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Q&A (& Giveaway) with Author Patricia Ann McNair,
And These Are The Good Times (Side Street Press)

“I know what you are thinking…What does one thing have to do
with the other? I know what I am thinking: everything.”
~ from “There Is A Light That Never Goes Out”
(And These Are the Good Times, by Patricia Ann McNair)

There’s a beautiful article up on Literary Hub by Sarah Minor, about quilting and embroidery and the structure of story. Near the beginning, she says, “the narratives we live inside are never linear from the start. Our stories are patterns of experiences, a few knit together and the vast remainder discarded as scrap.” Those patterns, those scraps, shape us. But only after careful consideration are we able to see the effects. In the late-night hour, in the reordering of things, the narrative becomes clear. “We see best, perhaps, from some distance,” as Patricia Ann McNair says in one of the essays from her new book, And These Are The Good Times.

A collection that explores and observes her past and her present, And These Are The Good Times (Side Street Press, September 2017) illustrates exactly what Sarah Minor speaks of. McNair begins and ends her book with a study of her father, his identity and his influence, and the stories in between unfold in the way that memory unfurls: in a cluster of images, through a series of sounds and smells, by way of a familiar place.

And These Are The Good Times is a book for readers and writers alike. As a reader, you cannot walk away from these essays without reflecting on your own joy, sorrow, or mystery; as a writer, you cannot help but return to page after page to underline and asterisk the reminders of why we write. Because every experience–good, bad, strange–becomes a piece to the puzzle of who we are, how we are in relation, and why those questions matter.

This Q&A with Patricia Ann McNair is one I’ve been eagerly waiting to share. In her interview, McNair talks about the writing and the stories and the gift in putting our thoughts on the page. Plus (as is my custom), there’s a giveaway! Enter HERE for a chance to win a copy of And These Are The Good Times (deadline: Tuesday, October 3).

Now welcome Patricia Ann McNair!

Christi Craig (CC): Your first book, Temple of Air (Elephant Rock Books), is a collection of short stories; This book, And These Are The Good Times (Side Street Press) pulls together an amazing collection of essays. How did moving from fiction to nonfiction stretch you as a writer or buoy you as a person…or, vice versa?

Patricia Ann McNair (PM): I am often moving back and forth between fiction and nonfiction, grappling with a lot of the same concerns and questions. You are such a good reader, Christi, and a supporter of my work; I imagine you see a number of the same themes and situations in The Temple of Air and in And These Are the Good Times. Loss. Loneliness. Desire. Wonder. You know, those things that all of us carry with us into our days. And while the focus of my stories and of my essays are not all that different from one another, it is how I shape them that is.

I don’t know if I believe this absolutely, but I think I do, and I often say it to my students, to myself: in order to be complete, fiction (short story, novel) needs to have some sort of change. Sometimes that change is in the character, sometimes it is in the situation. Sometimes it is in the reader. As a reader, you understand or see things just a little differently than you did when you started the story. That change is what makes fiction feel done—even when the ending is ambiguous or open.

Nonfiction, particularly the essay or the brief memoir, to my mind, does not have to present that same sort of change. The sort of nonfiction I am interested in, the sort of essays, at their heart tell stories—like my fiction does. But what I am drawn to is not just the story, but what I make of it. Or perhaps more accurately, what questions these stories lead me to. In many of the essays in Good Times, I tell the story of my father dying when I was fifteen. In one, though, this story leads me to wonder about why I am drawn to jukeboxes and taverns and charming drunk guys. In another, my father’s death sparks my curiosity about virginity, about the connections between sex and grief. In another, I am drawn to the role of coffee in my life. In nonfiction, what matters to me are the questions, what the recounted events make me wonder about, consider, reflect on. I don’t come up with answers in the same way I often do in my short story. I come up with more questions. Nonfiction, like real life, does not provide easy answers.

Fiction says: This happened. Nonfiction—well, the personal essay at least—asks: Why did this happen? How do I respond?

To the last part of your question, Christi—how does this stretch me as a writer or buoy me as a person? When I first started to write fiction, I was on the lookout for story. What happened here? What might happen if this happened? As I write more nonfiction, I find that I am curious in a slightly different way. What happened yes, but also why did it happen? And why does it matter that this happened? I am drawn to story still and always, in real life and on the page, but I am also so very interested in what is underneath, behind, and inside of the story and the storyteller. I love to wonder. We are in a strange time right now, when a lack of curiosity seems to be held in the highest regard in the highest office of our country. Now, more than ever maybe, I think it is important to wonder, to question. Why did this happen? How do I respond?

CC: “Nourishment” and “The Storied Life” are two of my favorites in this collection, and they pair well together: the first focusing on living in the moment and the second turning that gaze inward, gathering these moments, “never quite sure when they will present themselves…unbidden at times…dragged out from the murky shadows of memory.” Living, gathering, reflecting–the life of a writer but also the key to experiencing our days in full. What are some other ways, besides writing, in which you reflect on “ordinary moments” or everyday nourishment?

PM: I would like to say that I am one of those writers who wanders the streets of her ordinary life reflecting, weighing, mulling over. You know, the stereotype of a writer who shuffles through her days in a fog of reflection and creation, stopping to smell the flowers, to consider the rise and fall of that butterfly’s flight. Unfortunately, I have to push myself to get to that place. I am a planner and a worrier by nature, and it isn’t unusual for me to be in a moment—say walking on the beach path that hugs Lake Michigan across from my city apartment—and to start to think about a vacation I want to plan when I can walk by the ocean! I could be totally digging a fabulous meal, and instead of totally digging the fabulous meal, I will be thinking about this other, future fabulous meal I can imagine somewhere else! And wait, did I remember to lock the door? Do I have enough toilet paper? Will I catch the bus in time to get downtown for class?

What I am saying is that it takes practice and patience for me to settle in to life’s ordinary moments. I am a journal writer; I have been since I was nine. And this (almost) daily practice allows me to do at least two things that are good for my writing and for my attempting to—as you say—experience my days in full. I can write my way through my worries, my distractions, as I put them on the page. And once I have done that (figured my budgets, made my lists for the day) I can begin to turn my observation outward, away from the cramped spaces of my worried mind.

Look out the window: what does the sky look like today? Catch a glimpse of a family photo on the wall: when was that? What mattered to me then? And if I can write my way to this point of observing, remembering, imagining, I sometimes can carry that with me into my day, too. Let go of the worry and the plan.

Here. Now.

Being quiet helps. Terry Tempest Williams said “Silence is where we locate our voice.” Yes. So I turn everything off. Sit, watch, look up and out.

CC: You’ve lived many places but have returned to your home town of Chicago. What do you love most about the city?

PM: Oh man, you have picked the right time to ask me this question. We have just moved to a high-rise apartment that overlooks the lake and is just a little over a mile from the hospital where I was born. I can see the beach where I used to go as a girl to meet boys. And it is summer, but not a brutal, hot, humid one. The lake breezes are fresh, and the city is out there, people riding bikes and swimming and partying on the lakefront. The other day my husband and I went out for a walk and it was about 8 AM on a Sunday morning. We passed a group of people who were of African descent, and they were dancing and singing, and shaking rhythm instruments. Nearby were folks in white, gathered close to the water, and some were in robes, gowns. It looked as though they were about to engage in a baptism. A little ways further on, people were getting ready for a family reunion, handmade signs told us so: “_______ Familia. Aqui.” And they had set up a complete sitting room under a canopy. Luxurious couches and armchairs and cocktail tables you would see on some rich guy’s deck. A circle of older Asian people were doing Tai Chi, reaching for the sky and toward one another and moving over the grass. There is this couple we pass regularly, a man in off white linen and a colorful vest and fez, his wife in a bright red or blue sari. There is so much diversity here, so many people doing so many different and interesting things. The many different languages you hear on the subway, the temples and churches and ethic markets and restaurants. Why wouldn’t someone love this place?

I am particularly aware of how this enriches my life right now, after the recent brutalities and ugly intolerance in Charlottesville. At a time when too many people voted for someone who promised to keep out “the other,” who will not call racism and xenophobia and small-minded bigotry what they are, worthless and evil and dangerous, I am thrilled to be in a place where others—where we all—can thrive.

CC: What are you reading these days?

PM: I am in the last pages of Megan Stielstra’s The Wrong Way to Save Your Life. You know Megan. In fact, it was Megan who connected us some time ago, right? It is a collection of essays, with a few recurring themes and motifs, but primarily it is about fear and overcoming fear. It is exuberant and optimistic and I am reminded of what I always knew about Megan (she was a student of mine some years ago, a friend now) she has an unlimited capacity for joy. Joy is all over these pages. Love. Hope.

Right under that book on my nightstand is Identity Unknown: Rediscovering Seven American Women Artists, by Donna Seaman, Booklist’s Adult Books Editor. Donna has such a curious and thoughtful mind, it is a pleasure to hang out with her in these pages.

Next up will be Code of the West, by Sahar Mustafah, a fabulously talented writer who I had the honor of advising on her thesis (this collection of stories comes from that project.) She is a writer to watch.

CC: Most days, you wake up, and your first thought is _____________?

PM: A year ago, most days: Is that coffee I smell? Most days since last November: Please. Make him stop.

Patricia Ann McNair has lived 98 percent of her life in the Midwest. She’s managed a gas station, sold pots and pans door to door, tended bar and breaded mushrooms, worked on the trading floor of the Chicago Mercantile Exchange and taught aerobics. Today she is an Associate Professor in the Department of Creative Writing of Columbia College Chicago, where she received the Excellence in Teaching Award as well as a nomination for the Carnegie Foundation’s US Professor of the Year. McNair’s The Temple of Air received the Chicago Writers Association Book of the Year Award, Southern Illinois University’s Devil’s Kitchen Reading Award, and the Society of Midland Authors (US) Finalist Award. And These are The Good Times: A Chicago gal riffs on death, sex, life, dancing, writing, wonder, loneliness, place, family, faith, coffee, and the FBI (among other things), from Side Street Press, is on bookshelves today.

McNair lives in Chicago with her husband, the visual artist Philip Hartigan (www.philiphartigan.com), and their cat Pablo.

Check out her Events page to see when she’s reading near you.

And Don’t forget: ENTER the GIVEAWAY for a chance to win
a copy of And These Are The Good Times!

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Excerpt from Life on the Loose by Cari Taylor-Carlson
(And there’s a giveaway!)

“Everything changes when you’re at the edge, ready to slide into a river that will take you into the abyss, the unknown.” ~ from Life on the Loose: My Journey from Suburban Housewife to Outdoor Guide

Christi here. I have two visions of myself: Christi Imagined and The Real Me. Christi Imagined loves to hike the narrow trail, camps with ease, and packs only one bag of absolute necessities. The Real Me marks the map for the nearest ER, stocks up on meals, snacks, water, meds, books to read (who can take just one?), a journal & pens (of varying thickness–fine, medium, BOLD!), too many clothes, an extra pair of shoes, chapstick…wait, make it my fave: Burt’s Bees lip shimmer, two colors (I want to look good in the woods). That “one bag” bit? I have a lot to learn.

Cari Taylor-Carlson, author of Life on the Loose: My Journey from Suburban Housewife to Outdoor Guide, can teach me plenty. Below is an excerpt from the first chapter of her book, a quick view into her story of outdoor guide experiences learned first-hand, sometimes the hard way. Eric Hansen (Hiking Wisconsin) calls this a “nonstop action” memoir; Robert Vaughan (Funhouse) says “Taylor-Carlson maintains composure, grit, integrity, all in the throes of arduous adventures in nature that many of us won’t even dare to take.” So when you reach the end of this excerpt and find yourself wanting more, ENTER THE GIVEAWAY for a chance to win your own copy of her book! Deadline: Tuesday, Sept. 5th.

Now on to a sneak peek at Cari Taylor-Carlson’s Life on the Loose!

Solo on the Green

“You’re the only person on the river this week,” Dirk said as he helped load my canoe. “Oh, you’re traveling light.  Do you have enough food, warm clothes?” His muscles bulged from hauling canoes. “Most people we put in fill the canoe.” He should know, as one of the three brothers who owned Tex’s Riverways, my canoe outfitter. They launched hundreds of canoes each season. Good thing he couldn’t hear my heart slam against my chest.

I had brought two duffels, stuffed with clothes, food, and gear. Six gallons of water, a Coleman stove, and those duffels didn’t take up much space in an eighteen-foot aluminum canoe. It looked as empty as I felt. The breakfast cheese omelet and hash brown potatoes at the Westerner Cafe couldn’t fill the scared hole in my belly.

Dirk added to my growing panic when he said in a flat voice, “You know my concern for your safety requires me to tell you what you’re doing is dangerous. This is off-season.” He walked to the bank where I sat in the canoe, and put his hand in the water as if to judge the current. “Ordinarily, we tell people if they run into trouble, another canoe will come along within an hour. For you, no such luck.” He looked smug, as if confident in some secret knowledge of pitfalls looming ahead of me on the river.

When I planned this trip down the Green River in Utah, I’d arrived at a midlife junction. It was time to start the business I had dreamed about for many years, adventure travel guide. I loved the symbolism: launch a canoe, launch a new life. Ten, fifteen miles a day in a mild current would be about right for an experienced paddler checking out an adventure for her soon-to-be clients. I envisioned warm sunny days, sixty to seventy degrees, with a slight chill at night, spectacular canyon scenery, and around every bend, convenient campsites on sandbars. It added up to a dream wilderness trip in my favorite Western state. What could go wrong? I relished the challenge, a chance to prove to myself that I could be an intrepid adventurer.

At breakfast, a man at an adjacent table announced in a loud voice, “The dog’s water froze last night.  It was twenty-three when I went to bed at ten.” He slung a winter jacket on a chair, gulped his coffee, and took off his gloves. “Feels nice and warm in here.” He looked at me as if he could read my mind. How could he know?

In exactly thirty minutes I would leave for the river and five nights in a tent. Did I have to do this? Yes, if I wanted to reinvent myself as an outdoor guide. Thanks to lack of weather foresight and a habit of traveling light, my wardrobe included neither a fleece jacket nor long underwear. I knew better, but packed for Utah, not Montana. To my credit, I brought a rain jacket and rain pants that came in handy for warmth at night when I needed to wear everything I’d packed.

Food had been my primary concern, not my wardrobe. I had planned meals down to the cheese sauce for the Pasta Alfredo, fresh garlic, and the curry powder for the chicken. I would eat well.

As I stood by the river, strong, confident, free dissolved into small, insignificant, scared.  At home, the Green River was a cute little wiggly blue line on a map.  Now those fifty-five miles from Ruby Ranch to Mineral Bottoms looked more like a Lewis and Clark expedition than a casual six day outing. At least I was going downstream, not up. I should have done some research, made a plan that more closely matched the risks of this solo voyage. As an experienced outdoors person, I should have known to bring fleece, even to Utah in early November.

Would I find campsites? Did I have enough food, water, fuel, and what if my stove broke down?

Then Dirk said, “When it’s time to come off the river, you’ll come around a bend and see a cottonwood on the left bank. It’s a big tree.” He walked to the bank and started to slide the canoe into the river.  “You can’t miss it.  Get ready to pull out there.”

“That’s it? You want me to watch for one tree? Anything else I should look for?”  Now I felt the fear that would obsess me all day, every day, until I found that cottonwood.  That fear sucked the joy out of the trip. Of course I could miss it. Could I watch both sides of the river at the same time in a current that whipped me around every bend?

“Oh, you’ll recognize the tree. It’s at Mineral Bottoms, right in front of you.” When he said this, his voice a monotone, he wouldn’t look me in the eye, just stared at the river.  I knew what he thought.  This middle-aged woman is crazy. His disdain for my adventure eroded every remaining fragment of my fragile confidence. Damn Dirk. Damn the river.  Damn my confident plan back in Milwaukee.

If I got myself into a jam, there was no one to lend a hand.  The Green flowed through a wilderness canyon. I had choices; let go of the dream and stay the course in suburbia, or turn off the monkey-babble in my head, get in the canoe, and paddle.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” He didn’t ask about a cell phone. I didn’t have one, but even if I did, it would have been useless in the canyon.  Would I admit to Dirk that I was scared? Never. Just in case, we made a plan, because this mother of four wasn’t ready to feed a turkey vulture in the desert.

“If you’re more than a day late,” he said, “I’ll send a helicopter to search for you.”

Dirk didn’t know I would swim miles in the murky Green, before I’d flag down a helicopter, nor pay hundreds of dollars for a rescue. There would be a way out of that canyon even if I had to crawl naked and bloody over prickly pear cactus all the way. Still, it was comforting to know we had a plan.

Everything changes when you’re at the edge, ready to slide into a river that will take you into the abyss, the unknown. Could I flip a switch, let go of my predictable life? A tree branch floated downriver and disappeared, and finally, tentatively, I let go of the root that bound me to the riverbank. The current caught the bow of my canoe, and in thirty seconds, I was three hundred yards downriver. I wouldn’t need to paddle, the Green would do the work. There was no turning back.

~

Cari Taylor-Carlson (right), ran her own business, Venture West-guided outdoor adventures, for 32 years and was the founder of the “Milwaukee Walking and Eating Society.” She is best known as a food writer and is the author of several books on the city’s dining scene, including Milwaukee Eats, Milwaukee’s Best Cheap Eats, and The Food Lover’s Guide to Milwaukee. She also wrote about restaurants for 18 years for M Magazine and has been a regular contributor to WUWW-FM’s “Lake Effect.” Visit her website: lifeontheloose.com. 

ABOUT THE BOOK: Life on the Loose: My Journey from Suburban Housewife to Outdoor Guide explores Cari Taylor-Carlson’s thirty-two year adventure with Venture West as she and her customers traveled the world with backpacks, canoes and kayaks. In the beginning, a painful divorce led Cari Taylor-Carlson to recognize her need for wilderness, her safe place. The book, then, takes us on two journeys–the internal angst of the guide and the external beauty of the places she traveled.

~

REMEMBER: Enter the GIVEAWAY
for a chance to win a copy of Life on the Loose!

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Q&A with the Editors of Sunvault: Stories of Solarpunk and Eco-Speculation

“We dug deep and pushed seeds / from locked away vaults / into the earth so gentle we pushed / and we wondered if the past / could be reborn.”
~ from “Fairy Tales & Other Species of Life” (Chloe N. Clark)
in Sunvault: Stories of Solarpunk and Eco-Speculation

When I met my husband, we got to know each other by talking about all the plays and musicals we acted in during high school (Him: Guys and Dolls. Me: Li’l Abner. Him: Oliver. Me: Greater Tuna). We had a lot in common, until later when we talked books. He asked if I’d ever read Douglas Adams’ The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. I said no. He balked, I shrugged. We still got married.

brightly colored cover image for Sunvault

I didn’t read science fiction then, and I don’t read much now. But when I heard about Sunvault: Stories of Solarpunk and Eco-Speculation (Upper Rubber Boot Books, 2017), I was intrigued, especially with the subtitle.

I’ve enjoyed speculative fiction over the years (Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale, Hillary Jordan’s When She Woke), and I know of the word STEAMpunk (though I can only envision what it looks like, not how it reads). How “solar” and “eco” fit into the mix, I wasn’t sure. At first glance of Sunvault’s cover, though, I was ready to dive into the pages. The Editors’ Note, then, ensured I knew what to expect:

Often [in Science Fiction], the environment was an antagonist, already destroyed to the point of no return, or simply not a consideration. . . . [Solarpunk] emphasizes innovative interaction with both our communities and our environment; socio-environmental thought and creation, rather than merely survival in a decaying world….

These days, a positive focus on the connection between human and environment is worth investigating. Sure the stories may be fiction, the art futuristic, but as Donald Maass says in The Emotional Craft of Fiction, “the purpose of stories is not only to change characters, but also to point the way to a change in us all.”

Meaning, a story imagined is still built on some thread of truth; we should pay attention.

The stories, poems, and art in Sunvault look to a future when humans cooperate with the natural world rather than use and abuse it, and the book as a whole paves way for discussion of such possibilities. In today’s Q&A with Editors Phoebe Wagner and Brontë Christopher Wieland, we learn more about the genre, the stories, and the aspirations behind the collection. Plus, there’s a giveaway: you just might win a copy of Sunvault, with its cool cover and wonderful works! CLICK HERE to enter the giveaway (deadline: Aug. 29th).

Now welcome Editors Phoebe and Brontë!

Christi Craig (CC): There’s plenty to love about Sunvault, from the introductory notes on the genre of Solarpunk (for new readers like me) to the stories and poems (of course!). But what struck me immediately when I cracked open the pages was the list of contributors–such diversity! Writers of color, international authors, an excellent balance of men and women. Can you tell us a little about how this project began and one of the keys to reaching such a wide range of writers and artists?

Phoebe Wagner (PW): When Brontë and I met in fall of 2015 in Iowa, we bonded over our love of speculative fiction—we were the only two fiction writers dedicated to the genre in our year. Especially in 2015, the speculative trend involved a lot of negativity and dystopian settings, which, don’t get me wrong, I love a good dystopian romp, but I was tired of feeling hopeless. I love happy endings, and I grew up on positive stories like The Lord of the Rings and A Wrinkle in Time. Brontë and I had been tossing around the idea of editing an anthology together (because graduate students have loads of downtime), when I came across a post by Kdhume on Tumblr about solarpunk. The –punk genres have always inspired me, and this new –punk genre with a focus on environment, socio-environmental issues, community, and positivity seemed like something I wanted to be a part of.

As for the diversity, we are both passionate about seeing diversity in publishing, particularly in our home genre of SF. To that end, we commissioned work which helped set the atmosphere when submissions opened. Solarpunk naturally attracts a diverse audience since the genre is dedicated to diverse communities, and we wanted to honor that. Consider that the first true solarpunk anthology was published in Portuguese in 2012 (though World Weaver Press is working on translating it!). This movement is global.

Brontë Christopher Wieland (BW): From the beginning, we knew we wanted this anthology to represent as many perspectives, places, genders, and groups of people as possible, so we made sure to reach out to various communities and ask explicitly to see work from them. In our call for submissions, we encouraged writers from marginalized and underrepresented communities to submit. We also worked hard to spread our message widely on social media, especially Twitter where there’s a thriving and beautiful community of SF writers.

Cropped version of Carlin Reynolds' drawingCC: Speaking of artists, I’ve been studying the artwork you include (Carlin Reynolds’ “Radio Silence” [see cropped image to right] is one of my favorites). The pieces appear to be drawings in pencil or ink, a simplicity in the choice of medium that matches many of the stories as they focus on new beginnings and a back-to-basics kind of living. The images themselves, though, are all but simple; full of intricate detail, they each warrant thoughtful discussion on their own. In your original call for artwork, did you aim for a certain style? Or, what did you hope to receive?

PW: “Radio Silence” was a perfect submission since it fit so well with Iona Sharma’s “Eight Cities.” Solarpunk does have roots in art nouveau style, which we mentioned, but more broadly, we wanted to see how artists interrupted the ideas of solarpunk. Since we were limited in the types of images we could print (mainly black and white), we pitched the idea of the art being like coloring book pages, so each reader could, if desired, personalize Sunvault.

BW: Mostly, I think we hoped to see what images solarpunk conjured in artists without our stylistic input. We wanted to see how many interpretations of the ideas we described were out there, and we found some really beautiful work!

CC: Kristine Ong Muslim’s “Boltzmann Brain” is a powerful piece of flash, depicting one after another of ecological disaster but maintaining a sense of optimism to the end. I love, too, how each new section opens with “We hope you are out there, and you are reading this message.” What do you hope readers will take away from this collection?

PW: I hope readers feel encouraged to become engaged, that it isn’t hopeless. We have a hard road ahead when it comes to climate change and social justice. This summer has seen America pull out of the Paris Climate Agreement, and I’m still sick over the domestic terrorism in Charlottesville. It does not feel like a hopeful time. I hope the stories, poems, and art in Sunvault will encourage small and large actions, encourage resistance, and bring joy. It’s hard not to smile when I look at Likhain’s bright cover.

BW: Hope, courage, inspiration, and new ways of thinking about how we approach our world, especially in terms of physical and social environments. Much of the work in Sunvault revolves around fighting for a better, more just world, and that message is even more valuable now than it was when we started work on the book.

CC: What did you love most about editing this collection as a team?

PW: First off, it was just plain old fun. While I love working with Brontë in general, having someone with different interests, experiences, strengths was vital. It was nice to tag team with him, too, since grad school has a tendency to dictate when you can do stuff. If one of us had a stack of papers that needed to be graded, the other could shoulder more work.

BW: Having a separate perspective on each piece illuminated my own thoughts about each submission. There were times that Phoebe saw value in a piece that hadn’t initially grabbed me (and vice versa), and it always lead to lively discussion and important time spent rereading stories and expanding my idea of what the book would be. Sunvault would look so much different if either of us had done it alone, and it’s much, much better because we worked together.

CC: Now that your editing work on Sunvault is done, what are you reading these days?

PW: I finished The Dispossessed by Ursula K. Le Guin and it blew my mind. While not exactly solarpunk, there are a lot of similar themes. I’ve also been on a YA reading streak these days and loved Daniel Jose Older’s Shadowshaper.

BW: As always, I haven’t been reading as much or as widely as I’d like to be. Recently I’ve been diving deeply into Paulo Freire’s Pedagogy of the Oppressed and Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz’s An Indigenous Peoples’ History of the United States, both of which I’m using to shape my teaching for the upcoming semester. I also just finished Wizard of the Crow by Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o and When the Ground Turns in Its Sleep by Sylvia Sellers-García.

Phoebe Wagner grew up in Pennsylvania, the third generation to live in the Susquehanna River Valley. She spent her days among the endless hills pretending to be an elf, and, eventually, earned a B.A. in English: Creative Writing from Lycoming College. She is an MFA candidate in Creative Writing and Environment at Iowa State University. Follow her on Twitter: @pheebs_w.

Brontë Christopher Wieland is an MFA candidate in Creative Writing and Environment at Iowa State University where he thinks about how language, culture, and storytelling shape the world around us. In 2014, he earned his Bachelor’s degree from the University of Wisconsin-Madison in Mathematics and Lingustics. His fiction has appeared in Flash Fiction Online and Hypertext Magazine. Follow him on Twitter: @BeezyAl.

REMEMBER: Enter the giveaway for a chance to win a copy of Sunvault!