ࡱ>     U ϱbjbjnn .laa .....BBB8zNB^'jjjjjEEE&&&&&&&$(+f'.EEEEE'..jj'E.j.j&E&jq\L&.'0^',3*,,.<EEEEEEE'']0EEE^'EEEE,EEEEEEEEEB : Interview with Marie Manilla By Ellen Wade and Sylvia Bailey Shurbutt, ϳԹUniversity June 2021 EW & SS: We love these books, intrepid stories about the othered and the outcasts of society, stories that engage our imagination and inspire self-reflection about our own moral judgements. What do you think are the most important influences or experiences that shaped you into this kind of writer? MM: Growing up in the sixties and seventies opened my eyes to injustice and inequality, all those marches for Black and Womens rights that made the national news. My education came from the marchers who just wanted an even playing field and a fair shot, to be treated with dignity and respect. My schooling also came from those on the sidelines hurling the ugliest insults and threats at those marchers. I knew which side I wanted to be on. When I moved to Houston, I saw how members of the Latinx community were also demeaned and othered. The Guatemalan woman who cleaned our office building told me shed been teacher back home, but had to flee her country when it was no longer safe. The pained look in her eyes pained me. She didnt want to leave home, but she had no choice, and now she, a teacher, had to empty our wastebaskets and scrub our toilets. As added burden, her disparagement at the hands of some U.S. citizens made me cringe. Still, if were honest, and I think honesty is a writers (and humans) job, we have to look at the intrinsic ugliness that resides in each of us. Weve all been indoctrinated, consciously or subconsciously, by our families, by the media, by certain politicians, teachers, religious leaders, folks with megaphones and authority. Our lifes work is to ferret out that indoctrination, to own up to it and the human tendency to look for someone to degrade so we can feel better about ourselves. Many of my characters go on that journey of self-discovery. Some succeed, some dont, but its a journey I feel compelled to explore again and again. EW & SS: As weve studied your work and your journey to authorship, we see you attended the Iowa Writers Workshop, prestigious to be sure. Writers like Silas House and Frank X Walker pursued the MFA route, while others, like Ron Rash and Bobbie Ann Mason chose the English degree route. You have both these experiences in your educational background. What are your feelings about the MA and MFA routes for an aspiring artist? MM: Unlike many authors who began writing practically in utero, I didnt start writing until I was nearly thirty. My BFA was in graphic design, but my first job in the oil industry in Houston didnt inspire much creativity (it inspired my environmentalist leanings, though). It was in Texas that I became obsessed with reading short stories, maybe to scratch a creative itch. I read collection after collection, and one day I felt motivated to write a story just to see if I could pull it off. It was rough, but the experience of crafting a whole world on paper was exhilarating. Maybe its because I was a late-bloomer, but I knew I needed guidance, and perhaps some hard truth about whether or not I had any writing chops. I took a couple of undergrad writing classes at the University of Houston with Mary and Jim Robison. Their encouragement was all I needed to send me down a completely different career path. When I moved back to Huntington not long after, I enrolled in the MA program in English at Marshall, because there were wide gaps in my reading backgroundstill are, if truth be toldbut at least I feel on firmer ground. After I got the MA, I knew Id need additional credentials if I wanted to teach, which I did. At the time, the MFA was considered the terminal degree for writers, and my thesis advisor, Richard Spilman, encouraged me to apply to Iowa. Shock of all shocks, I got in. To be clear, folks dont need college degrees to become good writers, but for me, academia introduced me to authors I might not have found on my own. It introduced me to ways of thinking, to the value of collaborative learning. I learned how to analyze texts to see what the authors were up to and how they pulled it off. Thats invaluable for any wannabe writer. I also got better at reading my own work critically. The MFA in particular afforded chunks of time to work on my own project. I came away with a solid draft of a story collection. Plus, I developed the discipline to keep my butt in the chair and write. Thats no small thing. EW & SS: Writers like Bobbie Ann Mason and Bob Morgan talk about having to leave the region to discover it in their writer selves and to some degree to truly see or find the region. You chose to leave for a time but returned not only to Appalachia but to the hometown where you grew up. Obviously, one can go home again, but what are your thoughts about living and working in Appalachia? MM: As a kid, I longed to experience life away from my hometown. I wanted big-city thrills. Or maybe I wanted to run away from the scorn and derogatory labels being heaped on West Virginians, because were susceptible to indoctrination in that regard, too. I graduated college in winter and yearned to go someplace warm, so I randomly picked Houston. The show Dallas was all the rage then, so perhaps that had something to do with it. When I moved to Texas, folks commented on my accent, which I didnt even know I had. They wanted to know if my dad mined coal. (He had a degree in metallurgical engineering.) They wanted to know if I had indoor plumbing. (I did.) I grew up in Huntington, the largest city in the state at the time, thus my experiences were more urban than rural, though urban is a relative term. The questions I was routinely asked made me wonder if my upbringing disqualified me from being an authentic Appalachian. Id never met a coal miner, though Id toured a mine once when a cousin was visiting from out of state. That gaping black hole was as foreign and spooky to me as it was to him. In addition, in Texas, I was called a Yankee on more than one occasion, which is when I knew the Civil War still smoldered. West Virginia has the distinction of being the northernmost southern state, and the southernmost northern state, so culturally, I didnt know where I fit in. What I do know is that my heart raced every time West Virginia made the Texas news. I also found myself defending her, daring someone to knock the stack of chips off my shoulder, though I had plotted my escape from her for years. Its true: you can pick on your family, but no one else can. Same goes for home states. It was in Houston that I began writing fiction, but I rarely set stories in West Virginia. I either planted characters in Texas or some nameless locale. I was aiming for rich characterization, but it was often devoid of regional flavor. The root of that might have been indoctrinated shame. After seven years in Houston, I moved back home to lick my wounds after a horrible first marriage. I got my MA, then once again left, for Iowa. I wasnt planning on coming back. Truly. I figured Id get a teaching gig somewhere else. But my father died in between my first and second years, so after graduating, I moved back to Huntington to help my mother. Then I met the man I would marry, a much better choice this time, and together we put down deeper roots. It is tricky living and working in a state and region that is so maligned. Theres no denying that West Virginia ranks poorly on so many national lists in education, obesity, income, even happiness. Now we have this horrid opioid epidemic and the subsequent crime that supports those habits. But there is so much beauty here side by side with all of that, not just the stunning landscape, but the big-hearted people. Folks outside our borders often dont want to see that beauty (some insiders dont either). They want to put us in a one-size-fits-all box filled with the deviants from Deliverance and crack addicts. Maybe thats why I started setting my fiction in West Virginia. I wanted to show outsiders a fuller portrait of who we are. I soon realized the only things I could authentically write about were my relatively urban experiences. Often, like me, my characters grapple with identity, with what it means to be Appalachian. What I quickly learned is that many publishers, both regional and national, want Appalachian tales that only present the hollow-dwelling, coal-mining, moonshine experiences. I love that they want to preserve this rich and meaningful history, and I love reading about it too, but that wasnt my history at all. I started submitting stories with an urban flare, and one regional editor sent back a note saying: I love the writing, but could you send us something more Appalachian? I remember thinking, what does that mean? Are those the only stories allowed? If so, I was shit out of luck. Ultimately, I decided that my experiences were as valid as anyones, a point brought home when I gave a talk on this issue at a conference, and a young man from another West Virginia urban center came up to me afterwards, eyes moist, and said: I didnt know anyone was telling our stories. I cant leave this question without addressing the political atmosphere in West Virginia, and much of Appalachia, that makes it thorny for progressive folks like me to call this home. Much of the country considers Appalachia one monolithic thing, as if were all Confederate, flag-waving racists. We are not, though sadly, we have our share, as does the rest of the country. Doubly sad is the current political climate in West Virginia where the rights of LGBTQ+ folks are under attack. Even those glorious 55-Strong teachers are under fire for striking for better pay and healthcare. West Virginia lost three percent of its population between 2010 and 2020. Were going to lose even more if we continue to make this an unwelcoming environment for teachers, for unions, for minorities and marginalized groups. Thankfully, youth across the country are more open-minded and inclusive than ever before, but why would they want to live in a region that is increasingly hostile to those who have been othered or who just want decent pay and a voice? Lucky for me, Huntington has an active progressive presence, as do other dots on the Appalachian map. Otherwise, I might have to plot yet another escape. EW & SS: If you were able to go back in time to have a conversation with your younger self, what age would you be and what would the conversation be like? MM: Id tell my grade-school self to spend more time with that spelling book. (I really am a horrendous speller.) Id also sidle up to that high school girl, pull her shoulders back, lift her chin, and borrow a line from Margaret Atwoods The Handmaids Tale: Nolite te Bastardes Carborundorum Dont let the bastards grind you down. Plus, trust your instincts. Plus, plus, if it hurts your soul, its wrong. EW & SS: We have to confess that when we read Still Life with Plums we roared with giggles and some guffaws at the portrait in the story of academics and the snotti literati as you referenced once in an interview. We can recall members of a noted English Department referring to one of the illustrious Appalachian writers that came to regale the community many years ago, Well, his writing is just not what you would call great! Another English Department, with much self-satisfaction, posted years ago a handwritten note from Robert Penn Warren, with all the grammatical mistakes in the missive circled in red ink! What are your thoughts about the critics, snootiness among academics, particularly those who teach and work in the region, and that kind of arrogance and superiority that sometimes writers from the Appalachian region face? MM: I have a confession to make: I suffer from Imposter Syndromeas do many folks I know in creative professions. Maybe its because I came late to the writing party, but I often feel perpetually behind, ill-read, uninformed. For that reason, I felt ill at ease at Iowa. So many of my classmates had been writing and publishing for years, were from east coast metropolises, had been to Bread Loaf and Yaddo. They had no problem hobnobbing with our illustrious faculty and visiting writers. I preferred standing in the back, head down, simultaneously star-struck and intimidated. My West Virginia roots may also have had something to do with that. Weve been belittled for so long, that theres no doubt some of my feelings of inferiority came from that. In addition, the environment fostered by the MFA administration was unnecessarily competitive, though I understand thats mercifully changed. Though I met some truly lovely writers and humans at Iowa, that competitive atmosphere invited posturing and one-upmanship among the students. To my shame, I occasionally slipped into posturing, too. Some faculty were unreasonably and arbitrarily harsh in their criticisms of our work, and some students piled on during those workshops. Its that destructive voice of the snotti literati that I at times still have to suppress in my headhighfalutin voices that make me question the value of my work, as if to say: You dont belong here. However, my work was never demolished because I set it in West Virginia. In fact, one of my workshop leaders, James Alan McPherson, a genuinely kind soul, was delighted to learn that my hometown was near Milton, West Virginia, where writer Breece Pancake was from. McPherson had taught Breece at The University of Virginia. Theyd become close friends, and McPherson still mourned Pancakes death. After Iowa, I avoided workshops and posturing for a while in an effort to silence that critical voice, but eventually I tiptoed back in by attending a summer writers conference. The faculty were big names, big time, but I hoped the atmosphere would be less caustic. Sadly, it was exactly the same. My male workshop leader was absolutely horrible, especially to the women writers in the group. What I also noted was that the conference organizers were totally dismissive of older participants, especially women. The seed for my story, Still Life with Plums, came from that conference, but I coupled it with some of my Iowa experiences. Not only is the main character an older woman grappling with Imposter Syndrome, but theres a lot of posturing going on among faculty and students alike. To be honest, the worst case of academic snobbery against Appalachians that I witnessed happened when I was teaching at Marshall here in Huntington. A fair number of our students were from the southern coal fields. One faculty member in my department was from Wheeling, in our northern panhandle. But you might as well say Im from Pittsburgh, she said to me at a party, as if to distinguish herself from being a lowly West Virginian. I gawped as she admitted that shed dumbed down her curriculum for her southern coalfield students, because she was sure they werent up for the challenge. The look of disdain on her face was as appalling as her words. Her admission confirmed for me something Id witnessed a few times before: the snobbery going on inside our state. Much of the country may consider the south ignorant yokels, but some folks in northern West Virginia look down on their southern West Virginia cousins. This condescension is no doubt a result of indoctrination, too. In a larger sense, I have noted that those who like to categorize literature (purist gatekeepers, perhaps?) often label southern or Appalachian authors as regional writers, or local colorists. We often get shelved separately from literature sections in bookstores, as if we dont really belong in that club. EW & SS: We know that words matter. They have the power to heal, inspire, transform, marginalize, oppress, and humiliate. Are there any words that you consider off limits in your writing or your personal conversation? MM: Though Im known to drop F-Bombs at will (there is power in profanity!), I avoid language that disparages people based on race, ethnicity, or gender. When I started writing fiction, I didnt let my characters use that language either. Over time, however, I had to admit that if I were going to honestly present the world as I saw it, I had to let my characters, especially the grittier ones, speak the way they authentically would. And if a story is set in the past, I need to use the language that was in use at the time, no matter how appalling. Not all my characters are likeable, and some are on journeys of self-discovery. Since I want to present the truth as I understand it, I cant censor my characters, even if I find some of their word choices offensive. EW & SS: During an interview on Inside the Actors Studio, the late James Lipton asked his guests the following questions. As a writer and artist, were interested in hearing your answers. MM: What is your favorite word? Grace. What is you least favorite word? White supremacy. What sound or noise do you love? My dog thumping her tail in her sleep. What sound or noise do you hate? Humans slurping or gulping food or drink, though I can listen to my dog gnaw bones and lap water all day long. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? Im an amateur painter who would love to get better. What profession other than you own would you not like to attempt? Politician. EW & SS: We read that you had started a novel in 2012 about African Americans and transgender people that sounded intriguing, but that you had decided to put the writing aside since you didnt belong to those communities and felt uncomfortable giving them a literary voice. Weve also spoken with writers like Silas House who used the voice of a Cherokee woman in A Parchment of Leaves and had some reservations about cultural appropriation during and after the publication of what became one of his most successful novels. While we understand the reticence of using a voice different from ones own, we also understand that the creative imagination and what Keats called negative capability and empathy can overcome the obvious stumbling blocks. After all Henry James gave us one of the most enthralling female voices in the character of Isabel Archer in Portrait of a Lady, and Robert Morgan traded his white male identity for that of a run-away slave in his successful Chasing the North Star. What are your thoughts about this dilemma and super-sensitivity today concerning cultural, racial, and gender identity for authors, and do you think women writers might be more sensitive treading into these rough waters than male authors? MM: This is such a sensitive issue, and each writer has to make his or her own decision. Ive always been drawn to slip into the skins of folks who are not me: men, Japanese Latin Americans, Guatemalan refugees, lesbians. Its my way of trying to better understand and appreciate their experiences. When I was writing those characters years ago, the issue of cultural appropriation wasnt at the forefront of conversation in the straight, white world, though Im sure heated discussions were going on within marginalized groups. In my smug naivet, it never occurred to me that those folks might not want me telling their stories, no matter how well-meaning, that perhaps I didnt have a right to tell them. When I began writing that novel in 2012 with transgender and Black central characters, the issue of cultural appropriation began taking center stage. I grappled with this during the seven years I spent writing the book, especially as the issue became more and more heated. My initial solution was to try to write these characters as compassionately and authentically as possible. It wasnt until Black and transgender beta readers put their eyes on the completed manuscript that I understood just how much pain (and anger) this can cause. I also listened to Colson Whiteheads 2019 AWP keynote address in which he touches on the issue of slipping into skins that are not your own. His advice: You can write about anything, just dont fuck it up. Based on comments from those beta readers, particularly the transgender one, it was obvious I wasnt getting it right. I just wasnt. If writers are going to slip into anothers skin, we have an obligation to get it right. This doesnt mean I wont explore experiences that are not my own in future writing, but Ill be triply sensitive when I do. But right now, there is a glorious awakening to all the varied voices out there. People of color, and members of the LGBTQ+ communities, are finally having their voices heard, their stories published and celebrated, and that is a beautiful, beautiful thing. As for the second part of the question, Im not sure if women writers more delicately tread these waters than men. The examples you listed above are proof of that. Sensitivity is often ascribed as an attribute of women, and its typically considered a negative trait. To me, being sensitive to the experience of others, being able, as a writer, to craft characters compassionately as three-dimensional beings, should be the calling for all writers, regardless of gender. Sometimes we get it right. Sometimes we dont. We should all strive to do better. EW & SS: So many of your stories portray a world dominated by boisterous men who find a way to silence the voices of women, having neither the patience nor the tolerance for womens thoughts, indeed likely even comprehending these voices or the thoughts. Virginia Woolf has written, as has Nikki Giovanni, that the English language is not a friendly language to women expressing their ideas in a world often unwilling to listen to them. Woolf goes so far as to say that the linear style of English narrative is downright hostile to the thoughts of women. What are your thoughts about the difference between womens and mens voices and their use of the English language to express their ideas? Have you found yourself any discomfort or alienation using our patriarchal language? MM: The idea of patriarchal language really hit home for me when I was learning Spanish. When addressing an audience of men and women, the use of masculine pronouns was mandated when speaking to the collective group. Only in a group comprised solely of women could feminine pronouns be used, but if one man joined in, theyd have to switch. Of course, Id experienced this my whole life in church, at work, at school. The collective he that excluded women. The God presented to me was a he, though why God needs reproductive organs is a mystery, or maybe the power-grabbing reason isnt mysterious at all. I often feel as if I were raised between two worlds: the patriarchal one in my house where my father had all the power (though out of necessity, my mother, like many women, developed strategies to get what she wanted). But outside, the Second Feminist Wave was sweeping across the country. I had a foot in each world, and perhaps thats why I explore that in my writing. I had to grow into being a Feminist, since that was not the behavior modeled for me at home. Often my women characters are trapped in the Old World, or like me, theyre trying to find their voices (with a new vocabulary) and power. In terms of language, the words muscular and gritty, spare and terse, are often applied to male writers of a certain school: Hemingway, Cormac McCarthy, Barry Hannah, even Breece Pancake. At times, the women characters crafted by these men arent the most three-dimensional. Theyre mere props whose presence is only to shine light on the central male figures. When women writers use muscular and terse language, were often lauded as if weve done something exceptional by mastering that preferred, masculine tongue. I like lean and terse prose, especially in my short stories and essays, but I dont consider my language particularly masculine. Its velocity Im going after, but maybe thats indoctrination too. Its also interesting to consider whether or not the traditional construction of stories, Freytags Pyramid with an inciting incident, rising action, climax, and denouement, is a masculine paradigm. It makes sense that it is given that men have been the primary storytellers throughout historyor at least the celebrated, and perhaps Eurocentric, ones. Its also what women choose to write about that is considered less than: a womans interior life, home and hearth (whether she embraces or resists those realms), our yearnings, our sexuality, our emotionsGod forbid. Were often still demeaned as Hawthornes Damned mob of scribbling woman. EW & SS: Do you think women writers have a different set of roadblocks and obstacles as authors from men? MM: I sure do. Just look at the percentage of women who get stories into the slick magazines, or who win the grand prizes for literature. Or look at the gender disparity on the boards or committees who make those selections. The numbers dont stack up in our favor. Go into a bookstore with shelves marked literary fiction and the one beside (or below) it labeled fiction by women. Though the literary canon is becoming more inclusive, not just for women, but for LGBTQ+ and writers of color, we still have a long way to go. Ive recently begun writing nonfiction, much of it memoir. Sadly, Im learning about how memoirs written by women are bashed as navel-gazing, scab-picking, histrionics. I even hear this dismissal from women fiction writers, as if memoir is a lesser art. Let me tell you, it is not. EW & SS: Would you call yourself a feminist author? MM: Absolutely. However, that doesnt mean all my characters are. EW & SS: Talk about how you use fodder from your own life and experience in your stories. MM: Like most writers, I take lessons, or hard truths, from my own life to inform my work. Its the human condition Im out to explore, and my education comes from my lived experiences and observations. I look for lightbulb moments from my own life to craft stories or essays aroundthose moments when I finally understand something about human behavior, or, more often, when I really dont understand it, so I use writing as a way to try and figure it out. When I craft a short story or novel, I may invent a cast of characters to examine the behavior Ive witnessed or participated in. In that way, I can protect friends and family, and perhaps myself. For example, as a kid, I noticed how bullied people bully people (a version of that saying Hurt people hurt people). I was not only bullied at times, but I subsequently bullied others to release some of that hurt. I explore that dynamic in my short story Hand. Me. Down. As a childless woman, Ive often been treated with scorn by women who have chosen to be mothers, as if my decision is a personal affront to theirs. I wrote the story Childproof as a result of this treatment. I once worked with an emotional predator who wanted complete access to folks deepest fears and regrets as a way of having power over them. Im not saying he was a sexual predator, but the dynamics of how he primed his prey were the same. He was the seed for my story Grooming. I also once watched a woman display a bruise shed gotten at the hands of her husband as if it were a source of pride, a badge of honor. It was such an unfathomable reaction that I crafted a story called Get Ready in order to figure out why a woman might react that way. I could go on and on, but hopefully you can see how I mine my life, or my observations, or pose questions about why we do what we do, then create characters and situations that explore what it means to be human with all our foibles and quirks. EW & SS: How has your Italian heritage been mined in your work and why? MM: My Italian heritage was a mystery to me growing up. My Sicilian-born grandmother, Concetta, died before I was born. I was so young when my Calabrian grandfather died that I dont remember him. Im sure my father spoke, or at least understood, Italian growing up, since his mother barely spoke English. Still, we never spoke Italian in my home. One of the few stories I heard about Concetta was that she escaped an arranged marriage back in Sicily by selling some of the family jewels and hopping a ship to America. I dont know if thats true, but she became a shero to me because of that. What I heard about stonemason Grandpa, who was shorter than Grandma, was that he was a little tyrant who ruled his wife and children with an iron fist. When I married into an Italian family from Pittsburgh, I was captivated by the Old-World customs that were still practiced by my husband Dons kin. They warded off the malocchio, or Evil Eye, by tucking chestnuts and holy medals into drawers and cabinets. They wore little gold horns around their necks. My mother-in-law would only leave a building the same way she entered so evil spirits couldnt follow her. She always tucked a few bucks into a babys handgood luck for her and the baby. Dons grandmother had fashioned a magic pouch to put in his glove compartment to protect him from car wrecks. This portafortuna, or good luck charm, was filled with rice and holy medals. One of Dons aunts, ZAnnina, dressed like an Old-World nonna: hair in a bun, sensible black shoes, shawls. Im not sure how much English she understood, but she often punctuated our conversations with Thats-a true. All this rich history inspired me to write my novel, The Patron Saint of Ugly, and I made good use of much of it the novel, including that portafortuna pouch. I created an Old-World, Sicilian-born nonna named Diamante out of respect for Concetta. However, I gave her ZAnninas voice, her dialogue often punctuated with Thats-a true. I also invented a husband for her who was a brute, though I tried to soften him by showing how he was so enchanted by the young Diamante back in Italy that hed do anything to make her his bride, even if the means were diabolical. I had so much fun researching the Evil Eye, and the Old Religion, which was the paganism many Italians practiced before Christianity swept across the land. Those Italians melded their Old Religion into their new Catholicism, and that blend crossed the pond with them when they immigrated. Writing the novel resurrected Concetta for me, and gave me a deeper appreciation and understanding of my Italian roots. EW & SS: How do you balance using details from your life and family stories or legends in your writing, and did you ever get any negative feedback from using family stories or characters that seem reminiscent of family members? MM: In my fiction, I definitely mine the dynamics of my nuclear and extended family: the power struggles, the sibling rivalries, the gender roles and preferences in our patriarchal house. Theres no doubt that some of my characters are based on family members, or more precisely, on their behaviors. I even make use of my own quirks. I always aim for even-handedness and compassion in these portrayals, though Im not always successful. Were all a mishmash of good and evil, and writers should strive for that complexity when crafting characters. So far, I havent gotten any negative feedback from family regarding how I made use of their behaviors in my fiction. I did get a lovely phone call from ZAnninas daughter after she read The Patron Saint of Ugly. ZAnnina had passed away a year before, and her daughter said the novel brought her mother back to her. Thats one of the kindest remarks anyone has ever said about my work. I just finished writing a memoir-in-essays, and this is when it gets trickier. We become who we are in our nuclear familiestheres no getting around thatso naturally family members appear in various essays. As I was writing the book, I constantly reminded myself that I was presenting the world as I saw it through my eyes, as I experienced it. No doubt my siblings would see our shared life events differently, through their own eyes, as would my parents if they were alive. I strived to do what essayist Sonja Livingston advised in a workshop: When writing about family, be generous. But I also kept in mind what West Virginia writer Lee Maynard once said regarding sharing ones truth: Dont worry about what Mama will think. When I did include family, I aimed for compassion and even-handedness, not sainthood or villainy. I also tried to ensure that I wasnt casting myself as all-hero or all-victim. Indeed, I probably aired my sins too freely, but those mistakes and lessons made me who I am. Its part of my journey toward illumination and redemption, a road Ill forever be on, which is the same journey many of my fictional characters take. EW & SS: We see lovely images, allusions, and influences in your work coming from such wonderfully eccentric and individualistic writers as Virginia Woolf and Laurence Sterne. What do you consider the most important literary influences in your writing? MM: When I began writing, I dove headfirst into the minimalists to learn how to write economically and with focus: Mary Robison, Anne Beattie, Amy Hempel, Raymond Carver, Hemingway. I was learning to show without overtelling so that readers would be involved in making meaning, which is the kind of story I most like to read. You can see this influence in a number of my short stories, that spare and swift style that invites reader complicity. Then I took a long dip in the Southern Gothic pool with the works of Flannery OConnor, Carson McCullers, Eudora Welty, and William Faulkner, writers who created rich worlds full of mystery, humor, and darkness. My head nearly exploded when I discovered magical realism: Garcia Marquez, Salman Rushdie, Isabel Allende. That blend of Southern Gothic and magical realism is evident in some of my short stories, and especially in The Patron Saint of Ugly. Jeffrey Eugenidess Middlesex was also an important primer when I was crafting Patron Saint, the way he dipped back into the familys Greek history in the Old Country. I read Leslie Marmon Silkos novel Ceremony, marveling at how authentically she created a male central character and the heros journey he went on to claim his Native heritage and heal himself. That may have been floating through my mind when I created Bing Butler, the main character in Shrapnel, who goes on a heros journey, too. I once borrowed Sandra Cisneross The House on Mango Street from a friend, and I read it so vigorously (back-to-back-to-back) that I demolished the cover and spine. I had to buy my friend a replacement copy. Id never read anything like those vignettes, or poems, or lyric pieces that mined Cisneross girlhood and Chicana heritage. I loved her playful language, the electricity and joy in her prose, that has hopefully enlivened my prose, too. EW & SS: Who are the contemporary writers you most enjoy reading today? MM: I recently read There, There by Tommy Orange, and it knocked my socks off. I just finished Deesha Philyaws The Secret Lives of Church Ladies, which was published by West Virginia University Press and is taking the country by storm, a point of pride for us all. I am in love with Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout. A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Eagan was another back-to-back-to-back read for me. Ive been writing essays the last few years, so Ive been reading more nonfiction than ever. I loved the memoir Another Bullshit Night in Suck City by Nick Flynn. Maggie Nelsons Bluets was life changing for me as an essayist. It impacted me the way The House on Mango Street did, as if to say: I didnt know writers could do that. Can writers do that? Writers can totally do that! EW & SS: If you were given a choice of having one of your novels turned into a movie, which one would that be and who would you cast as your characters? MM: Wouldnt it be lovely to see The Patron Saint of Ugly on the big screen? Its got that blend of humor and pathos I especially love in films. With all this new CGI technology, it would be fun to see how theyd handle Garnets ever-changing birthmarks, her hit-or-miss miracles, plus bringing the legend of Saint Garnet del Vulcano to life. Thinking outside the box, how about casting musician Billie Eilish as Garnet? Shes already feisty, and her hair would look fabulous lava red. How about Gwyneth Paltrow as Garnets waspy mother, and Allison Janney as snooty Grandma Iris. Jason Schwartzman could play Garnets wood-sawing dad. McCaulay Culkin at Home Alone age would make a good Nicky. Nonna is the hardest to cast, since shes so precious to me, but perhaps Brenda Vaccaro? I can hear her raspy voice: Its-a no true! EW & SS: Talk a bit about your habits and routines as a writer. Do you have regular writing times? How are you able to achieve what Woolf called a room of your own? MM: I have a lovely room of my own. Its the second-floor sunporch at the back of our 1929 home. Its been winterized so I can use it year-round. It overlooks my backyard and hills in the distance that change with the seasons. Its also my art studio. Every morning I get up, make my coffee, and get on my computer. After checking emails and fiddling with Facebook a bit, I open whatever I wrote the day before. Im a recursive writer, in that reading what Ive already written propels me to the next sentence, paragraph, page. So, I read whatever I wrote the day before, plucking and pruning as I go, and then I add to it. If Im in the generative stage of a project when I just want to knock out a first draft, Ill often assign a goal of writing a page a day. Sometimes I write more; some days getting even a paragraph takes me into the night. I also have a lovely writing sister, the poet Mary Moore, who keeps me accountable. Every Monday we email what we did the previous week. Writing is such a solitary pursuit, and the hours can slip away and feel fruitless at times. But when I go back and see what I actually did, even if it was just to think deeply about a writing trouble spot, or if I painted a bedroom, or planted tomatoes, in order to give an idea a chance to germinate, it reminds me that, even when Im not at the computer, the work is continuing on the subconscious level. EW & SS: John OBrien wrote a wonderful book some years ago called At Home in the Heart of Appalachia (2001), and weve noted that youve referenced the book a few times, obviously enjoying your encounter with it. It is a good book about the region to counter stereotypes. OBrien has called his description of life in Pendleton County, West Virginia, Looking for Appalachia. Some of your stories have reminded us of your own search for Appalachia. Can you talk about that search, what youve discovered about shattering regional stereotypes in your fiction? MM: When I was a kid, I learned about mine wars in West Virginia history class. The clash between mine owners (mostly outsiders) and the miners who just wanted decent wages, plus safe working conditions and housing for their families. They wanted out from under the insurmountable debt to the company store. Id read about this, too, in novels by West Virginia writers Denise Giardina and Mary Lee Settle. It wasnt until I read John OBriens memoir that I understood just how methodically and systematically West Virginians had been dehumanized in order to steal our timber, our coal, and our very souls. We were othered, turned into subhuman creatures, which made it palatable to swindle and cheat us out of our land, our resources, and turn us into perpetual indentured servants. This infuriated me, as all injustice does. The propaganda these folks peddled to dehumanize us was pervasive, and sadly, it took root across the country and still persists. Even worse, many of us have bought into the lies that we are less than. I once gave a talk in which I used the term cultural loathing to explore this phenomenon, which is the reason many of us, including myself, often want to run away from West Virginia. Being othered as an ignorant, inbred, yokel is a heavy burden to carry. Especially when, no matter how much we succeed, no matter what we do to disprove the stereotype, its never enough to counter the pervasive narrative that continues not only across the country, but often inside many of us. When I moved back home and began writing stories about West Virginians, I knew I couldnt write authentically about our mine history in the ways Denise Giardina and Ann Pancake could, but I could write about that sense of cultural loathing that I carry in my bones. Several stories in my collection, Still Life with Plums, include characters running away from West Virginia, running away from that propagandized shame, though they often dont know thats what theyre trying to escape. Particularly in the story The Wife You Wanted, I explore one woman who runs from husband to husband, state to state, but she cant outrun her deep connection to West Virginia. Cultural loathing may be in our bones, but so is the tug and pull of home. When I moved to Texas, I was astounded by the one-dimensional image of us based on all that degrading hype. Thats one reason I wrote my novel, Shrapnel, about a Texas man who moves to West Virginia, his head filled with all that stereotyping. I wanted to burst those shallow characterizations one by one and show readers that West Virginians are varied, complex, and wise. In The Patron Saint of Ugly, I wanted to create a world that had nothing to do with coal, not to negate coals historical importance here, but to expand readers views of who we are. We are about so much more than coal. I wanted to imbue our landscape with magical qualities, and indeed, I imbued the main character, Garnet, with magical qualities, too. One reason Im drawn to magical realism, and this novel is steeped in it, is that it creates a world that is similar to the one we actually live in, but extraordinary things happen that are treated as normallike Garnets shape-shifting birthmarks and her hit-or-miss healing abilities that neighbors either embrace or simply shrug their shoulders at. I created a village modeled after the Gallaher Village neighborhood in Huntington where I grew up, right down to the pharmacy and Catholic church and school. Garnet lives in the house I grew up in, on the hill I sledded down as a kid. Her hill, however, is topped with a natural spring that may also have healing properties. One goal of magical realism is to plant readers in a world that is familiar, yet cockeyed, so that by the end they come away with a new pair of eyes to view their very real world with a fresh perspective. My hope is that readers come away from The Patron Saint of Ugly with a new appreciation of West Virginia and its people. EW & SS: If you had an opportunity to place anything into a time capsule that would be opened one hundred years from now, what would that be and why? MM: This is supremely self-serving, but I would put my published works inside, plus copies of everything else that never found a home: plays, stories, essays, whole novels. A screenplay. I dont have children, so my work is my legacy. Its unlikely my books will stay in print for long, so wouldnt it be lovely if someone unearthed them someday? Maybe the reader will get a glimpse of the world we lived in back then. Maybe the work will hold up. Maybe it will.     ) - V w    ububuuOu:(hAJhA5B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh"5B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh_%B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh0B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhvB*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhAB*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhlAB*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhA5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhAJ5B*CJ$OJQJaJ$ph(hAJhA5B*CJ$OJQJaJ$ph Cin"%'-,0z133f689<=@DEFI $a$gdAJ$a$gdAJ$a$gdlA e h q } ( 4 H M mXC.(hAJh`5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhb5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhD6]5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhI!5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh4bD5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhz(5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhnT5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh05B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh5v5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh}3 5B*CJOJQJaJph  " . / Z c j n u   ) , 4 C G mXC(hAJhl*5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh]5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhnT5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh[]5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhi5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh=F5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh~5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJha5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh5B*CJOJQJaJphG S ^ b k  ֬mXCXX.(hAJh05B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhJA5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJha5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh{5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhJS5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh4bD5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhb5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhl*5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh[]5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhD6]5B*CJOJQJaJph HPpq 0>ACM֬֗났mXCX(hAJhi5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhL5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh=F5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhJA5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhcS5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh`5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhU5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh05B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhz(5B*CJOJQJaJphMTXs{~*1BCKLmmmXE2%hAJh0B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhAB*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh45B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhcS5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh05B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhb5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhzl,5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhvZ5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhL5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh4bD5B*CJOJQJaJphLkpbcQX`nxcNc9(hAJh05B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh*y*5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhd5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhA5B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhB*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh"5B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhzl,B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh8tB*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh_%B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh$5B*CJOJQJaJphnv BMT`demXmmC(hAJhU5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhL5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh*&5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh?5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhmv5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhzl,5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh]5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh05B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhd5B*CJOJQJaJph  2awUV֬֗֬ւmXC֬(hAJh?5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhmv5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhL5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh~5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhs5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhK5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh05B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh*y*5B*CJOJQJaJph IKNOjmr֬֗֬ւmXmC(hAJhI5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhX5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh?5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhmv5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhK5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh*y*5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhL5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh05B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh?5B*CJOJQJaJph(hiw{#,ւmXC.C.(hAJh?5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh`5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhs5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh*y*5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh 5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhK5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh?5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhl*5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh05B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh#y5B*CJOJQJaJph,1KM^ &(CET^_fumXCC֬֬(hAJhH5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhgH5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhs5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhmv5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhK5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh*y*5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh`5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh?5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhR5B*CJOJQJaJphuw} ;o\I6I%hAJh"5B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh$5B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhzl,B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhAB*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh45B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhs5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhL5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh*y*5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh*&5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhzl,5B*CJOJQJaJph ;<>Q )*;<VamnIƳ٠٠ٍٍٳzgR:R.hAJh+D56B*CJOJQJ]aJph(hAJh+D5B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhAB*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh(B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh uTB*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhzl,B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh_%B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh"5B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh$5B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh;B*CJOJQJaJphIR !!!!##J'N'U'֬֗֗֗֗r]KKKK"h ,5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh+D5B*CJOJQJaJphhAJh+D5CJOJQJaJ(hAJh15B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhY5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh,5B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhzl,B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh,B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh15B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJha5B*CJOJQJaJph.hAJh+D56B*CJOJQJ]aJph(hAJh+D5B*CJOJQJaJph"h ,5B*CJOJQJaJph111111 2 2D2J2Q2W2`2i2|2}2~2mU5?hAJh 7b56B*CJOJQJ]aJfHphq .hAJh 7b56B*CJOJQJ]aJph(hAJh&85B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh (5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh'5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh 7b5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh<-5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh S5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhr5B*CJOJQJaJph~22223333 333o4⨓~kXE2E%hAJh_%B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh=B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhhq_B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhAB*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh`~5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh45B*CJOJQJaJph9hAJh0G5B*CJOJQJaJfHphq 9hAJh 7b5B*CJOJQJaJfHphq 9hAJhEd5B*CJOJQJaJfHphq o4p44444555556#6;6L6X6d6e6f6ٳzgzTzA%hAJhAB*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh"5B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh0yB*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh_%B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh;sB*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh uTB*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhzl,B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh`B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh=B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhwB*CJOJQJaJphf6i6667777777777778]8d88֬֗ւmւXXC(hAJhn5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh/!5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhj5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhJ+5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh_5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh 5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhj5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhrI5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhA5B*CJOJQJaJph8888999999%:G:P:U:b:u:įįpp[F1(hAJh (5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh^ 5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh #5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhR`C5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhj5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhCH5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhj5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh@5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhrI5B*CJOJQJaJph"hh5B*CJOJQJaJphu:x::::::::::;;*;7;9;a;b;mXC.(hAJhw5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhH5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh^ 5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh85B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhJY!5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhT5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhrMN5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhJ+5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh :5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh5B*CJOJQJaJphb;r;{;;;;;;;;;;;;;;<<<(<)<0<mmU@@(hAJh 5B*CJOJQJaJph.hAJh;];56B*CJOJQJ]aJph(hAJhj5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhn5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhj5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh;];5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhF_5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhvi5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhH5B*CJOJQJaJph0<1<o<<<<<<<<< ==+=/=E=K=L=U=Z=h=q=x=====ւmXCm(hAJh5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhh?5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh55B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhw>>>>>>>>mXCC(hAJhM5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh #5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhx`5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh@5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhb5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhV 5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhI5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh/!5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhj5B*CJOJQJaJph>>>>>2?7?????????????@֬mmXXCC(hAJh;];5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh/!5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhj5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhI5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhV 5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhM5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh8/o5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh@5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh.5B*CJOJQJaJph@@J@`@@@@@+A>A@AAAGAMAQAUA^AbAcAhAlAAAA֬mmXCmXC(hAJhJ5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhV 5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh8/o5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh/!5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh45B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhb5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhI5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhCH5B*CJOJQJaJphAAAAAAAABBBBJB]B^BBBBBB;CCCCCCCCCCCC֬֗֗֗֬ւ֗mmmXmXmm(hAJh^ 5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhwTTTTTU֬mXC(hAJh`5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh_5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhQ5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhDm5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhD6]5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh@V5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh}5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh9B5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhXiW5B*CJOJQJaJphU UuUUUUUUUVV VVV*V/VVWWW!W$W(WBWEWJWWW֬֬ււmm[mF(hAJh>5B*CJOJQJaJph"h[5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh9B5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhXiW5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh&85B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhb5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhDm5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh@V5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhE75B*CJOJQJaJphWWXXXX%X0X1XXXXX3Y4Y\YrYmXC.(hAJh_5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh;5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh;25B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh+S\5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhB 5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhq5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh>5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhYR5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhb5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhQ`5B*CJOJQJaJphrYzYYYZ"Z9Z>Z [9[\[][e[[[#\֬֬֗mZG4G%hAJh uTB*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhB*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhAB*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh45B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhq5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh4F5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh"5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhEd5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh>5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh&85B*CJOJQJaJph#\+\0\>\C\F\Z\[\\\v\\\]]N]X]]]]]]]^^^.^9^G^H^M^g^h^쳠썠zggggT%hAJhAB*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhAB*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhIPB*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhB*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh6B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhB*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh;B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh uTB*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh_%B*CJOJQJaJphh^k^l^^^^^^^^_ __A____________¬––€–€jT>>+hAJh@h^5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJhLp5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh45B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh0j5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJhB 5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh Ar5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh5B*CJOJQJ\aJph%hAJh@B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhA5B*CJOJQJaJph___#`*`+`3`7`;`N````GaYabauaaaaaaa齧鑽{eOO+hAJhM5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh$5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh_5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJha5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh+[5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh0j5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh@h^5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh Ar5B*CJOJQJ\aJphaajbnbbbc!c#c$c0c8c>cCcӽӧ{eO99#+hAJh$5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh Ar5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJhGm5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh45B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh@h^5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJhLp5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJhM5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh\5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh0j5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJhN5B*CJOJQJ\aJph CcOcSc]cecrcvccccccccccd?dHdQdRdndqdӽӽ{eeOe9+hAJh&85B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh55B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh\5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJhZ5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJhM5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh45B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJhL}5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh$5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh Ar5B*CJOJQJ\aJphqdddddd eee-eGeKeSe]e~eeeeeee齧{e{O99+hAJh25B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh\5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJhL5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJhGm5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh@h^5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJhL}5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJhC5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh "5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh45B*CJOJQJ\aJpheffffffg g gZg\ggggggggggggg駔~hRh.5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh 5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh@5B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh@B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh45B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh[5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh55B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh|5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhN5B*CJOJQJaJphllllllm m>mBmDmjmommmmmm챜r]H]]3](hAJho 5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhf5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh&5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhA5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhDS55B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhZ5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhA5B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhAB*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhzl,B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhAB*CJOJQJaJphmmm nnNn[n\nanjnon}n~nnnnnnnnnojjUj@j(hAJh)5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJho 5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhZ5B*CJOJQJaJph.hAJh x56B*CJOJQJ]aJph(hAJh x5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh5\5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhCH5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhA5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhfR5B*CJOJQJaJpho4oEo,p2p6p=pOppp8q9qSq\q^qqqqq.r4r=r?rCrKrvrr묂mXC(hAJhu5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhp95B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhf5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhfR5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhX5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhDS55B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJho 5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhZ5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh&5B*CJOJQJaJphrrr ss*s+sqsvsssst)t2t8t@tgtntytzt֬뗂mXC(hAJhKp5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh)5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhf5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh_5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh x5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhj5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhp95B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhcG5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh,Dx5B*CJOJQJaJphzt{ttttttttttttttt uu"u9uŲŲŌwbM8M8M(hAJhjX5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhZ5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhIP5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhA5B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh+B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh?UB*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh;B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhAB*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhAB*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh45B*CJOJQJaJph9u;uAuv>vMvZvlvmvvvvvw(w3w^wjwwwwwwwwwxmmXmmmCmm(hAJh5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh 5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh b5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh?U5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhF=5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhR5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhjX5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhZ5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhO5B*CJOJQJaJphxx@xGxVxdxlxmxqxyxxxxxxx#yGyyyyyUzYzbzfzgzjzqzzzzzzzzzzzz֗m(hAJh4Q5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhF=5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh 5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhjX5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh?U5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh b5B*CJOJQJaJph'zz{{{ {{{0{1{f{~{{{{{{{{ |=|֬jU@U@U@U(hAJhB5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh?U5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhT5B*CJOJQJaJph.hAJhjX56B*CJOJQJ]aJph(hAJhG)5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh4Q5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhM>.5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhjX5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhB@5B*CJOJQJaJph=|D||||||||||} } }}i}}}=~H~j~~~.֬֗֬֗ւmXE%hAJhIPB*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh45B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh 5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhG)5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhB5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhP5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh?U5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhF=5B*CJOJQJaJph.Yxٳt_tJ5JtJ(hAJhF=5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh?95B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh^['5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhF15B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh*Y5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhIP5B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhAB*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh;B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhIPB*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh,B*CJOJQJaJph3:<U]fhy%35B֬֬֗mXmXCXm(hAJh^['5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh@5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhM>.5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhdU5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhz5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhF15B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhqs5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh*Y5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh|m5B*CJOJQJaJphBEQUhmx Tqu֬֗ււmXC(hAJhdU5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhuW5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhCH5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhmR5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhz5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhF15B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh^['5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhM>.5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh?95B*CJOJQJaJphǂ߂߃ )*־֩֔jU@U+(hAJh/5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhz5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh*k5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhj45B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh45B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh*Y5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhdU5B*CJOJQJaJph.hAJhM>.56B*CJOJQJ]aJph(hAJhM>.5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhF=5B*CJOJQJaJphFD)˟\ñıƱDZɱʱ̱ͱαϱ dgd j$a$gdAJ*+.8AP_a{}~΄Ԅ,֬mXC(hAJh5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhF15B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhm5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhz5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhc 35B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhH5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhj45B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh/5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhz5B*CJOJQJaJph,.Fmvwޅ0>BCDFKmXCX.X.(hAJhL5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhz5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh"55B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhN5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhV5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh|:5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhH5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhc 35B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh^['5B*CJOJQJaJphKopwyƆφچ݆֗mXCX(hAJh?95B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhXQ#5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh}k5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhL5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh <5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh|:5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhc 35B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhH5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh"55B*CJOJQJaJph 368@SWks~mXCm(hAJhIf5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh^['5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhF15B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh|m5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhXQ#5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh\bN5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh?95B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhc 35B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhAE5B*CJOJQJaJphÇ͇·чՇtĈň֬o\I\6\%hAJhzl,B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhIPB*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhAB*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhAB*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhdU5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh(5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhF15B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh|m5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhL5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhqs5B*CJOJQJaJph*tȉىVXfh͊ϊ9įp[p[[F(hAJhIf5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhm5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh,Xj5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh({e5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhs5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhA5B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhAB*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh(B*CJOJQJaJph9GK]^diopquvi묗mXXXCX(hAJhDz!5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhSd 5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh,Xj5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhm3k5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhs5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh>5B*䴳ϴ(A5B*䴳ϴ(A5B*䴳ϴ<_g׍HI\־֩|d|||O:O(hAJh ;5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhO5B*CJOJQJaJph.hAJhSd 56B*CJOJQJ]aJph(hAJhSd 5B*CJOJQJaJph.hAJhM56B*CJOJQJ]aJph(hAJhM5B*CJOJQJaJph.hAJhm3k56B*CJOJQJ]aJph(hAJhm3k5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh({e5B*CJOJQJaJph\deĎď̏֏#-лydO:(hAJhf65B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhAE5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhM5B*CJOJQJaJph.hAJhSd 56B*CJOJQJ]aJph(hAJh ;5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhSd 5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhO5B*CJOJQJaJph.hAJhf656B*CJOJQJ]aJph.hAJhO56B*CJOJQJ]aJph-6EFNQRېr\C\0\%hK5B*CJOJQJ\aJph1hAJh56B*CJOJQJ\]aJph+hAJh5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh_w5B*CJOJQJ\aJph%hAJh&#B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhAB*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhAB*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh45B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh ;5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh>5B*CJOJQJaJphې!*+458Б,Ӻӈu_I0I0I1hAJh56B*CJOJQJ\]aJph+hAJh5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJhDz!5B*CJOJQJ\aJph%hAJh(tXB*CJOJQJaJph1hAJhX=56B*CJOJQJ\]aJph1hAJhF56B*CJOJQJ\]aJph1hAJhDz!56B*CJOJQJ\]aJph+hAJhX=5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJhF5B*CJOJQJ\aJph,ߒ "#&?Sah|DӺӺӤӺӺr_L_%hAJhzl,B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh+B*CJOJQJaJph1hAJh`56B*CJOJQJ\]aJph1hAJh(gL56B*CJOJQJ\]aJph+hAJh`5B*CJOJQJ\aJph1hAJh56B*CJOJQJ\]aJph+hAJh5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh|O5B*CJOJQJ\aJphDGHde}ΔӔՔAS[֩֔jU@(hAJhO5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhD'5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJho 5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh^g5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhS5B*CJOJQJaJph.hAJhN56B*CJOJQJ]aJph(hAJhW5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhN5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh+5B*CJOJQJaJph[\]jklopǕϕޕ*bz{ւ֬mXmC(hAJho 5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhK5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhO5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhW5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh[95B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhOP5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhD'5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhd5B*CJOJQJaJphӖݖ<CST—()mZG4GZ%hAJhzl,B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhAB*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhAB*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh5B*CJOJQJaJph"hK5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhW5B*CJOJQJaJph.hAJh56B*CJOJQJ]aJph(hAJh5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJho 5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhE\N5B*CJOJQJaJph),-ٚœmXCm.(hAJhQ5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhZ5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhk5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh{5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhx5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhr5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhq/]5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhzl,5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhA5B*CJOJQJaJphk}~ݝopܞ֮ubMbubub:bu%hAJhIPB*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh`6B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh`B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhzl,B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhAB*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh4B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhq/]B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhq/]5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhm5B*CJOJQJaJph!\]ʟ˟ϟ8:@Kw쳠t^H2H^+hAJhh 5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh[ZD5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh45B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh\5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJht5B*CJOJQJ\aJph%hAJhAB*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhv8B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhzl,B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh`B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh"5B*CJOJQJaJphw~ՠ#%&<Pax}[\ӽӧӽӑӽӑ{eOeӑӑ+hAJh/5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJhh 5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh\5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh[ZD5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh{5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJhQ+5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh45B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh 5B*CJOJQJ\aJphעۢݢ#*2i{齧{e{OO9O+hAJh @5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh 5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJhw5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJhh 5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh 5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh45B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh[ZD5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJhum5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh 5B*CJOJQJ\aJphBCTdЦߦӽӑ{eeL31hAJhum56B*CJOJQJ\]aJph1hAJhua56B*CJOJQJ\]aJph+hAJhk5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJhv85B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJhua5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh @5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJhum5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh 5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJhUk5B*CJOJQJ\aJph'/ǩȩ˩Щީ )hӽxbxIx1hAJhum56B*CJOJQJ\]aJph+hAJh/5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJhum5B*CJOJQJ\aJph1hAJh|56B*CJOJQJ\]aJph+hAJhX85B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh45B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJhua5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh|5B*CJOJQJ\aJphhv|êȪ23άЬ>A{ӧe{ӧO9+hAJhO5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh [5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJhUk5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh/5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJhum5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh 5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh4Q5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh J5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh 5B*CJOJQJ\aJph߭1 ![\deӽӧxeR?,?%hAJhLN7B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh+B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhzl,B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhAB*CJOJQJaJph+hAJh45B*CJOJQJ\aJph1hAJhO56B*CJOJQJ\]aJph+hAJhUk5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJhO5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh 5B*CJOJQJ\aJph+hAJh [5B*CJOJQJ\aJph38BM_wxy~Ʊrr]HH3r3(hAJh/5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh?~5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhu5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhe5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh"'5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhA5B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhAB*CJOJQJaJph%hAJh+B*CJOJQJaJph%hAJhLN7B*CJOJQJaJphհ۰ް)*-5?KL~±ıűDZ묂mmmXPLPLhpOjhpOU(hAJhA5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhY5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhbF+5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh"'5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh: 5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJhu5B*CJOJQJaJph(hAJh5B*CJOJQJaJphDZȱʱ˱αϱ(hAJhA5B*CJOJQJaJphhpOjhpOU,1h/ =!"#$%  s666666666vvvvvvvvv666666>6666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666hH6666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666662 0@P`p2( 0@P`p 0@P`p 0@P`p 0@P`p 0@P`p 0@P`p8XV~ 0@ 0@ 0@ 0@ 0@ 0@ 0@ 0@ 0@ 0@ 0@ 0@ 0@ 0@ OJPJQJ_HmH nH sH tH J`J Normal dCJ_HaJmH sH tH DA D Default Paragraph FontRiR 0 Table Normal4 l4a (k ( 0No List RR ;0 Balloon Text dCJOJQJ^JaJN/N ;0Balloon Text CharCJOJQJ^JaJ44  j0Header  H$6/!6  j0 Header CharCJaJ4 24  j0Footer  H$6/A6  j0 Footer CharCJaJPK![Content_Types].xmlN0EH-J@%ǎǢ|ș$زULTB l,3;rØJB+$G]7O٭Vc:E3v@P~Ds |w< ϩ.l  G MLn,u;IU'1~2o4f68u:b;0<=>@ACDFIJLLN%QRUWrY#\h^_aCcqdeghNjlmorzt9uxz=|.B*,K9i\-ې,D[)whDZϱY[\]^_`abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxy{|}~IϱZz8@0(  B S  ? '""********++//\3b344!5'5[[Vp_p rrirqrrrssssfJ%&M#*&`ao :  2% %c }3 I ^ V B Sd h ?fRL2lzAX$\i pO({"5jK.p5FEd t|:  #\(KF_r4 6!I!JY!Dz! "&#XQ#}$$6%_%D'^[' (z()B)G))i)Q**y*bF+J+Q+ ,`%,zl,<-M>./F1c 34_4$5"5DS56f6LN7&8LL8v8?919cQ9p9 :I:|: ;;;];X=a>h? @B@@lAR`C[ZDZD4bD&E'EAE4F0GfGwYdYvZ [+[5\+S\]q/]D6][]vd^@h^__Jd_hq_y_+`*`/`"Q`Q`1V`ayWauab 7bXhb{~bcc,d5dBe({e|eIfg^gviDi,Xj*km3k%{kGm|m*n8/opmvMU|%[HMds6l` P`;L+P1nYo kfBQwqs9B;s+\@9C 0?JAH0y+j4KpQg`5[}kcGOx` d.c`~>U1eATK7 Nmxz 4F0 We love these books, intrepid stories about the othered and  2 <0 the  2 U0 outcas "2 ~0 ts of society,   )2 `0 stories that engage  ;2 0 our imagination and inspire self   2 0 - 2 0 refle C2 %0 ction about our own moral judgements.     2 0    Y2 `40 What do you think are the most important influences    "2 0 or experiences  :2 0 that shaped you into this kind   2 ` 0 of writer?   2 0   @Garamond--- 2 -`0 MM:  2 -0   )2 -0 Growing up in the si       )2 -0 xties and seventies    2 - 0 opened my eye    72 -0 s to injustice and inequality       2 -0 , a  2 -0 ll  2 -0    2 A`0 those   2 A0 mar 2 A0 ches   2 A0 fo  2 A0 r  2 A0   2 A0 Black    2 A 0   2 A 0 and Women    2 Ad0  2 Ah0 s rights   2 A0   42 A0 that made the national news        2 Ag0 .  2 Ap 0 My education     2 V`0 came  2 V0 from th  2 V 0 e marchers   2 V0   2 V 0 who  2 V)0 just   2 VF 0 wanted an     2 V0 even   2 V0 playing    2 V0   +2 V0 field and a fair shot    2 Vk0 ,  2 Vs 0 to be treated     2 V0    2 k`0 with   2 k0 dignity    2 k0   2 k 0 and respect    2 k 0 .  2 k0   &2 k0 My schooling also    2 k0 came  G2 k(0 from those on the sidelines hurling the           2 `0 ugliest   2 0   2  0 insults and     2 0   2 0 threats   2 0   %2 0 at those marchers    2 0 .  2 0   @2 #0 I knew which side I wanted to be on           2 0 .  2 0 When I     :2 `0 moved to Houston, I saw how mem       ,2 V0 bers of the Latinx com     #2 0 munity were also    2 e0   2 i0 demeaned     2 0   2 0 and   2 0     2 `0  2 h0 othered.    2 0   2 0    2 0 T  2  0 he Guatem   )2  0 alan woman who clean       2 0 ed our office    2   0 building    2 H0 told me   2 ~0   2 0 sh   2 0 e  2 0  2 0 d been     2 0    2 `0 teache  2 0 r back    2 0 home,   2 0   2 0 but  2  0 had to flee   2 N0 her   2 e0   .2 h0 country when it was no       2 0 longer   2 40   2 70 safe.  2 Z0 The   2 v0   2 y 0 pained look     :2 `0 in her eyes pained me. She didn          2 >0  F2 B'0 t want to leave home, but she had no ch          2 R0 oice 2 n 0 , and now she     2 0 ,    2 `0 a  2 h0   2 o0 teacher  2  0 , had to    2 0 empty   2 0   2 0 our   2 4 0 wastebaskets     2 0   2  0 and scrub    2 0 our   2 0 toilets  2 *0 .  2 .0   2 4 0 As added burd      2 0 en,   2 0 he   2 0 r  2 0    2 `0 dis  2 t0 parage   2 0 ment   2 0   "2 0 at the hands of     2 -0   2 10 some  2 Y0 U.S.  2 y0 citizens   2 0   .2 0 made me cringe. Still,    2 I0 if we   2 i0  "2 m0 re honest, and      2 `0 I  2 j0 think    2 0 honesty    2 0   2  0 is a writer   2 0  2 0 s  2  0 (and human     2 p0  2 t0 s)  M2 ,0 job, we have to look at the intrinsic ugline          2 0 ss that    2 %` 0 resides in    2 %0 each of   2 %0 us  2 %0 . We  2 %0  2 % 0 ve all been    2 %d 0 indoctrinated     2 %0 ,  2 %0   2 %0 consci  2 %0 ousl  2 %0 y or su  2 %A 0 bconsciou    2 %0 sly,  2 %0 by  2 %0 our    2 :`0 famil 2 :0 ies 2 :0 ,   2 :0 by   2 : 0 the media,      2 :0 by   2 :20 certain   2 :l 0 politicians,    2 :0 teachers   2 :0 ,  2 :0   2 :0 religio  2 :20 us   2 :K0 leaders  2 :}0 , folks     2 :0 with     2 O`0 megaphones and      2 O0   2 O 0 authority   2 O0 .   2 O$0 O  2 O10 ur life   2 OY0  2 O] 0 s work is    2 O0   2 O 0 to ferret  2 O 0 out that     2 O0 indoctrination    2 Ot0 , t 2 O0 o  2 O 0 own up to     2 c`0 it and   2 c0 the   2 c0 human   2 c0 tendency    2 c%0    2 c+0 t  2 c00 o  2 c80    2 c>0 l  2 cB0 o  2 cJ0 o  2 cR0 k   2 c[0    2 ca0 f  2 ce0 o  2 cm0 r  2 cs0   2 cy0 someo 2 c0 ne   2 c0 t 2 c0 o  2 c0 degrade     2 c 0   2 c0 so  2 c$0 we  2 c=0 can   2 c\ 0 feel bett  2 c 0 er about     2 x`0 ou  2 xq0 rselves 2 x0 .  2 x0 Many   %2 x0 of my characters   22 xG0 go on that journey of self       2 x0 - (2 x0 discovery. Some suc   2 x{0 ceed  2 x0 ,   2 x0 s 2 x0 ome    2 `0 don    2 z0   2 ~0 t 2 0 , but it   2 0  .2 0 s a journey I feel comp    2 N0 el 2 Z0 led to   2 0 explore   2 0   "2 0 again and again       2 %0 .  2 )0   --- 2 `0 EW & SS:    2 0   ,2 0 As weve studied your   2 @ 0 work and  2 0 your  2 0 journey  2 0 to a 72 0 uthorship, we see you attende  2 0 d the   2 `0 Iowa   2 0 Writers  2 0   2 0    2 0 W 2 0 orksh 42 0 op, prestigious to be sure.  2 0   M2 ,0 Writers like Silas House and Frank X Walker      72 `0 pursued the MFA route, while    2 ,0 others ^2 S70 , like Ron Rash and Bobbie Ann Mason chose the English         2 ` 0 degree route.  2 0   ,2 0 You have both these ex  2 [0 per  2 o0 i 72 s0 ences in your educational bac 2 50 kground 2 i0 . W  2 0 h 2 0 at  2 0   2 0 are yo 2 0 ur   2 `0 fe (2 l0 elings about the MA   2 0   2 0 and  &2  0 MFA routes for an  2  0 aspiring  2 0 artist?  2 0   --- 2 $`0 MM:  2 $0   2 $ 0 Unlike many a    12 $0 uthors who began writing         /2 $0 practically in utero, I    2 $+0 didnt    2 $S0   #2 $W0 start writing un    2 $0 til   2 8`0 I was   2 80 nearly  2 80 thirty.   2 80 My  2 8  0 BFA was in    2 8b0 graphic   2 80 de   2 80 s 2 80 ign   2 80 ,  2 80   2 8 0 but my first  "2 8)0 job in the oil     2 80 industry   2 80   2 80 in   2 80    2 M`0 Houston    2 M0   2 M0 didn    2 M0   2 M0 t  2 M0   /2 M0 inspire much creativity       2 Ms0 ( 2 My0 it   2 M0 i  2 M0 n  2 M0 spired    2 M0   52 M0 my environmentalist leanings      2 M0 , though    2 M0 ) 2 M0 .   2 b` 0 It was in    2 b0 Texas   2 b0   2 b0 that I b   I2 b)0 ecame obsessed with reading short stories        2 b= 0 , maybe to   2 b0 scratch   2 b0   2 b0 a   2 v` 0 creative  2 v0 itch   2 v0 .  2 v0   2 v0 I read c  2 v0 ollecti 2 v0 on a  2 v<0 fte  2 vM0 r  2 vS0   2 vX0 collec )2 v0 tion, and one day I      2 v 0 fe 2 v0 lt  2 v0   2 v#0 motivate  2 v^0 d   2 vg0   2 vk 0 to write   2 v0 a s 2 v0 to 2 v0 ry  2 v0    2 ` 0 just to see i  +2 0 f I could pull it off     2 )0 .  2 -0   2 10 It  2 <0   2 @0 was   2 Z0   2 ^0 rough  2 0 , but   2 0 th  12 0 e experience of crafting     2 ]0 a  2 i 0 whole world     2 0    2 0 o 2 0 n   2 ` 0 paper was    2  0 exhilarating   2 0 .  2  0 May 2 ,0 be it   2 M0  2 Q0 s  2 _0 because    2 0   2 0 I was   2 0 a late  2 0 - 2 0 bloomer,   2 70   2 =0 but  2 Z0 I  2 f 0 knew I nee    2 0 ded    2 `0 guidance    2 0 ,  2 0 an   2 0 d   2 0   72 0 perhaps some hard truth about           2 0   2  0 whether or    2 0   2 0 not I  2  0 had   2 '0 any w   2 N0 ritin  2 j0 g chops    2 0 .  2 0 I took   "System}0@ܮ@6--  00//..DD ՜.+,0 hp  ϳԹUniversity4Vk  Title  !"#$%&'()*+,-./0123456789:;<=>?@ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ[\]^_`abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz{|}~ Root Entry Fнq\@1Table,WordDocument .lSummaryInformation(fDocumentSummaryInformation8MsoDataStoreq\q\KPE1T1EUGSND4Q==2q\q\Item PropertiesUCompObj r   F Microsoft Word 97-2003 Document MSWordDocWord.Document.89q