Upon the release of her craft chap essay, An Interview with Fear, author Xochitl-Julisa Bermejo spoke with Sundress Publications editorial intern Rachel Bulman on political memory, the difference between monuments and memorials, the sensitive nature of writing about others’ grief, and what it means to write in community with those you love.

Rachel Bulman: How did you decide the structure of the text and the balance of chronology? 

Xochitl-Julisa Bermejo: I was on residency at Jentel in Wyoming when I wrote this essay. Being in residency gave me many unobstructed hours to read and think, which allowed me space to excavate my memories differently and to expand beyond one experience in one place and one  time. For example, I was reading Melissa Febos’ Body Work. In her essay, “A Big Shitty Party,” she writes, “When I think of narrative truth—the truth that lies beyond the verifiable facts of an  event—I picture a prism, with as many facets as there are people affected. When a writer chooses  to publish their version, the facet becomes the one visible beyond the scope of people involved… It is hideously unfair.” (95) While I was writing about a residency at Gettysburg National Military Park in Pennsylvania and the racism and war glorification I experienced there, Febos’  words encouraged me to think beyond Gettysburg to a story about a friend’s grief and Assistens Cemetery in Copenhagen. It also allowed me to ask my friend for permission to write about her, which I’d never done before.  

RB: The reflections in this piece are not solely from time spent on your residency, so how do they reflect a wider experience of your life as a whole? 

XJB: While composing this essay, what came to the surface was the connection of public places for memory and monument. Being a poet in residence at Gettysburg was a strange experience. It’s a battleground and cemetery. Over 50,000 people died over a three-day battle. I was living on hallowed ground, but it’s also a museum. While death changes and transforms all things,  Gettysburg is insistent on not changing. That’s kind of what we’ve been facing as a nation. There  are people desperate for change. It’s a matter of life and death, but the powers that be want to  keep the status quo. While I was in Gettysburg, I felt a lot of fear and confusion. Being able to compare it to another public place of death and memorial helped me better understand why I was there in the first place. In the end, I’ve learned that I grow and change from the experience of knowing the women in my life, from honoring my ancestors, and from honoring the ancestors of  my sisters. I’m grateful for the experience gifting me this new understanding of myself and the world.  

RB: At what point in the writing process did you reach your conclusion on the purpose of facing fear; not just to understand but to overcome?  

XJB: Writing is about process for me. I don’t know where a piece will go when I start it. I have an idea. I have something I want to write about—a lesson, an experience, a memory—but the why presents itself through the writing. I would have never made the connection between death and transformation, or the difference between monuments and memorials, if it weren’t for being in residency at Jentel and having all that time to read and think, and to try something new. It’s  what I love about residencies. They let you be brave.  

RB: Of the myriad themes and takeaways from this book, why did you decide to conclude on the transformational power of love?

XJB: It’s what I write about. It’s who I am, or who I want to be, at my core. I recently had a near-death experience (sounds dramatic, but true), and rereading this essay made me realize that my work, what I do, prepared me to meet this newest scary moment with some tools, as small as they were. I just hope I can help other people know that love is always there if they need it. There are so many scary things happening in our world, but what matters, I think, at least today, is how we meet the moment and stay open to what’s possible through care, comfort, and love.  

RB: As is clear in the opening, you don’t shy away from political commentary in the text. Was  there anything you chose to omit from the book, or anything you included but had reservations about? Why? 

XJB: I’ve always been outspoken. I don’t know. I was a teen in the ‘90s, and everything I read and watched told me to be outspoken. It’s only recently that I’ve started to think more about how I speak about current events, especially in interviews like this, because interviews are perceived  differently, and you don’t always know what parts will be used. But when it comes to my art, when it comes to crafting and composing, I will always be outspoken and say what I want to say in the most beautiful way I can. 

RB: Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address is described as a reason you applied for the residency, but in what ways, if at all, did its contents and message influence this book, or you, as you were writing? 

XJB: Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address was all I knew about Gettysburg when I first went. It’s a marker of my naiveté in the situation. Again, I grew up idolizing Lincoln, King, X. I loved John Lennon. I watched A Different World and The Wonder Years. Newsies was one of my favorite movies. I was either going to be a hippie or a union organizer. My senior year of high school, I was reading books about the Chicano Movement. My freshman year of college at San Francisco State, I attended my first police brutality rallies. I grew up thinking we all wanted a just world,  but seeing what’s happened to our country in the last 10 years has been a great shock to my  sixteen-year-old self. The Gettysburg Address is a symbol of that tragedy.  

RB: You say “Monuments are men’s work. Memorializing, women’s.” Can you speak further to this end, and the gendered divide you observed during your residency? 

XJB: Of course, this is a generalization, but it seems to me that patriarchies only care about keeping power, and often through intimidation. Monuments are not for remembering good works. Monuments are for keeping the populace in line. They are stone examples of “Big Brother,” if you will. On the other end of the spectrum, matriarchies are about mutual aid and community care. Memorials are about honoring those who came before us that made today (and tomorrow) possible. They’re about creating space for care. 

RB: In terms of pushing back against fear with comfort and community, could you talk more about how you felt equipped to face the ghosts, so to speak, at the Klingel House?

XJB: For one, I don’t do anything alone. Any story or poem I write, any publication, any award or opportunity, is only made possible by the support I receive from my family and my  community. I write in community. I submit in community. Gettysburg was the same way. I was very scared, but thankfully, there were people in my life willing to hold that fear with me. A friend drove me to Gettysburg and stayed the night. Two other friends travelled from New York City on separate weekends. I like to think of myself as an independent person. I like to wander  away from the crowd and see what happens when I turn the corner away from everyone, but I can only do that because I know my people are watching me go. I’m never too far out of reach.  

RB: The text engages head-on with fear, but what were some of the fears you faced while  writing it? 

XJB: The biggest fear I had was how to write about other people and the opportunity as a whole. The residency was an award and a gift, so it’s a tricky situation. You don’t want to bite the hand,  and all. But I also have to honor my truth, so how do I do that in the most respectful way? And then there are the other people in the story. Usually, when I write, I go tunnel vision into my own  perspective. It’s mine after all—don’t I own it? But this time I wanted to practice another tactic. It’s scary to try something new. It was difficult to ask my friend for permission to write about something extremely painful that happened to her. Thankfully, she supports my writing and was grateful for her and her son to be included.  

RB: Could you speak to the inclusion of the “Interview with Fear” workbook at the end of the text, and how a reader should approach the tasks? 

XJB: Typically, these craft chap series include prompts. I thought it would be fun to include the activities I use in class, and to make it more like a workbook. I encourage writers to try them, and I encourage teachers to think about how to incorporate them in their classes. Writing is scary! One thing I hope this craft chapbook shows is that there are ways of making the act of writing a little more comforting and fun. 

An Interview with Fear is available to download on the Sundress website now

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Xochitl-Julisa Bermejo is the daughter of Mexican immigrants and a Chicana poet, educator, and community organizer. She is the author of Incantation: Love Poems for Battle Sites and Posada: Offerings of Witness and Refuge. Her poem “Battlegrounds” was featured in Poem-a-Day, On Being’s Poetry Unbound, and in the anthology, Poetry Unbound: 50 Poems to Open Your World, highlighting her growing national recognition. Inspired by her Chicana identity and her experiences as an activist, Bermejo’s work seeks to cultivate love, resilience, and comfort in chaotic times while amplifying marginalized voices. 

Rachel Bulman (she/her) holds a BA in English and Creative Writing as well as an MA in Publishing from the University of Exeter, specialising in interactive and children’s fiction. Her written work, from non-fiction to poetry, script and prose, has appeared in Wolf Grove Media’s The Book of Choices, Velvet Fields, and Exeposé, among others. Find her eclectic portfolio on Instagram @worm.can.read, through her online portfolio, or ask the bridge troll who taught him his riddles three.