Poets & Writers – September 2019

69 POETS & WRITERS^

scrappy elasticity of the essay, loved
spending time in this place where
you bring everything along, where
you can fashion your own compli-
cated misfit from some combination
of a wobbly first-person perspective
and the bizarre raw materials of the
world. I even liked how, for a while
there at least, the essay was not re-
ally capital-L literature, or not quite
pure. My position was:
“If you need me, I’ll be
in the shadows work-
ing on my bastard art.”
Even now, writing essays
gives me permission—to
drag strange things home
without explanation, to
bring together disparate
world s, to l ive of fl i ne w it h
my secrets.
When I started the ear-
liest work from The Painted
Forest, I was writing from

a series of questions about place and

identity and myth and the stories we

tell about who we are and where we’re

from. I was raised working-class in a

small town in rural Wisconsin. As I

accumulated more experience of the

world, I sometimes found I had to ex-

plain myself and my home to others,

putting a complicated place onto maps

where previously there’d been almost

nothing at all. I became interested in

the role of telling about a place, in

talking back from the periphery to

a more central cultural power, and

in questions about who gets to make

art and from what. The book sprang

in part from a desire to sustain and

express fascination for overlooked

spaces and in part from an obsession

with the complicated way we wed the

power of storytelling to ourselves, our

identities, and our communities.

After years of publishing in liter-

ary journals, I began to see which es-

says were speaking to each other and

which weren’t. I sent out a manuscript

to indie and university press book

contests, for which it was sometimes

a finalist.

Then I came upon West Virginia

University Press and its In Place se-

ries, which publishes books about “the

complexity and richness of place.” I

sent my manuscript to the editor,

Derek Krissoff, who began e-mailing

me frequently and thoughtfully, a

responsiveness that provoked mild

confusion until it occurred to me that

the book was being read, carefully, by

the people who were going

to publish and champion it.

When I signed the contract,

I felt more wryness than joy.

Inside that long-awaited mo-

ment of satisfaction, I could

sense the presence of the

same old dissatisfied beast—

the one who exists to de-

mand more words and more

work, more foolish attempts

at making sense. It’s a short

walk home, to what remains

to be done.

COLLEGE of

ARTS & SCIENCES

A. Manette Ansay Chantel Acevedo

Jaswinder Bolina M. Evelina Galang

Amina Gautier Mia Leonin

Maureen Seaton

Internationally

Recognized Faculty

All students receive

full funding.

Michener Fellowships

available.

Creative Writing

MFA

A Two-Year Program

with a Third-Year Option

NONFICTION 2019

I was raised

working-class in a

small town in rural

Wisconsin. As I

accumulated more

experience of the

world, I sometimes

found I had to

explain myself and

my home to others,

putting a complicated

place onto maps

where previously

there’d been almost

nothing at all.