Last night, a short-term blog
reader interviewed me. Kinda. Ok, it wasn’t exactly an interview, but it has
since become one after writing it into being. In rewriting this moment I omitted
the more personal Q and A’s, and most of my own Q’s.
I’m still new to this place, this
person, and this genre. There is time for more later. This is the transcript of
how I remember parts of it. Memory makes liberties.
Q: What brought you to
Atlanta, was it Tech?
A: Yup, I took a
postdoc at GA Tech.
Q: Is it a teaching or research
fellowship?
A: I think it’s a bit
of both? My understanding is that it is as much of both as you put into it, and
you are there because you want to put both in. But teaching is, first and
foremost, a requirement.
Q: How long have you
been in town then?
A: Today is my one week
anniversary!
Q: Congratulations!
What kinds of things have you done so far?
A: In a week? I’ve mostly
been avoiding mosquitoes. [Trying to get Lil John songs to STOP playing on a
constant loop in my head. Brain keeps calling it THE DIRTY SOUTH. I hate the
music from College.] I went to the High on Friday—saw the Warhol exhibit. You
know, soup cans.
Q: Is that related to
your work on food studies?
A: Nah….
[thinks to self, it
probably should be. Crap, why didn’t I see that when I was there! Must return! Was
too busy focusing on the Desdemona drawing that related to
the novel written
during May.]
…. I’m also looking
forward to the Botanical gardens again, I can’t get there enough!
Q: So why blog about
soil? What does this have to do with your research?
A: Excellent question!
[Looks around the coffee shop. Why are the answers rarely written on ceilings?
Gaining new appreciation for the Sistine Chapel.]
….Everything starts
with the soil. Stories can’t happen,
literally, without it. The way we used to
take gender constructions for granted, until we didn’t, that’s why soil matters
to me as a lens. It’s a simple part of our world that penetrates every single
thing.
[I start rambling now]
The more publishers I
talk to about the first major book project, the more they emphasize the need
for an online presence that includes blogging. They’ve said it’s important to give
a personal window to your voice, and that the voice is coming from a professional
with complex research plans.
Q: Do you want to write a book like your blog?
A: I'm not sure. I know that I do keep coming back to this for some reason. [A line from "Nip/Tuck" When something is recurrent it is begging for attention and further consideration.]
Q: Do you think your
blog helped you get hired at GA Tech?
A: Absolutely not. I
was too scared to add it to my application materials.
Q: The could have
googled you. That’s how I found it. Not a lot of work to find materials.
A: I do not think so. I
think they had too many applicants to google all of them.
Q: They should google the
potential hires. I learned a lot. Like
the story behind that [points at Calvino
tattoo]. I liked the information I got.
A: I’m truly happy that
it held your interest, and that you actually wanted to ask questions. Thank
you.
[I didn’t do a good job expressing my adequate thanks.
Had to do a follow-up email later.]
Q: Are you going to be
teaching things related to your blog?
A: Not really. This
semester it’s a class on Nobel prize winners in literature. That’s why I’m
reading this right now.
[waves copy of Bob Dylan’s Tarantula]
Q: The prize is really
political, isn’t it? I’m still trying to make sense of Malala’s win. Other
people have been working their lives towards bettering the world—mother Teresa level
stuff—and she’s so young.
A: [pause.] Agreed, in that it’s a complicated decision-making
process. I mostly focus the research on the literature prize. Some people, like
Murakami and Rushdie—or maybe more so their fans—have similar frustrations with
the awards.
Q: Recently you wrote
about Rushdie’s
The Ground Beneath Her Feet. You seem to be quite a fan. What
is it that you love about his writing?
A: [Awkward pause]
….. I think he’s an incredibly intelligent man. I do
have some difficulty enjoying the aesthetic of contemporary magical realism. It
doesn’t always work for me.
Q: So you aren’t a fan
of his work?
A: I’m not a fan of
contemporary magical realism? [uncomfortable laughter] It’s inaccessible to me.
I know that’s part of the point, but I don’t want it. I gravitate towards writing
with, this will sound silly, shorter sentences.
Q: Shorter sentences? Why?
A: I like short, simple
sentences. I like clarity as an aesthetic. Simple beauty moves me.
[Reduction,
not what feels like humid writing.]
Q: Can you give me an
example of a writer like that?
A: [I thrust my forearm
forward, grinning.] Italio Calvino.
Q: Putting it that way—short
sentences that try to emphasize clarity—thinking about it now I would say that’s
a characteristic I can see in your writing. It makes sense, I liked that even
if I didn’t know that’s what I was reading.
A: [Blush. Blush so hot
my face burns off.]
[EMTs are called to extinguish my face.]
[The interview continues despite the fact that my face is
bandaged and I can hardly see the world through the cotton.]
Thank you. That is the
biggest compliment I could possibly receive.
Q: You’re welcome. Do
you ever blog about encounters like this?
A: Absolutely not!
Q: Why not? You could
leave it anonymous, name someone “Mister XYZ”?
A. I’m really
uncomfortable doing that. Words can hurt, more quickly and deeper than other
things. They can construct expectations or interfaces that cannot be undone.
Those structures can linger, and they can inadvertently do damage.
Q: But it’s your life,
and your experiences, I can’t imagine that you wouldn’t want to write about
them. Like that post about the man that wouldn’t give you a
a kiss in Paris.
A: That was extraordinarily
different. I had been in a pattern of seemingly having to tell that story over
and over again—I wanted it somewhere so I didn’t have to keep making the words
come out of my mouth. And I do provide a disclaimer about how I dislike that
kind of writing.
Q: Fair enough. Do you
think you’ll write about this?
A: Absolutely not.*
Q: It’s getting on in
time. Are you hungry? Can you eat given your face bandages?
A: Sure, let’s.**
<end scene>
*This particular Q & A did not occur. It
if had, I would have said no, and then still done exactly what I’m doing right now.
**I should have went for the food.
I did not go for the food. Muss and Turners would have been really good just then. Thunderstorms and my poor souphound’s potential
storm adjustment compelled me homeward. I got home and took him out. The residual
rain dissolved my face bandages. They must have been made of sugar after all.
I check my face again, it’s gone
back to regular temperature. I check the sentences I, allegedly, spoke. Not the
beautiful ones I prefer to write. I prepare to post this, I break a pattern of
what I usually write. Eggshells go everywhere. I prepare to rub egg on my face and
walls. My kitchen barely has towels.
