “The Past is Present: Writing the Legacy of Historical Justice”on Saturday, March 7 from 9-10:15am. Sheila will also be signing copies of her book at the Rose Metal Press (table #1855) on Saturday, March 7 from 10:30-11:15am.

Erica T. Wurth

On Wednesday, March 4 from 7-8:30 pm, you can check out Volume 22 contributor Erika T. Wurth at the ReTox Bar as part of a group of fifteen writers who will read rock-and-roll-inspired work for just two to three minutes each, the length of a song. Free to all, no cover, and you can stay for trivia and games and cheap drinks afterward!

Sun Yung Shin

Speaking of Volume 22 contributors, Purvi Shah and contributing poetry editor

Purvi Shah

Sun Yung Shin, along with Volume 21 contributor Su Hwang, are teaming up for the launch party and reading for The World I Leave You: Asian American Poets on Faith and Spirit. The Cherrity Bar features a delicious menu of dumplings and ramen, it’s a five-minute walk from the convention center, and all proceeds from the event will benefit local charities.

Su Hwang

In 2018, I attended Hamline’s Summer Writing Workshop and I witnessed the aura of Maggie Smith at a karaoke mic on a makeshift stage in a local bar. I can’t remember what

Maggie Smith, credit: Davon

songs she sang, but since she’s slated to sing and swap poems on Friday, March 6 with Jerry David DeCicca at The Lonesome Rose, you can bet she’ll be ready to bust out a little country western at the oldest honky tonk bar on the St. Mary’s strip. Country crooning starts right around 5pm, y’all.

Barrie Jean Borich

Our former creative nonfiction editor Barrie Jean Borich is getting real-ish with a group of writers for a night of readings with Speculative Nonfiction, Sweet: A Literary Confection, and Bellingham Review. Cap off your AWP off-site excursions with a trip to Doŕcol Distilling and Brewing Co., for this event on Saturday, March 7 at 6pm.

John Brandon

And last but not least, come visit us at the bookfair! We’ll be in booths #1157 and #1158, and we have a fun surprise to share! I can’t tell you what it is just yet, but I promise it will make your day! If you’re a fan of the Florida native John Brandon, you can catch him at our booth 1-3 Thursday and 3-5 on Friday. While he signs your copy of Arkansas, ask John if he knows who The Flaming Lips are.

Author:

Tell us about your CNF piece “The Coward” in Volume 22. How did it come to be?

This piece actually began 10 years ago, during the Hamline summer writing workshop. The visiting professor asked us to write about an article of clothing that was special to us, and the only thing I could think of was my hat simply because I love Scooby Doo. I had no idea what I was going to write about, and the piece turned out to be much more serious than I had intended, and I put it away. Last year my brother was in a really solid, healthy place, and I felt good about pulling the piece out again. I made a few minor edits and began submitting it.

What excites you as a writer? What turns you off, makes you turn away or stop reading a piece of writing?

Since I’m a CNF writer, I love finding and capturing symbolism in everyday life. I love how writing helps me understand the world.

What was an early experience that led to you becoming a writer?

I was always writing little stories as a kid. And I absolutely loved how pleased my grandmother’s voice sounded when she described me as a “future journalist,” even though I was too young to even know what a journalist was. I knew it had something to do with writing, though, so I was determined I would become one. (And I did, for awhile.)

What books, writers, art, or artists inspire you and your work? Do–or have–you had any mentors in your writing life?

I’m always intimidated to answer this question because it gives away how uncool I am when it comes to art! I’ll say I’m incredibly inspired by the women in my writing group, both for their beautiful stories and their dedication to craft.

What craft element challenges you the most in your writing? How do you approach it? What is your quirk as a writer?

For some reason, as an MFA student, I could never understand what reflection meant in CNF. I’d write scene, and I’d write summary, and then my professors (every one, every term) would tell me to add reflection. I was in my capstone course when it finally hit me: all “reflection” means is stepping into the story with some variation of, “I didn’t know it then, but now I know …” 

Even with that minor epiphany, it’s still a challenge. Reflection is where the writer becomes vulnerable. 

What are some themes/topics that are important to your writing?

I’ve noticed the theme of independence recurs throughout most of my writing. Actually, I was halfway through writing a memoir that tries to explore the line between dependence and independence when someone pointed out how fitting that is, since I was born on Independence Day.

What does your creative process look like? How does the environment you are in shape your work or where do you like to write?

My creative process has been all over the map since having children. I wish I were one of those super-dedicated writing moms who wake up at 4 a.m. to write, but I haven’t had much luck with that. Mostly I try to squeeze in time to write whenever it’s available, which these days is usually over lunch at work. 

What projects or pieces are you working on right now?

Right now I’m working on a second memoir and trying to wrestle with issues of autism, diet, parenting, and feminism—and where they all intersect.

Laura Theobald Benda has been a reporter, editor, and teacher, currently she is the associate director of stewardship and a campaign writer at Carleton College in Northfield, MN. She earned her MFA in creative nonfiction from Hamline University and has published work in rock, paper, scissors, and The Tishman Review. She lives and writes in Lakeville, MN with her husband, two children, and two dogs.

Tell us about your poem “Some Exorcisms That Lead Away from Forgetting” in Volume 22. How did it come to be?

I have two memories of this poem in its early stages. One being that I was able to take a graduate-level poetry workshop last year, and after going over this poem, my professor said something along the lines of “It’s good, but what is it about?” The answer then is the same answer I have now that it’s just about “some exorcisms.” From that this poem was originally titled “Some Exorcisms” which is a nod to Nicholas Gulig’s poem “Some Pornographies” in his collection ​Orient. ​Another instance of being fortunate was being able to TA for an intro-level creating writing course last year where Dorothy Chan visited and gave a brief lecture on ways to enhance a poem. One of her suggestions was to make a title longer and let it do more work, so from that I went home and lengthened the title of my poem to what it is now. Aside from these memories the poem draws a lot from the time I’ve spent sitting outside at night unable to sleep and listening to the coyotes, birds, passing cars going into the city, and watching the moon. 

What excites you as a writer? What turns you off, makes you turn away or stop reading a piece of writing?

Writing that experiments with form and language excites me. Three of my recent favorite reads have been Jos Charles’ ​feeld, Hoa Nguyen’s ​Violet Energy Ingots​, and CAConrad’s ​A Beautiful Marsupial Afternoon. I​’m a fan of most writing but I love poems in collections like these that keep showing the endless possibilities of approaching poetry. It’s all inspiring even if I don’t write like them. My turn offs are Bukowski poems—otherwise I’m trying to continuously broaden myself so I’ll read almost anything and everything as long as it isn’t hateful. What was an early experience that led to you becoming a writer?

Around 6th/7th grade my mom introduced me to The Doors and I was infatuated with the idea of Jim Morrison. When I learned about his life and that he was into poetry, I, in turn, became interested in poetry. Although I’m not into The Doors anymore, poetry stuck with me. Plus Morrison’s interest in Rimbaud got me into him, and after that, Ashbery because of his translation of ​Illuminations. I​ think in a funny full circle, while reading ​Julian Talamantez Brolaski’s poem, “pyramidal, its certain form” in the December 2018 edition of ​Poetry, i​t has a great line that summed up my adolescence, “the doors have an 11-minute song called ‘the end’ / which feels serious when you are 11 and stupid.” “The End” was my favorite song too, so it’s good to laugh about this now and think where this started. 

What books, writers, art, or artists inspire you and your work? Do–or have–you had any mentors in your writing life?

I’ve been name dropping a lot of writers in this interview because I am inspired by so many people and am thankful for them, so the aforementioned are important to me. At the risk of going on for too long, I will name a few writers, artists, and musicians who inspire me: Frank O’Hara, James Tate, Kaveh Akbar, Tyehimba Jess, Kai Carlson-Wee, Matthew Dickman & Michael Dickman, Chelsey Minnis, Joshua Beckman, ​Elle Pérez, David Wojnarowicz, Alejandro Jodorowsky, David Lynch, Kenneth Anger, Louise Bourgeois, Willem de Kooning, Franz Kline, Lou Reed, Jason Molina, Jeff Mangum, David Berman, Townes Van Zandt, The Stooges, Patti Smith, Ian Curtis…the list could go on forever.​ ​I’ve been fortunate to take workshops with John Murillo, Gretchen Marquette, and Nick Gulig​, but my main mentors have been B.J. Hollars, Allyson Loomis & Jon Loomis, and Matthew Rohrer. 

Do you practice any other art forms? If so, how do these influence your writing and/or creative process?

I really enjoy painting, playing guitar, and skateboarding. I’m passionate about all of them although I’m still practicing each to get better. My first passion was skating—I’ve been doing that since I was 6 and it definitely correlates to how I approach writing. When you’re learning a trick (or even a song, maybe even a method of painting) you go into it knowing that it’s going to take time to learn—you’re going to mess up a lot. That’s how I feel about writing. It’s nice when a poem comes out feeling done, but the re-edits are my favorite part because you get to flush everything out. So it’s kinda like learning a trick or a riff—you’ll get closer and closer to something that it passable, then you try to perfect it in your own way. It’s almost good in that way to fail more than you succeed—you deepen your appreciation for what you’re doing. I’m not sure if that luxury is given to many other activities. 

What craft element challenges you the most in your writing? How do you approach it? What is your quirk as a writer?

My craft challenge is that I get bored easily. I’ve tried numerous times to write poems that deal with similar subject matters or are in the same form so there is a sense of cohesion, but I am constantly changing what I do. Maybe it’s because I’m young and still feeling everything out, but as most young poets, I hope to someday have a collection that bonds itself together over something. Aside from that is that I have many topical quirks. Generally my poems have something to do with rain or something being on fire—there will more than likely be birds or some animal—and I think of them as autobiographical fictions, or combining elements of truth and then bending them as far as I can to border on surrealism while keeping my footing in the real world. 

How does the current political climate influence your art or creative process?

It has made me depressed and as much as I want to shut off the news or not look at what is going on, it’s made me stay vigilant of everything going on. One of my favorites, Frank O’Hara, helped me create the habit of writing everything down that is going on with my life. So I’m taking note of what is going on so as to not forget, and all of this is fuel for poetry. With this, I think Forrest Gander starts his book ​Be With with quote that goes something like, “the political begins with intimacy.” Art in my mind is a very intimate thing, whether it’s you writing/creating for yourself or to share with people—the act of thinking things through and translating your experience into a piece of work is important to me because it seems like a lot of problems come from errors in communication and information. Art, I think, can then help spread the truth, or at least some truth which in turn raises awareness about what is going on.

What are some themes/topics that are important to your writing?

I don’t consider myself to be an environmentalist (although I do care about nature) but a lot of my writing revolves around what it has been like to live in Wisconsin, where it is not unlike Minnesota where if you go 10-15 minutes outside almost any town or city, you’re surrounded by beautiful farmland, fields, or forests which the road cuts through. The New York School of poets had this idea of the “urban pastoral” which I think is what has helped me make sense of where I live. There are elements of the city which makes it into my poems, but as I said, I’m always looking for birds or some way to find out how nature is competing or adapting, and how I am feeling about all of this going on. 

What does your creative process look like? How does the environment you are in shape your work or where do you like to write?

Music is usually my first resource. I like to listen to music whenever I’m doing anything because it warms up my brain, so the first thing I do after I wake up is put on something to set the mood for the day. When I leave my house I’ll be listening to something in my headphones, but looking at my surroundings which is a nice mix of houses, buildings, trees, streets, and grass. I like to look at the sidewalk a lot though—garbage is interesting to me and makes me think of the story behind it. Usually when I’m walking, I don’t pull a ton of ideas from only the scenery, but usually seeing something or hearing a lyric helps me create a starting off point to just start writing and go from there. 

What projects or pieces are you working on right now?

Mainly I’m trying to graduate. That is my first priority. However, I’m doing a cool independent study dealing with Jon Loomis on poetry and getting ready to apply for MFA programs. So aside from graduating, I think I’m just trying to write, edit, and solidify some poems by November so I can start applying. I’m extremely excited about all of this. 

Alexander Zitzner is an undergraduate at the University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire pursuing a BA in creative writing. Outside of school, he reads for The Adroit Journal, has just completed a term serving as co-vice president of the Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets’ West Central Region, and is the former assistant arts administrator to the writing residencies at Cirenaica in Fall Creek, Wisconsin (2018), and The Priory in Eau Claire (2019). You can read more about Alex’s work at his website. 

Tell us about your fiction piece “Bliss” in Volume 22. How did it come to be?

Raspberry Island Bandshell – photo credit Gregory Hines Photography

I have friends who own a boat. It is docked near the Raspberry Island Bandshell, a spot where many outdoor weddings occur. One day my friends told me they’d been sitting on their boat, watching a wedding from across the channel. Something struck me about that situation—the “then” juxtaposed with the “now,” and so I made that situation into a story. 

 What excites you as a writer? What turns you off, makes you turn away or stop reading a piece of writing?

Many, many things excite me as a writer. Mostly how fiction is this wonderful mirror, this amazing reflection of what is real. How even the most fantastic and outrageous fictional portraits only resonate because some piece of that reflection strikes us as real and true, and maybe that made-up story makes us see something about ourselves or the world in a different way. What’s exciting is that fiction has this amazing reality-changing potential, and yet it’s something you hatch out of nothingness.

Turn off: fiction that fails to make me love a character, or a situation. I like to be intrigued by a story, to be able to understand the depth of a story, the importance of a character right from the beginning. I fire novels that don’t tug at me in the first hundred pages. The good ones I try to read slowly. I hate when novels or stories I love end.  

What was an early experience that led to you becoming a writer?

Reading. Reading assignments my freshman and sophomore years of high school. In those two years I was “forced” to read Lord of the Flies, Brave New World, As I Lay Dying, The Pigman, Fahrenheit 451 and Red Sky at Morning among others. Lord of the Flies was the first book I couldn’t put down. I remember thinking about how magical a thing that was, how I couldn’t sleep before knowing what was going to happen, and how nothing at all had really happened because I was creating the images and characters and happenings of the story in my head as I read. I still find that aspect of story-telling staggering.   

What books, writers, art, or artists inspire you and your work? Do–or have–you had any mentors in your writing life?

My wife inspired me to write. She is such a great writer she simply made me envy her talent for writing. She was the first person in my life who encouraged me to pursue writing. My Hamline writing professors were/are my mentors. Specifically, Larry Sutin, Sheila O’Connor, Deborah Keenan, Patricia Francisco and Mary Logue.

Do you practice any other art forms? If so, how do these influence your writing and/or creative process?

I was a professional musician in New Orleans for about eight years following high school. I think what I know about music informs the prose I write at an almost atomic level. Word choice, flow, rhythm, sound, all important factors in limiting friction—limiting the reader’s desire to quit reading. When the words flow and form no impediments in the reader’s mind, there is harmony.

What craft element challenges you the most in your writing? How do you approach it? What is your quirk as a writer?

I struggle to write in first person. I rarely do it. I guess you could say that’s quirky too given how much popular fiction is written in first person. It’s so often the case that we write about tragedy, upheaval and inner conflict that I hate to place myself in the mind of my protagonist. Writing is so personal that it’s a hard thing to endure. It’s hard to splay yourself open and be as honest as you have to be to make that work. When I have done it in the past I’ve found writing in first person a very taxing experience. That said, it’s important to go there from time to time. Brutal honesty is a conduit to great art.

How does the current political climate influence your art or creative process?

Turbulent times fuel my writing. There is so much tragedy to draw upon as an artist. I think I become more prolific as the need to portray the toxicity of our current divide grows.

What are some themes/topics that are important to your writing?

People discovering themselves, discovering their potential as human beings, discovering what it means to be human. They learn about themselves, and I learn about myself by writing about them.

What does your creative process look like? How does the environment you are in shape your work or where do you like to write?

I’m inspired by some experience I’ve had, some thought or someone I’ve met, a character or a predicament. That usually stews in my brain for a while, a day, a month, sometimes years. At some point the egg hatches and I sit down in my office to write. 

What projects or pieces are you working on right now?

I’ve written mostly shorts of late. I like entering shorts in contests. I’ve entered two new pieces in some contests this summer. Although I haven’t won any I’ve placed near the top in some pretty notable competitions, and I feel very fortunate that most of my recent shorts have been published. I’ve got a half-written novel that I’m stewing over. I stopped in the middle because what the main character is going through right now is pretty intense. I decided I needed to write a short about his childhood, about events that might have made him the way he is now. It’s like I have to live in his shoes for a while more, understand him so that I can continue to write his future. I hope to pick the novel back up by the fall.

Bernhard Smith was a runner-up for the Chicago Tribune’s Nelson Algren Short Story Award and a finalist for both the American Fiction Short Story Award and the Faulkner-Wisdom Literary Prize. His work as appeared in American Fiction Volume 15, Printers Row, and the speculative fiction anthology Boundaries Without, among others. His work has also appeared online at Bull Men’s Fiction and www.sixfold.org. You can read more about his work on his website.