Writer-in-Residence-at-Home
Writer-in-Residence-at-Home
On writing in place.
Hello all. A day late with this newsletter. I’ve been moving house the last few days, which has me thinking about home and place even more than I usually do.
I used to want to be in-residence. That is, a writer from somewhere else staying in a place around several other writers simultaneously but independently going about our creative processes. Usually this involved visions of the surrounding natural environs—mountains, lakes, trails, all removed from the city.
But these days, as with so many things, I don’t know if this is something I still want. For starters, covid makes residencies seem doubly risky, both for the artists sharing living and eating space, as well as for the surrounding communities whose grocery stores, libraries, and parks play host (sometimes unwittingly) to writers-in-residence. Pretty much as soon as covid hit last March I stopped applying to residencies, thinking I’d sit the next year of the cycle out.
Now that that year is drawing to a close, however, I’m less certain that this is a model of inspiration and work I’m drawn to personally. Parachuting into a new environment for 2-6 weeks is usually a semi-stressful occasion for me, and I spend a considerable period of time working out how I fit into that world, whether I fit in at all. And since place is a large part of what and how I write, I’m thinking I’d rather be spending that time working into the place I already occupy.
This isn’t to say I’m not looking forward to traveling again once that’s possible — I very much am. Traveling and learning about new places and their histories plays a large role in my work, and my most treasured residency memories were with two groups that understood the important role of learning about a place while also there to write about it (Signal Fire Foundation for the Arts and the Long-Term Ecological Reflections at the H.J. Andrews Experimental Forest). It’s not lost on me that both of these groups have retooled their approach to residencies in this most extraordinary year: Signal Fire is offering several virtual residencies for BIPOC this spring, and the Andrews is recuperating after an intense fire season that came right up to its doorstep. I take my cues from them: cultivating supportive online spaces and making space for new growth feel like important 2021 tasks.
When I move to a new home, I can look back on where I’ve been and reflect on what it was like to live there, in ways I couldn’t access when the daily minutiae of living preoccupied me. This makes for an interesting cycle, but I’m looking forward to the day when I’m no longer scratching shallow depressions in the dirt of place, when I’ll live and write somewhere for many years. That will come with its own challenges, like learning to write about life without looking over my shoulder all the time, but I hope it’s not too far off.
What I’m Reading
Detransition, Baby by Torrey Peters. It feels like everyone I know is already reading this book, but on the off chance you’re not, go pick it up! It’s funny, and you probably have never read anything like this about trans women, or trans people in general. I read it in about 4 long, looooong sittings in between packing up my apartment, and it was perfect. I also found the ending to be a very good payoff, extremely well done, which isn’t always the case with first novels, or, like, any novels (endings are hard ok!!).
Also, if you have read it and want to nerd out with me about the extremely long elephant digression, please do email me.
My book A Natural History of Transition, is available to preorder through Metonymy Press.
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