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Q&A with Yvonne Stephens, author of The Salt Before It Shakes

This winter, I will haul out summer / from the chest freezer / tart cherries to suck on, to make pie. // You and I are omnivorous– / even bitter fruit, somehow, / sustains us.”
~ from “Give Me a Bushel of Tomatoes” in The Salt Before It Shakes

I fell in love with the poetry of Yvonne Stephens at first glance. I was skimming through submissions for Family Stories from the Attic, and her piece, “Syl,” stopped me short. A found poem, she turned lines in a letter from a Grandfather she did not know into a piece that stays with you. Her writing is intimate, it’s pure and sweet, heartbreaking and hopeful, all at once.

Her new chapbook, The Salt Before It Shakes, offers the same level of intimacy and strength and more. Poems like “As a Dignity” and “To Build a Sauna” (and “Give Me a Bushel of Tomatoes” quoted above)  center the reader, giving pause in the mix of uproar or discord or simple worry to show what matters in the moment. Other poems take a light-hearted look at coyotes and porcupines and even mops to build on the idea that poetry is for reflection both in earnest and in fun.

Rita Dove says “Poetry is language at its most distilled and most powerful.” The poems in these pages are true to the form; they are good for the soul.

I’m honored to host Yvonne today to talk about her new chapbook, released by Hidden Timber Books last month. After the Q&A, CLICK HERE to enter the book giveaway for a chance to win a copy of The Salt Before It Shakes (courtesy of Hidden Timber Books).

Now, welcome Yvonne!

Christi Craig (CC): The Salt Before It Shakes is a lovely collection of poems, several of which couple the human experience with nature–from the outside looking in or the inside looking out. I’m thinking of “Tomato Hornworm, a Study” and “Imminent Rain” as two examples, the first a poem of relationships in a way; the second, one of mood. Nature and sense of self. I love this pairing. But which serves to inspire the poetry in you first, the introspection or the walk in the woods? 

Yvonne Stephens (YS): Mostly the walk in the woods first, which is a great exercise for getting me out of my head and being present. I think being clear headed and in the moment is an ideal, even idealized way to be ready to write a poem. But, my life is generally chaotic, so I’ve been learning how to write, and write well, in chaos, too. On my walks I am collecting images, fragments of lines that come to mind, or just getting my blood pumping (because I can be so sedentary).

My poems tend to be written late at night, when my family is asleep. If I’m working on something and I’m stuck, I’ll take a walk in the woods to mull it over.

“Tomato Hornworm”originated from a writing prompt, from an online poetry course that I took in 2013 with Holly Wren Spaulding–and also very much my backyard garden. “Imminent Rain” originated in an approaching storm.

CC: I have so many favorites in this collection, one being “Eleven Mops”…the language, the images, the play in lines like this, “As I work a mop around my feet, there it is: a microphone, the urge to sing.” I know this is a formal Q&A, but :D! Tell us a little more about those moments “Eleven Mops” came into form.

YS: “Eleven Mops” was written from an assignment from a class I took in 2009 (again, Holly Wren Spaulding), to emulate “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird” by Wallace Stevens. I remember choosing to focus on mops. It was September, and I had just left from helping a friend do some cleaning. A mop is so simple, and just silly. Could I think about it in a multitude of ways? Why, yes! So it started from a place of play, of wanting to have fun. I especially like the last line because it incorporates a blackbird, a final connection to Stevens’ original poem.

CC: Speaking of play, last year you did #100daysofplay and #31daysofsnailmail projects.What did you love most about these projects, and what might be on the docket for 2018?

YS: What I loved most about these projects was the permission to prioritize things I love to do, and the accountability of posting about it in order to keep at it.

Play is essential to a thriving imagination, and letter writing is a way to slow down, reflect, connect with people I care about–all of these things enrich a life. They were so good for me. I was inspired to start this project by my friend, Jeannie Voller, who had done 100 days of dance, and invited others to do their own projects.

With “The Salt Before It Shakes” in print, I’m taking my first-ever book tour. I’m also working on a second book, with the working title, “These Hands Can” due out mid-2019 through Hidden Timber Books.

I enjoy collage work, sewing, and spotlighting the work of others. I might make these into projects I track on my blog in 2018–but no specific plans. Thanks for asking! You may have just started something.

CC: Which poets/books of poetry do you keep close at hand?

YS: Suzanne Buffam, Diane Seuss, Jane Kenyon, Fleda Brown. “Contemporary Greek Women Poets” translated by Eleni Fourtouni, Thelphini Press (1978).

~

Yvonne Stephens lives with her husband and two children in Northwest Lower Michigan. She has worked as an assistant in the fields of mycology, forestry, and neurology research, volunteered for two year in the AmeriCorps, and most recently was an Artist Residency Coordinator for the Crosshatch Center for Art and Ecology. An award-winning poet, Yvonne was nominated for the Pushcart Prize in 2015, and her poems have appeared in the Dunes Review, the LAND Creative Writing Journal, and Family Stories from the Attic. Visit her blog at poetwith40eyes.com.

Don’t forget! Enter the book giveaway for a chance to win a copy
of The Salt Before It Shakes.

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Author Q&A: Carol Wobig, The Collected Stories

“‘Ginny,’ I whispered into the darkness. ‘Ginny.’ I was no longer Mother Adalbert, Addie, superior of a community of two thousand women. Drunks and hordes of mosquitos were my community now. One landed on my arm. I let it pierce my flesh, drink my blood–my contribution to the world for the day.” ~ from “On My Knees” in The Collected Stories

If you’ve been a subscriber to this blog for a while, you know I love to introduce you to new books, spotlight up-and-coming authors, tempt you with good stories. Today’s Author Q&A is no different, except in format.

Carol Wobig is local author who published her full collection of short stories with a local publisher, Lisa Rivero at Hidden Timber Books, and she worked with a local editor: me. The three of us, then, constitute a Wisconsin triad of literary strength, bringing these wonderful stories into the literary light 🙂 Because of that, I’ve invited both Lisa and Carol to talk about Carol’s new book of short fiction entitled, The Collected Stories.

About the Book

Carol Wobig writes with unfailing sensitivity and empathy and in language that rings clear and true. In these seventeen stories and monologues, Wobig introduces us to grieving widows and questioning nuns, daughters intent on saving their mothers and mothers unsure how to save their children, each of whom faces the question we all must ultimately ask: how to save ourselves. Her characters and their experiences will live in the minds and hearts of readers long after the last page is turned.

Sensitivity, empathy, language clear and true. All those things make for easy editing. But it’s the stories themselves that make this project memorable. Running through the pages of the collection is a thread of humility and grace, soothing as much as it is satisfying, with characters whose dialogue and inner thoughts pull at you in familiar ways and whose subtle humor eases any heartache.

Read the Q&A, enjoy an excerpt from the collection below, and–as always–there’s a giveaway (courtesy of Hidden Timber Books). Enter the giveaway HERE (deadline: Tuesday, December 26th).

On Story

Christi Craig (CC): Lisa, what drew you to Carol’s stories?

Lisa Rivero (LR): I first heard Carol read from her stories at a Red Oak Roundtable, and I fell in love immediately with her memorable characters, her authentic voice, her clear-eyed and compassionate perspective on the world. She makes what she does look easy because there is nothing fancy or extra, no misplaced or awkward words to stumble on, but that clarity is the result of many, many drafts and close attention to detail. Her stories are mesmerizing.

CC: Carol, when you wrote these stories, were you inspired first by character, setting, or theme?

Carol Wobig (CW): This was a question that led to some thinking on my part, and in the end I realized that I often start from a person or object I’ve seen in passing. The piano in the snow I saw years ago in my neighborhood on my way to work. At the time thought I would use it in a story one day. And Marge arose from a woman I saw on a Sunday morning in the coffee shop where I write. She was dressed for church, I guessed, in a hat and sensible heels, and was in an intense conversation with a young man I imagined to be her son. Later on, they came together for the story.

My settings are always small-town and rural Wisconsin, the place I love. I grew up here, moved to San Diego for twenty years, but moved back when I was forty-five; I missed the trees and seasons so much.

When I started writing, I read what I think might have been hundreds of how-to books. The advice in one I’ve always followed is start your story with the day your character’s life changes. My themes grow out of that.

On Characters

CC: Lisa, this collection is full of memorable characters. Two of my faves: Sister Beatrix in “What Choice Do We Have” and Marge in “The Piano” and “Shoulder to Shoulder.” I’m curious, which character(s) would you love to read more about?

LR: All of them! I mean it. But if I had to choose, I agree with you on Marge (of course!) and Sister Beatrix (did she stay in the convent?) . And Alice (does she find reciprocated love?). And Kenny (please tell me he turns out alright). And Gwen…

CC: As a writer, Carol, which of the character(s) would you love to explore further?

CW: When I was re-reading the stories, I felt like I wanted to continue on with all of my people, see what happens next. They become like friends for me, eventually.

On Upcoming Works

CC: Lisa, what is next on the publishing front?

LR: I’m going to take a break from new projects for a year or two and am looking forward to getting the word out about Carol’s book and a new poetry chapbook by Yvonne Stephens: The Salt Before It Shakes.

CC: What about you, Carol? What are you writing these days?

CW: Right now, I’m working on Marge. And in the future, maybe something about my caretaking experiences, and about a rare disease I have, acromegaly, that there isn’t much written about.

~

Excerpt from “Shoulder to Shoulder” (Marge)

Looking at herself was a trial. She’d always been large, big-boned her mother had said, and now her skin, rippled and crinkled, hung from those bones. And the teeth. Always the teeth. There never had been the money for braces. Now there was life insurance money, but she should keep that for house repairs, if she didn’t do herself in. No, she wasn’t going to do herself in. Irene needed her, and Freddie was coming to visit. He’d called last night. She turned away from the mirror, switched to her patent-leather purse and dusted off her black flats. Better to be overdressed than under.

She’d thought about asking Melody to take her to the airport to pick up Freddie, but while her daughter was over her snit about not getting the piano, she and her brother didn’t always get along. And Freddie didn’t sound—she couldn’t put her finger on it — just didn’t sound like Freddie. Had he lost his job? Was he homeless?

At the airport — how’d she found it and parked without an accident she wasn’t sure — Marge stood like an island amidst the rush of travelers laden with backpacks and rolling suitcases, all wearing jeans. She read the screen telling her where her son would arrive, but did not realize she couldn’t go through security without a ticket. So she waited where the agent told her to and kept pressing the folds of the skirt close to her thighs to minimize her width. Why had she worn this dress? She felt like a float in a parade.

People hurried towards her up the ramp alone and in bunches, and after a long gap Freddie appeared. Ah, yes. Her son, looking older, tanned, thin, too thin. She waved to him, was surprised by the tears that threatened. He strode toward her and hugged her, a maneuver so unexpected that she stood there, engulfed in his arms like a statue. They weren’t a hugging family.

A younger man stood to Freddie’s left, smiling.

“This is my friend, Jeff,” her son said.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, and shook his extended hand. Did he need a ride, too? She wasn’t running a taxi service.

“Jeff wants to see the Midwest,” Freddie said. “I hope it’s okay that I brought him along.”

“Oh, sure. We have lots of room.” How like her Freddie. To take in a stray, to not tell her. Was the roast in the crock pot enough for dinner?

He had driven home, much to her relief. She sat in the back seat, to give Jeff a better view. As she mentally inventoried the refrigerator for ingredients for side dishes to add to dinner, she worried about Freddie. His ears looked huge, stood out from the tight skin on his neck and jaw.

“Sure smells good,” he said, as they walked up the back steps into the kitchen.

“I’m going upstairs to change,” Marge said. “We’ll eat in a minute.” In the bedroom, she unzipped the dress, hung it up, pinned a note to it that said “Burial Dress.”

~

About the Author

Inspired by the stories of Alice Munro, Carol Wobig started writing when she retired from making sauce in a pizza factory. Her award-winning work has appeared in Rosebud and other literary journals, and her monologues have been performed in community theater.

Learn more at carolwobig.com.

Don’t Forget! Enter the giveaway for a chance
to win a copy of The Collected Stories.

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The Power of a Simple Photo:
Excerpt from SKATING ON THE VERTICAL by Jan English Leary

“I see myself in the two of them–my mother’s prominent front teeth, the crease between her eyebrows that makes us look worried even when we aren’t. My father’s hairline with the dip in the middle, the wide spacing of his dove-gray eyes.” ~ from “Wedding Photo” by Jan English Leary

Every photo tells a story, and often it’s the tiny details within the framework that reveal more than one may expect. The same is true in writing and reading short stories; character, place, and emotion can be explored to great depths, even within a limited word count.

In the excerpt of Jan English Leary’s story “Wedding Photo” (below), we glimpse how details in a simple photo, once studied, open the door to a greater understanding of past and present. “Wedding Photo” was first published in Cease, Cows (Nov 2013) and Sunset Drinking the Black Ocean (2016) and now appears as part of Jan English Leary’s new collection, SKATING ON THE VERTICAL from Fomite Press.

Small Press Picks calls her collection “profound” and says the stories read of “soul-searching, self-doubt, and mistakes that are natural—sometimes inevitable—during times of change, difficulty, or discovery.” Sample a story from Jan’s collection in the excerpt and enter the book giveaway for a chance to win a copy (with thanks to Fomite Press and Caitlin Hamilton Marketing & Publicity).

This is the second in a series of book giveaways from last week through December, with one more giveaway from Hidden Timber Books in a few weeks–gifts for you or your favorite book worm!

Wedding Photo

by Jan English Leary

          My parents are standing on the steps of the church, squinting into the sun on the day of their wedding, nearly twenty-five years ago. My father’s smile is confident. He’s sure of his decision, eager about his new responsibilities. He holds her arm as he guides her, his new bride, from the church. My mother is looking off to her right and up a bit, away from him. At what? A well-wisher? A curious passerby? She doesn’t smile. Some people might blame wedding jitters, but I know she is swallowing back the nausea of morning sickness, my six-week self nestled inside her, a secret to be revealed later. She is only twenty-four but feels her choices narrowing, believes my father is her best chance and maybe her last. And of course, I am the real reason they’re doing this. I look to see if I can discern any hint of her future unhappiness, of her dissatisfaction with the marriage she finally dared to leave after more than twenty years together. All I can see is two young people, shy and hopeful, strangers to each other.
The three-quarter profile shows off her straight nose and her brown hair, over-permed for the occasion. She is wearing her mother’s satin dress with a high collar and covered buttons down the front—a full skirt under a peplum jacket, not yet tight, but snug. Beneath her skirt, the toe of a platform shoe peeks out. She told me her feet hurt that day, but she couldn’t take off her shoes because her dress was too long. Besides, without her shoes, she’d throw off the stair-step alignment of the heads for the wedding party photos.
My father is wearing a cutaway coat and vest. He is rugged-looking, not tall, but solid. In the sun, his eyes are nearly closed. He is twisting his new ring with the thumb of his left hand. His right hand clutches her satin sleeve, wrinkling it, probably leaving an eager, sweaty palm print.
I see myself in the two of them—my mother’s prominent front teeth, the crease between her eyebrows that makes us look worried even when we aren’t. My father’s hairline with the dip in the middle, the wide spacing of his dove-gray eyes. Eyes that chose not to see what was in front of him all those years. Eyes that still can’t see that his wife has changed. What features might I pass on to a child? How will I be viewed in future photos? What will I see in them?
In the upper corner of the photo, I see for the first time what caught my mother’s attention, drawing her gaze away from my father. A flash of white. A pigeon. Not a love bird or an eagle, or even a phoenix. A pigeon. The image is blurred as if the pigeon were attempting to escape the camera but was captured in mid-flight. From my perspective, it looks like the pigeon has been shot, halted on its way to freedom. Maybe my mother only saw the flight and all that it promised. In a way, we’d both be right.

About SKATING ON THE VERTICAL

In Jan English Leary’s collection of sixteen short stories,we meet characters who are at their most vulnerable—lonely or grief-stricken, tackling change or revelation. For instance, on “Eunuchs,” a boarding school teacher empathizes with her foreign student’s alienation, but his dramatic rejection of the institution makes her realize how alienated she is, and in “Skin Art,” a cutter finally discovers a way to appreciate her body—even though her husband is critical.

With her unflinching gaze and deep compassion, Leary’s stories reach to the very core, making SKATING ON THE VERTICAL a haunting, deeply powerful book.

~

JAN ENGLISH LEARY’S short fiction has appeared in Pleiades, The Literary Review, The Minnesota Review, Carve Magazine, Long Story, Short Literary Journal and other publications. She has received three Illinois Arts Council Awards and taught fiction writing at Francis W. Parker School and Northwestern University.  Her first novel, Thicker Than Blood, was released by Fomite in 2015. Skating on the Vertical, just released by Fomite, is her first collection of short stories. She lives in Chicago with her husband, John, an artist and former teacher. More information at http://janenglishleary.com/.

DON’T FORGET: enter the giveaway by Tuesday, December 12th,
for a chance to win a copy of SKATING THE VERTICAL.