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Unintended Consequences: A Collection of Short Stories by chemistry capstone students

Great chemistry: Creative Writing collaborates across disciplines

Photo of the preface to Unintended Consequences: A Collection of Short Stories. Professor Heeyoung Tai explains the purpose of the assignment: to get students to think through "not just the benefits that scientific advance would bring, but the other possible unintended consequences that they would need to address and consider at the same time."

Hurray for successful collaboration across disciplines! Check out this wonderful book of short stories, or “fictional essays,” written by chemistry capstone students to help them think about ethical dilemmas in science. As the preface by Prof. Heeyoung Tai says, imaginative writing enabled students to “see the future—not just the benefits that scientific advances would bring, but the possible unintended consequences that they would need to address and consider at the same time.”

The Creative Writing program was delighted to assist Heeyoung Tai and her chemistry capstone class with the project. Thanks to Professor Tai, who had the idea to develop the assignment and invited us to participate. Thanks also to my colleague in Spanish, Iñaki Pradanos, who introduced me to the idea of assigning fictional essays to think through real-world issues in our co-taught Urban Futures class last fall. Much gratitude to the terrific fiction writer and Miami MFA graduate Justin Chandler, who visited Heeyoung Tai’s capstone and got chemistry students thinking like fiction writers.

Hey chemistry students: your stories are scary and fascinating! We look forward to more creative collaborations across disciplines in future.

Cathy Wagner, Creative Writing Program Director

Diving into the Process: Patricia Grace King

Miami University Press Marketing Intern Leah Gaus interviews 2017 Novella Prize winner Patricia Grace King on her latest work, her writing process, and the importance of gratitude.

Having traversed many countries and lived in vastly different cities, Patricia Grace King fell in love with travel at an early age. Her prize-winning novella, Day of All Saints (Miami University Press, 2017), takes place in Guatemala, where Patricia lived for three years. While there, she worked as an accompanier of refugees with grassroots organization Witness for Peace during the civil war. She holds an MFA from Warren Wilson College and a PhD in English from Emory University. Hard at work on her forthcoming novel, King currently resides in Durham, England. For more, visit her website at www.patriciagraceking.com.

LG: How did you come up with the idea for Day of All Saints? Was it a sudden spark or a gradual process?

PGK: This was definitely a gradual process! I got the idea for the character of Martín, my protagonist, many years ago—in 2005, to be exact—when my husband and I had just moved back to the States from Guatemala. In Day of All Saints, Martín is a Guatemalan who has recently arrived in the States and who finds it strange on some levels. So the book began with my idea for Martín, with my wondering how different aspects of American life might seem to a newly arrived Guatemalan.

I carried Martín around with me for quite a while before I began writing about him. I worked on this novella from 2013 to 2016, with quite a few big breaks in between. Only gradually did I come up with his backstory, which has ended up being an important part of the book. And Martín’s grandmother—whose voice and POV take over for parts of the book—came to me quite a bit later, too.

LG: Did Day of All Saints always feel like it was meant to be a novella, or did you consider extending the book to novel-length?

PGK: I never considered extending it to novel length. Because it is a novella, Day of All Saints does end with some ambiguity, with some plot lines still unresolved. (In this aspect, I think the novella has more in common with the short story than with the novel.) Rather than ending with complete resolution across the board, Martín’s story ends with the resolution—or perhaps, the beginning of the resolution—of his one central problem or crisis.

By the novella’s end, the central force that has been driving Martín—the secret or buried past that he has not been able to confront—has finally come to the light. He can no longer deny it. While we don’t know exactly what he’ll do from this point onward, we do know that with the arrival of this new knowledge, Martín is and will be a changed man.

LG: What do you hope the novella will do for its readers, both in the current moment and the future?

PGK: I think stories at their best provide bridges for us into other lives, other worldviews, other cultures. That’s not their only function, of course; ideally, they should also entertain us, or move us with their beauty. But yes, in this current moment and in the foreseeable future, my hope for Day of All Saints is that it might increase or encourage compassion for the outsiders in our midst, wherever we are.

LG: You mentioned in one of your interviews that Day of All Saints is certainly a fish-out-of-water story. What draws you to writing this genre, and what is the importance of these kinds of stories?

PGK: Fish-out-of-water stories certainly do compel me, probably because I have spent large swathes of life being a fish out of water, myself. From living in Spain from ages 19 to 20, to my various stints of living in Guatemala, to my current residence in the UK, I’ve experienced some of the particular challenges and the particular thrills of living in cultures distinct from my own.

My optimistic belief is that human beings are fundamentally more similar than we are different, no matter our countries of origin; at the same time, I’m fascinated by the variety of beliefs and habits that grow out of our various contexts. And the interactions between people from two different cultures is always good fodder for stories, because of the ways we are both drawn to and sometimes confused by people we experience as Other.

LG: How do you see this novella relating to the current situation and political scene in America?

PGK: While I did not conceive of or write Day of All Saints during the current political context—in which the rights of immigrants to the U.S. are being so hotly contested—I am glad that the novella came out when it did. Perhaps now more than ever, we need to hear stories of outsiders. By imagining their realities for even a moment, I think we foster tolerance and empathy.

LG: In 200 Women by Geoff Blackwell and Ruth Hobday, you were asked to choose a single word that you most identify with. You chose ‘gratitude.’ What does this word mean to you? Do you see it relating to Day of All Saints?

PGK: On one hand, I chose “gratitude” for deeply personal reasons: for feeling so fortunate to have my health and my partner and my family and my work as a writer, for having all of these things at once. But gratitude also has to do with the idea of being present, of truly experiencing and valuing the moment you are in.

This concept is perhaps what keeps me returning to the writing desk every day. Even when it doesn’t feel like I’ve pushed the work forward very far (or at all!), I have been at my desk; I have engaged in the work. I’ve done my practice, as they say in yoga. So in this very broad respect, the idea of “gratitude” does link to Day of All Saints, or at least to the process of writing it.

LG: I saw on your Facebook page that you’re working with a literary agent now. Congrats! What are your hopes and what projects are you working on pitching?

PGK: I have just finished a novel, Outsider Art, and am working on the revisions my agent suggested to me recently. I also have a collection of short stories—one of which is an additional story about Martín—that should be finished by the end of this year.

LG: What is the best piece of advice you’ve received regarding writing?

PGK: It’s about the process, not the end results.

Álvarez and Tuma Present: Poetry

Room 40 in Irvin—a small, compact space—was filled completely on the night of Wednesday, March 28th. Students piled in, resorting to standing around the room. The students and faculty talked loudly, everyone waiting with a nervous energy for the poets to begin. Using this energy, María Auxiliadora Álvarez and Keith Tuma read their respective poems, causing the audience to drift away into feelings of contemplation, sympathy, and grief, and to be startled into laughter. Both poets left the audience with more questions than answers, like any good poet does, and they both transformed room 40 into something much more than a classroom.

Dr. Álvarez read first. One of her students managed a slide-show for her on the projector screen that displayed English translations, for Dr. Álvarez’s poetry was spoken and originally written in Spanish. Even though I grew up in a predominantly Spanish speaking area in Tucson, Arizona, I have never known Spanish. I took Latin in high school, so when I hear Spanish I stop listening—my brain shutting down. This happened for the first half of Dr. Álvarez’s poems because, for me, I was transfixed by the English translation, trying to make sense of her poems’ forms and images.

But as I started to listen to Dr. Álvarez’s voice when she read the poem “Standing Stones,” I realized that I could hear a meter, and I was amazed at the emotion that sound gave to the poem. In “Standing Stones,” the concrete form of the poem helps the audience to see and feel the image of water that Dr. Álvarez creates. Dr. Álvarez writes, “If you come to its shore if its shore comes to you Enter its / night / and let yourself / sink” (lines 3-6). The form puts “and let yourself” into the middle of the line, and “sink” is placed to the far right on the next line, suggesting a floating or sinking motion. What made this image so powerful for me was her voice, for the rhythm of the Spanish created motion, reinforcing the sinking image. Dr. Álvarez’s “ Standing Stones” reconnected me to my childhood in Tucson, and I reflected on my past through the image of sinking, recalling my grandfather through the narrator of the poem. I remembered him telling me to “go through / suffering” in his own way.

I had Dr. Tuma as my first English professor at Miami, and it was a joy to be in his class. Dr. Tuma has a way with irony and humor in his teaching that made learning American Literature that much more enjoyable. His poems were no exception. His three-line tankas went back and forth, from broad topics to interactions between Tuma and his cat. Each new stanza ended with a play on words, a subtle irony, or a hidden humor that kept the audience laughing for the entire reading. An example of this would be a poem that referred to a worker taking a smoke break behind his workplace. In the poem, the workplace is a “desert” and the worker is the only one with a camel.

As a teacher, Dr. Tuma focused on ambiguities within texts, and as a poet, he’s no different. His work made me realize that writing poetry is more than an act; rather, being a poet is a way to look at the world. A poet has the ability to relate objects and stories to one another; a poet lives uniquely, illustrating the world in a way that everyone else would never think of doing. His teaching and his poetry are one in the same; he’s a teacher and a poet who questions structures in society and points out ironies and ambiguities that most of us miss. I remember in class once he laughed at someone for asking him if he wrote love poems, saying that “poetry is much more than a stupid love letter.” His poems push the bounds of language, and he showed the audience in room 40 of Irvin what it means to be a poet—someone who uses language to its fullest capability to add a new perspective to his or her audience.

Tim Doren
English Department Ambassador

Undergraduate Reading Series: Report from a First-time Reader

On Monday, March 5th, at the weekly meeting of Sigma Tau Delta, I signed up to write a blog post about the Happy Captive Magazine/Howe Writing Center Undergraduate Creative Writing Reading on the 15th of February. Little did I know that I would be presenting my own work at that reading. I had never read any of my work in public before—my words had always been confined to the classroom or to the ears of those closest to me—but when the opportunity presented itself, I knew I had to take it.

When I arrived at Thursday’s event, I got there unfashionably early, giving myself plenty of time to sit, be anxious and buy office supplies that I probably didn’t need from the bookstore’s table. One by one, everyone arrived: the organizers, my peers from Sig Tau, classmates, and my fellow reader, Emily Brandenburg. I was asked if I wanted to go first or second and, in choosing first, I became immediately aware of the closeness of the room, the intimacy of the space, and the people in it, and of the heat in my face and how it intensified with each passing second. The next thing I knew, I was at the podium.

The whole event passed through my mind as if it were a dream. I know I read my pieces, I remember some of the things I said in between, and I remember which pieces I presented. I remember the faces of the people as they listened and their laughter and applause. But the second I sat back down in my seat, the whole affair washed over me in an ephemeral haze: a feeling of “Oh my gosh…I did it! I actually did it!”

Thankfully I gained enough composure to listen to Brandenburg’s poetry. Her work was raw, relatable, and her style was straightforward and beautiful in its directness. I particularly enjoyed how many of her works address people, specifically addressing them for the wrongs they’ve done and the tidal waves she must wade through because of them. She gets at the heart of things and is unafraid to say how that feels.

That night was also her first foray into presenting her work publicly, and I find myself increasingly thankful for Happy Captive Magazine and the Howe Writing Center for putting this reading series together. It is because of events like the Undergraduate Reading Series that budding writers like Brandenburg and I can share our works so that our creative writing community can grow stronger and prosper with each new writer.

I feel this ever more poignantly as I recall the reactions of the listeners after the event’s close. Several people told Brandenburg and me how well we did and how much they loved what we read. I specifically recall one of my fellows from Sig Tau who told me she was so glad I read my multivoiced piece about life’s emotional clutter from our poetry class because she enjoyed how funny it was (I cannot express how encouraging the audience’s laughter at this piece has been). I also recall another member of Sig Tau who told me that my work gave her chills.

Not all of my work is meant to be read. In fact, as a poet dealing greatly in the visual on-the-page aspect of my poems, reading them aloud if often quite difficult. But the most beautiful and meaningful sentence in the universe carries no power past the writer’s pen unless it is shared. As that writer aspiring to create that most meaningful and beautiful sentence, poem, or play in the universe, this moment of connection with the audience was terrifying, but rewarding nonetheless.

To all my fellow writers, I urge you not to shy away from these opportunities to read what you have written. As many audience members confirmed for me, presenting your work gets easier after the first time. I think of that glorious cliché: There’s a first time for everything. That anxious first foray into reading your work will be worth it.

Lauren Miles

English Department Ambassador

Kelcey Ervick’s Bitter Life: An Alternate Way to Present History

The beauty of readings is that, while you go in expecting to be entertained by a writer’s work, you can leave with a new perspective, or perhaps a better understanding, of how to improve your own writing. I had such an experience back on October 17, 2017, while listening to Kelcey Parker Ervick read samples from, and explain the process behind, her biography/memoir hybrid The Bitter Life of Božena Němcová (Rose Metal Press, 2016).

Ervick learned about Němcová while working on a different novel in Prague. Known by some as the “Mother of Czech Prose,” Němcová was fiercely independent and loathed to follow the societal standards for women at the time: get married, have kids, pour your energy into domesticity. She embodied the spirit that later, in America, became the Women’s Rights Movement. A visionary writer and thinker, Němcová is now celebrated in her home country, and Ervick took immediate interest in her.

Researching Němcová began as normal, with Ervick scouring resources and piecing together as much information as possible. But the scattershot sources, coupled with the fact that Ervich had minimal knowledge of the language, would make stringing together a standard, chronological biography very difficult. And so, in a stroke of brilliance, Ervick decided to approach her subject as more than a historian. The Bitter Life… collects the writings and personal letters of Němcová and other writers, along with collages, paintings, and the autobiographical writings of Ervick herself.

Listening to her describe the process, I was amazed at how natural the structure seemed. I, and most everyone else I know, am used to history as the simple recollection of names, dates, and events. At its worst, this approach reads like a boring textbook. At its best, it can be a gripping narrative. But Ervick has tapped into something far more organic, and far more comparable to how we experience the world. It’s rare that any information is handed to us on a platter. You do not meet a new person and ask them to recount their life, starting from birthplace. No, learning outside of a book is like a puzzle, where randomly selected facts are presented to you and, eventually, a portrait is formed.

Even more interesting was Ervick’s assertion that biographers shouldn’t attempt to distance themselves from their work. While learning about Němcová’s resentment towards marriage, and how she felt like a prisoner in her own life, Ervick discovered a deeply powerful parallel in her own feelings. She had married her high school sweetheart and, like her subject 150 years earlier, felt the walls of domesticity closing in. As Ervick writes, “150 summers later, her folktales lead another woman to happiness.” Studying Němcová was a journey of self-discovery, and Ervick wasn’t about to exclude that from her narrative.

Both The Bitter Life of Božena Němcová and Ervick’s reading style are refreshing in their candor. During the reading, Ervick talked about the difficulty of registering sensitive feelings in published writing, especially considering that others will almost certainly end up reading it. Evidently, Ervick found inspiration in her predecessor to put their fears or turmoil on the page. The book isn’t just about Němcová’s life, or even Ervick’s life, for that matter; it’s influenced by the structure of life itself, about how we learn about and process things, and about how a wake-up call can come from the most surprising places.

I probably won’t be trying to write a biography/memoir featuring my own art work any time soon (I don’t have any art work to begin with), but I now have a new perspective on writerly observation. It’s important to pay attention, not only to what is happening around us, but also to how—and in what manner—we learn about it.

Sam Keeling
English Department Ambassador

Rodrigo Toscano and two poetry students stand intent, reading from sheafs of paper during a poetry performance skit.

Rodrigo Toscano performs with MFA students

Last semester, on Tuesday, November 6, acclaimed poet (and labor organizer by trade) Rodrigo Toscano, along with five Miami Creative Writing MFA students, performed for a full house in the Bachelor Hall reading room. (Pictures here.) Toscano has lived a double life, splitting his time between working in the labor movement and weaving his poetry. A writer who has authored multiple books of poetry, recordings, and essays, he most recently released a collection based off a single sentence, one that also gave him the title for the book: Explosion Rocks Springfield. With Miami graduate students, he performed a string of poem-skits that combined to create an astute reflection on the modern human experience.

Standing side-by-side with Katarina Morris, Savannah Trent, and Kinsey Cantrell, all holding stacks of stapled papers, the poets began speaking one by one in rapid succession. Between chorus-like repetitions of “Scrolling! Pointing! Clicking! Selecting!” the poets bombarded the audience with observations, statements, and rhetorical questions. Each new line spoken by Toscano and company seemed borrowed from something we might hear any day or every day—the lines were rooted in contemporary experience we share.

The majority of the reading was taken up in this manner; however, as the performers shed each packet, the tone of the poem shifted. The first shift came in the form of simulating a discourse between the four writers. At first, this section felt like a dark satirical comedy piece, but it soon began to seem more like a manifesto of the working class. Throughout the larger piece, Toscano attempted to raise serious questions in the minds of the audience while keeping things humorous. Battered by comments about the financial markets and society rich in dark satire mixed with material from the exploits of Esmerelda, the audience had no choice but to laugh. Of the performers, along with Toscano, Katarina Morris stood out for her good use of the space of the room. Her deliberate movements mixed with her body language delivered some of the last and most powerful lines to bring the audience to applause.

For another piece, Toscano was joined by MFA students Paul Vogel and Kyle Flemings. The poem-skit comprised a discussion between Paul, who stood in as a representation of toxic corporate management, with Toscano taking the role of mediator between the public and the wants of corporate America. The back-and-forth between the two highlighted how disconnected the corporate world can be to the needs and wants of the common people. The ludicrous demands and questions by Vogel—for instance, “Tell them if they get help to get the big blue ball over the flaming wall there will be a prize in it for them…they want to know what the prize is? Tell them ‘life.’ What do they say?”—gained many laughs. However, this did not take away from the poem’s focus on just how disenfranchised most people truly are in comparison to corporate power.

Toscano and company did more than just entertain their audience. Through their craft, they found a light way to raise some much-needed social awareness in our time. During the hour, we were able to see the power the written word can have and the light it can shine on the paradoxes we find ourselves living. Perhaps we, the audience, will take some time away from our “scrolling, pointing, clicking, selecting” to take a closer look at what is going on around us.

John D. Meade
English Department Ambassador

Creative Writing MFA students pursue passions with alternative courses

We are reposting this piece by Mackenzie Rossero, CAS communications intern, which originally appeared on the Miami English Department website here

MFA grad student working with kids outdoorsHave you ever wanted to take a class on fanfiction? Have you ever wanted to teach that class? Or, introduce kids to creative writing in the outdoors, in a place teeming with inspirational opportunities? Creative Writing MFA students are doing all of this, and will soon be doing more.

A NEW DEGREE

As of this fall, the English department has changed its Creative Writing Master of Arts (MA) degree to a Creative Writing Master of Fine Arts (MFA) degree in Creative Writing: Creative Writing and Pedagogy. With an MFA degree, graduates are eligible for more university jobs. The MFA is also a more studio-oriented degree, providing extra emphasis on the student’s individual work.

With these changes in the degree, the English department is offering an option for MFA students to complete a course in another department or propose and pursue a service, research or writing project in place of one of their 600-level literary seminars.

This alternative option is designed for students who are looking to pursue a specific passion — something that cannot normally be found in Miami’s curriculum.

“We think it’s important, both at the undergraduate and graduate level, for students to read a lot and to figure out their place in a literary tradition, and literature seminars help inform their intervention in the tradition,” said Cathy Wagner, Director of the Creative Writing Program. “That’s incredibly important to us… And we also wanted to open up possibilities for students to pursue other options that could feed into their creative practice or support their teaching of creative writing.”

GLOBAL FAN FIC WORKSHOPS

Second-year graduate student, Elizabeth Weeks, developed a community workshop, MFA grad student Carrie Bindschadler (L) teaching children in Tucson.via teleconference, that is specifically for writers of fanfiction. It is a twelve-week course and, from a pool of approximately 50 applicants, she chose ten participants from around the world. In the course,
the authors submitted to each workshop twice, once with fanfiction and once with original fiction.

“This is something I would like to continue even after the semester is over,” Weeks said. “I had way more interest than anticipated, and I’d like to extend the opportunity to others. It’s a lot of work and there’s no pay involved, but I love it and it’s fun and I get to read some really cool stories and talk about writing and fic [fanfiction] with people who have the same level of interest in it that I do.”

CREATIVE WRITING OUTDOORS

Second-year graduate student Carrie Bindschadler spent a summer teaching children in Tucson, Arizona, about creativity and writing in their desert environment. She taught two age groups, 5 through 9 and 10 through 13. Her lessons provided students with the opportunity to act out and write plays and create planets and make pop-up books about them, among many other things.

“One week I had all the kids pretend we were on a deserted desert island, role-playing and writing about our experiences on our island. We spent a lot of time running around outside in the desert trying to get rescued and fighting off giant radioactive killer rattlesnakes. These experiences gave me a lot of hope for the world, but also gave the kids time to pretend outside and it ultimately made their stories better, more infused with descriptive language and more grounded in place than they had been before.”

These projects brought about unexpected rewards for both Weeks and Bindschadler. They were able to bring flexibility and creativity into their own projects.

“I thought the workshop would be more in line with my personal goals as a writer and teacher. While literary theory interests me and I’m sure I would have enjoyed a seminar, I tend to work better and learn more in self-guided environments,” Weeks said.

GROWING INTEREST

Of the latest cohort of Creative Writing MFA students — those who began this fall — twenty percent have already expressed serious interest in this alternative option.

“I’m curious to see how many students do get interested,” Wagner said. “And, I wouldn’t be surprised to see that, once they hear about what other students are doing, more people want to do it.”

The pursuit of this alternative option would require students to develop a plan that produces work equivalent to what would be produced in the literary seminar, and at an equally challenging level. It is intended to offer students more freedom, should they desire it, in designing their coursework to support their artistic practice.

“I’m thrilled about the projects that have been done so far, and I think that they have been useful to the students thinking and helping them move forward as writers. It gives them a sense of agency,” Wagner explained. “They create their own project. They go through it — it’s kind of hard — but they come out at the other end saying, ‘I did that.'”

Creative writing faculty are in the early stages of developing relationships with community service providers such as Oxford’s Family Resource Center and local prisons. Faculty are hoping to build connections between Miami writers and the larger community and to offer MFA students additional opportunities to share the creative literacies they are learning.

Any Creative Writing MFA students interested in pursuing an alternative option should contact the Director of Creative Writing.

Visiting writer Peter Manson, in a pale linen jacket, stands at the microphone and gestures. Miami University faculty poet cris cheek, in a hand-painted shirt, kilt, and glasses, watches Manson intently.

Peter Manson and cris cheek: a night of poetry

On October 30th, the seats of Irvin 40 filled quickly with poetry enthusiasts, there to see the reading of cris cheek and Peter Manson, two writers hailing from across the pond. Manson is from Glasgow and is the author of a variety of works including a book-length translation titled Stéphane Mallarmé: The Poems in Verse (Miami University Press). cheek, originally from England, now teaches here at Miami. He has done it all—music, publishing, dancing, and e-poetry. It made for an interesting scene, Scottish and English poets who cut their teeth performing and writing abroad and in online spaces now reading together for a US crowd. The reading was a melting pot of European Anglophone styles, countries, cultures, and languages as each author brought his own flavor to the mix.

cris cheek performed first, prefacing his reading with the assertion that he’s never done a live reading like this one before. He said that he would be firing off twenty-nine poems in roughly twenty-one minutes, warning the audience that verses are going to be coming at them “thick and fast.” cheek has a masterful delivery, presence, and command of the audience. He describes his own work as “all about water and harm.” His poems critique social media, environmental practices, government, and industry, and generally bounce around so much that it can be hard to keep track. The phrases jumped out at us, including:

“Without regulation there is no air.”

“I write for profit.”

“I cannot speak for myself—I cannot tweet!”

“Facebook bears witness to my alcoholic abuse of my children.” (This line, which, like most of the poems, was collaged from found text, was met with much laughter.)

Half of the time, his reading was sold more by the performance than the actual words. In one memorable poem, he repeated the phrase “How to photograph ___”, inserting various words at the end of the sentence and punctuating it with a click and snap of the hands. Another time, he broke out into song, and perhaps most memorably, at one point he signed words at the crowd. It was interesting to consider whether these actions were improvised by him for a live reading, or were part of the paper and ink.

Peter Manson went straight into his poetry without introduction or preamble. Impish and darkly humorous, his work was easier to pin down. He begins with “My Funeral,” a story in the form of a set of instructions on what to do when he is dead: “remove any teeth and their fillings, and dispose them in a hazardous waste facility”; “Light the pyre, run away.” The instructions range from practical to strangely specific (the exact thickness of his coffin’s walls), to humorous (a specific amount of sugar to be poured into the coffin). He finishes the piece with the words “Don’t actually do this.” The audience, transfixed and silent as the grave, burst into laughter. Manson was also somber and introspective, as in the piece “Time Comes For You,” which he opens with “In the ovary of the fetal grandmother is half of the mother, and in the ovary of the mother is half of the unborn son… but enough about me.” He mused about death and what comes afterwards. It was a sharp turn from the previous piece in overall tone, but in subject matter they did overlap. Death seems to be a recurring theme in his work. Manson closed by readings from his aforementioned book of translations, Stéphane Mallarmé: The Poems in Verse, published by Miami University Press.

These two poets together displayed the breadth of form and style that writing can take, and how live readings breathe new life and meaning into them. From the eclectic, wild performance of cris cheek to the even, measured tone of Peter Manson, the difference in style and delivery could not have been more different, but the two were united in their love and appreciation for the possibilities of poetry.

Jack Renfree
English Department Ambassador

 

Photograph of a poster advertising the Writers' Harvest, an annual event sponsored by Miami University Creative Writing to aid local hungry and homeless people. The 2017 event, held on November 15, 2017, at 7pm in Shriver Center, featured MFA student readers Johnny Fuentes, Heba Hayek, and Madeline Lewis, as well as faculty member Jody Bates and director of Creative Writing Cathy Wagner.

The Writers’ Harvest Returns to Miami University for 27th Year

 On Wednesday, November 15, around 7pm, I trudged down the cold sidewalks of Miami University and ducked into the Shriver Center. On the second floor, I had to ask for directions even though I was standing right next to the room I was looking for.

Miami University’s English Department was celebrating Hunger and Homelessness Awareness Week with the 27th Annual Writers’ Harvest. Every year, former and current graduate students and faculty members read original works in support of select food banks.

The featured readers were Jody Bates, Johnny Fuentes, Heba Hayek, Madeline Lewis, Cathy Wagner, and Paul Vogel.

Last year, the event was held in the Shriver Center’s bookstore. This year, due to construction in the bookstore, it was held upstairs in the Harrison Room. Due to a strong turnout the room was cramped and it took some squeezing to get over to the table of cookies and coffee.

There was a recommended donation of $2. They also accepted donations in the form of storable food and a cluster of cans sat at the end of the table by the entry way beside a vase full of dollar bills. Attendees were encouraged to enter a raffle at $1 per ticket to win gift cards donated by local businesses as well as books by creative writing faculty members.

My attendance was, in part, due to my intermediate creative writing class focused on short fiction. We were required to attend a fiction reading featuring published authors sometime during the semester for a grade. The reading was focused on, but not totally monopolized by, short stories and flash fiction, so it was conveniently on topic.

However, I had a personal investment as well. I entered into my Creative Writing major with visions of novels dancing in my head and a portfolio full of poetry. While I haven’t given up on those dreams, over the last year I’ve fallen in love with the short story.

To me short stories seem to be the purest transition from idea to finished product. The meaning isn’t hidden behind fancy language or overloaded with plot, they can be a small but complete narrative or a scene or a conversation or an image. They have the freedom to be relentlessly weird and break the rules, but they can also give small glimpses into the lives of real people. They take less time to write but can linger for years.

Over the evening, I was treated to stories of Syrian refugees, fantastical structures in Milwaukee, robot wives, and school shooters in unexpected ways. For the most, part none of what was read was over 2,000 words long—after all, there were a lot of readers to fit into an hour and a half. Still, they had the capacity to weave worlds together in those short spans and engage with thought-provoking concepts. That is what I have always wanted to do as a writer so I was a little in awe as I listened.

It was also inspiring to see so many people giving up their time and their money in support of suffering members of the Oxford community and surrounding area. The end of fall and the beginning of the holiday season can be a stressful time especially for those who go hungry, so the Writers’ Harvest serves as an important sign of solidarity between the community and the university, in addition to providing a space to listen to good writing and eat a cookie.

Caroline Forrey
English Department Ambassador

Photograph of Miami MFA students making collaged books at a table covered with scraps of paper and partially finished books.

Hybrid Genres & Collage with Kelcey Ervick

Miami University was proud to welcome Kelcey Parker Ervick to campus to teach her sprint workshop on Hybrid Genres and Literary Collage.

After visiting us, Ervick writes, “Last week I got to teach a 3-day Sprint Workshop…to students in Miami University’s (OHIO!) MFA program. On the first day I said, ‘Here’s some paper, a bone folder, an awl, and some string. Make a mini-book!’”


Check out her blog to see how the course went, see our graduate students in action, and learn more about Ervick’s hybrid writing practice.