“If you want to say you were born here, lower your knees.”
a mini-interview with Jenny Sadre-Orafai
I “met” Jenny Sadre-Orafai on Twitter, as I recall. We became friendly, the kind of supportive tissue that writers need in their lives, not just on social media. When Jenny asked me to blurb her book Malak (Platypus Press, 2017) I was thrilled—when poets ask me to blurb their work I feel especially honored.
Jenny is a generous writer, a warm voice in the thickets of literary social media. Her latest book, Dear Outsiders, is out now from University of Akron Press.
As is my mini-interview practice, I asked Jenny to respond to between three and five questions from a total of eight offered.
What does your fantasy writing day look like?
Getting up early in a quiet space near an ocean with lots of windows and a really great chair and table outside. I would have a giant stack of books, magazines, and journals that I want to read and I would move between reading and writing all day while periodically rewarding myself with Goldfish crackers. At the end of the day, I would eat nachos while reading some more.
How has the pandemic changed or influenced your writing process?
I do best when I write outside of myself, when I find another way in. I've found that to do that well I need to leave my house and what’s familiar. It’s been difficult to replicate that, but going on walks is one remedy. I’ve also been reading a lot more than I was pre-pandemic and that makes me feel very connected with other writers and with my creativity. I attend a lot of virtual readings and craft talks too and being in spaces with other writers and readers buoys me.
We've both been mentors in the Periplus Collective--what did you learn from being a mentor?
I think being a mentor has taught me how to be more vulnerable since my mentees are being so vulnerable with me. I've also learned that I'm not someone who sugarcoats what the writing life can look like. I try to be honest with them about my experiences with writing and publishing but in a very supportive way, and I’ve learned to accept that it’s okay for me to give an answer that doesn't necessarily sound better. It's okay for me to say that sometimes I know a poem or essay is finished by tuning into my intuition instead of saying I know after x amount of revisions.
You’re in the middle of the ocean, floating. What are your thoughts?
How insignificant I am and how comforting that is. I tend to spend too much time in my head and overthink every small thing, which leads me to believe that that’s all there is.
Another thought: a memory of a humpback swimming up beside a boat I was on in my twenties and how surprised I was that she looked bright blue. When she breached, I had to keep myself from diving into the water to be with her.