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34.3 (Fall 2011): Legacy
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Author Archives: Lania Knight
On retreat in Vermont
Out my window is the Gihon River, still mostly covered with ice, but the water peeks through in spots, and it’s rippling around a bend just beneath the bridge nearby. Vermont is cold in March–what isn’t covered with snow is gray and wet (the ground) or gray and dusty (the roads). But it’s paradise to me and home for the next two weeks. I’m at the Vermont Studio Center, a colony that includes writers and visual artists of all kinds.
On the shuttle yesterday from Burlington Airport, I met a painter from Beijing, a writer from NYC, an art teacher and muralist from North Carolina, and a painter from LA who is a recidivist, here for her fifth residency. David, our shuttle driver, talked of Vermont and the studio center and a life of producing various kinds of art (and buying vintage fire trucks) as we wound through the mountains toward the small town of Johnson. Tonight he’ll screen a film, Days of Heaven… which reminds me… I’ve got more True/False films to write about. Ah, but I’m at a writing retreat. I should be writing. Wait! I am writing. But, not the kind of writing I thought I’d be doing. I just got here, okay? I’m still in that first/second day figuring-things-out stage. Yes? I’ll have it all figured out tomorrow. I promise.
The Q Line
A teenager in a hoodie and frayed sneakers gave me a bright blue slip of paper. She wore a festival pass hanging from a metal lanyard–it said Volunteer and contained a sketch of a human heart. The slip she handed me said 156. I was number 156 in the Q line. 155 people would get into this film before the veteran volunteers inside the theater would consider giving me the nod. That is, after they let in the first 1,000 True/False Film Festival goers who actually bought tickets beforehand to see the Oscar nominated documentary film, Waltzing with Bashir.
I got in, as did several dozen others with numbers higher than mine. The rainbow-painted cardboard Q that watched over us from the top of a ten-foot pole in the lobby of the Missouri Theatre blessed us. And the Q line continued to bless me all weekend.
I saw seven films, including No Impact Man and Burma VJ. As I write this, the festival continues on with the closing night film, The Yes Men Fix the World, and Busker’s Last Stand, one final opportunity for festival musicians to perform and pass the hat. Seven films was enough for me – thank you, oh Q line – and I’ll have to wait for Yes Men to find its way to RagTag in the months ahead.
I wouldn’t watch documentary film if it weren’t for this festival. Documentaries are hard work, and I don’t mean for the filmmakers, though, of course it’s tough work for them, too. As an audience member, witnessing Buddhist monks beaten and thrown into police trucks on the streets of Rangoon or untangling an Isreali soldier’s memories (or lack) about the Palestinian genocide in Beirut is not easy, but True/False makes it possible. Indeed, this festival has convinced me that documentary film is an art form essential to understanding what it means to be human. Documentary shows us how to “make sense of our own role in the daily global drama,” as T/F co-conspirators Paul Sturtz and David Wilson put it.
It’s not all death and destruction. Going green in the heart of NYC has its charms, as one family does in No Impact Man. One of the best lines of the festival was when Colin Beaven, in response to an audience member’s question about toilet paper, explained that half of the world sees “washing better than smearing it around.” Colin, his wife, Michelle Conlin, as well as the directors were on hand to discuss the film afterwards. One of many unique aspects of T/F is that every film has someone in attendance to answer questions after each screening–a director or a producer, and in some cases, the people whose lives are actually examined in the films.
It’s been a long weekend. Did I mention the party Friday night? The parade? Oh, and the four other films I saw. It’ll have to wait–the pillow is calling… I’ll write more this coming week, and several other folks at The Missouri Review will have their own stories to tell, too. Check back soon.
Missouri Review Audio Issues
After many months of recording and editing, we are proud to announce that Audio Issue 30.4 is online and available to download for free. Check out poets Preston Mark Stone and Stephen O’Connor reading their own poems aloud.
Future issues will be available for purchase–more about that soon. Enjoy!
News on Paul Eggers and Jude Nutter
Poets & Writers is one of the few magazines I read cover to cover. I usually start with the classifieds and then make my way to the front. This month, in the Recent Winners section, I found two authors who have been published in The Missouri Review: fiction writer Paul Eggers and poet Jude Nutter.
Paul won The Missouri Review Peden Prize in 2006 with his longish short story, “This Way, Uncle, Into the Palace.” He recently won the 2008 Ohio State University Prize in Short Fiction for his collection, The Departure Lounge. When he came to Missouri in November, 2006, to accept the Peden Prize, Paul graciously granted me an interview, which you can listen to online here.
Jude Nutter’s poems were selected from among several hundred entries for first place in The Missouri Review 2007 Editors’ Prize Contest. According to Poets & Writers, she recently received a 2008 McKnight Artist Fellowship from the Loft Literary Center in Minneapolis, a $25,000 award.
Congrats to Paul and Jude, and kudos to The Missouri Review for continuing to publish excellent contemporary literature.
Ask for What You Want: On Mentoring
One of our editors recently asked me about creative writing workshops and mentoring. I’m in a PhD program in creative writing, so I’ve had plenty of workshop experiences, good and not so good. No matter how many workshops I’ve attended, though, none of them have paralleled the mentoring I’ve received in working one-on-one with writers.
Mentoring has come in both little and large doses for me—anywhere from a single afternoon of coffee and earnest conversation, to a relationship that spans many years. People are often generous with their time, but unless you’re part of a formal mentoring relationship, the process of finding a mentor can seem quite mysterious. At the Association of Writers and Writing Programs conference in Baltimore, MD, in 2003, I attended a panel on mentorship. The panelists included several writers and the professor who had mentored them all. All of the writers had gone on to become teachers and mentors themselves, and their presentation was full of practical advice for finding a mentor.
The panelists explained that unless there is a formal mentoring program already in place, it’s the student’s job to initiate the relationship. If you’re waiting for someone to tap you on the shoulder, it’ll probably never happen. It’s true that ultimately the mentor decides if they want to take on a new writer, but it is the student who begins the dialogue. In asking someone to be a mentor, it is important to be clear and to actually ASK for what you want, even if it’s difficult. One panelist described how she’d received a ride to the airport from a student. When the panelist got on the plane, she found a manuscript in her carry-on bag. The student hadn’t mentioned the manuscript and hadn’t asked for a reading of it—she was probably too intimidated.
Another point the former-student panelists made was that mentorship is a two-way relationship. They each gave examples of how they’d found skills or connections to offer their mentor. Not that they paid for the relationship or felt overly indebted, but they recognized a reciprocity that can be easy to overlook because of the initial difference in position. Usually the mentor does most of the giving in the beginning, but once you realize you have something to offer, such as a connection to a particular writer at a previous school or an inside track to the editor of a literary magazine, it is appropriate and beneficial to offer a more concrete form of gratitude to your mentor than just “Thanks.”
I heard this panel many years ago, but I’ve only had the courage a few times to actually reach out to other writers, asking for some form of mentorship. Just like asking for a date, it can be a blow when a potential mentor says no. I’ve gotten some rejections. As with submitting writing for publication, though, finding a mentor is often just a matter of timing, doing the homework, and finding the right fit. When it all comes together and you get those moments or hours of someone’s focused attention, it’s likely that what you learn about yourself and your writing will be worth it.




Why Audio?
Last week, as I edited one of the final audio recordings of the current issue of TMR, I remembered why I love audio so much. Usually, I contact the vocal talent, I’m at the recording session, or I’m editing some portion of the piece myself. When I was out of town in December, one of our interns, Jackie, had done the entire production for “The Way I Saw the World Then” by Elise Juska, which was read by Meg Philips, and I got to enjoy listening from start to finish.
This is why I love audio, why audio recordings of literature matter: it’s about storytelling. I love having stories read to me, where it’s just me and the voice of the reader, as if we were sitting together in a corner, away from the rest of the world and its worries.
My world, like yours I’m sure, has lots of worries. So, as a small remedy, I offer one of my favorite recordings–Brian Swann’s poetry feature from 32.3, our recent issue on Demons.
Poetry Feature by Brian Swann