A best friend once said something like this to me: You might as well be married if you mix books; undoing something like that is worse than legal divorce. 

Between my partner and I, our home is host to over a thousand books, sprawling on makeshift milk crate shelves with boards I’ve hoarded for projects I haven’t thought up yet. Yes, our books are all mixed up. Not only are they mixed up, they aren’t even organized, ha!

I’ve heard a rumor that a thousand books make a library, and five hundred makes the essence of a library. I’ve never been happier to co-create an intimacy founded on curation, collection, sharing, and trust. 

Our shelves hold many, though here are the top hits: Audre Lorde, Marcus Rediker, T. Fleischmann, Jackie Wang, Ursula K. Le Guin, David Graeber, Philip K Dick, Kim Phillips-Fein, Virginia Satir, Lucas de Lima, Claudia Rankine, Augusten Burroughs, and—since fourteen, I’ve moved over twenty times. I lost almost everything twice. I retained a few things: my instruments, my books. This is one way of saying I haven’t always had a library. I’ve clung to books ever since I knew they were a tool into worlds otherwise unknown. 

Another way of saying is I have always had my copy of Alan Moore’s Watchmen—speculative science fiction depicting a world where the U.S. won the war in Vietnam and Nixon remains in office. Vigilantism becomes necessary because the government has, in an unsurprising succession of events, failed the public through the murder of The Comedian, a government-sponsored superhero.

I read Watchmen on the clock at the job whose paycheck I used to buy the book in the first place. I worked alone in a sizeable red-and-white department store, and we’d be dead for hours. No one would come to check on me. They’d ping me on the walkie, and I’d feign how dirty the soda machine hookups were as my fingers stuck to the pages of Alan Moore.  

I decided to begin collecting books seven years ago because Toi Derricotte’s The Undertaker’s Daughter and Aaron Smith’s Blue On Blue Ground grabbed me by the shirt and demanded that I have a reason to live and that reason’s name was poetry.

I forget often that my fingers stick to the pages of a book when everything else slips through them. 

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Sundress Publications is open for submissions of full-length prose manuscripts in all genres. All authors are welcome to submit manuscripts during our reading period, which runs from December 1, 2023 – February 29, 2024. Sundress is particularly interested in prose collections that value genre hybridization, especially speculative memoir; strange or fractured narratives; flash fiction; experimental work; or work with strong attention to lyricism and language. These collections may be short stories, novellas, essays, memoir, or a mixture thereof.

We are looking for manuscripts of 125-165 double-spaced pages of prose; front matter is not included toward the page count. Individual stories may have been previously published in anthologies, chapbooks, print journals, online journals, etc., but cannot have appeared in any full-length collection, including self-published collections. Manuscripts translated from another language will not be accepted. Simultaneous submissions are fine, but we ask that authors notify us immediately if their work has been accepted elsewhere.

From December 1^st to 14^th, submissions to this open reading period are free for the first submission for any and all writers. Beginning December 15^th, the reading fee is $15 per manuscript, though the fee will be waived for all writers of color and entrants who purchase or pre-order any Sundress title. Authors may submit as many manuscripts as they would like, provided that each is accompanied by a separate reading fee or purchase/pre-order. Entrants can place book orders or pay submission fees in our store.

All manuscripts will be read by members of our editorial and reader board, and we will choose one manuscript for publication in 2024. We strive to further our commitment to inclusion and seek to encounter as many unique and important voices as possible. We are actively seeking collections from writers of color, trans and nonbinary writers, writers with disabilities, and others whose voices are under-represented in literary publishing. Selected manuscripts will be offered a standard publication contract, which includes 25 copies of the published book as well as any additional copies at cost.

To submit, send us a 20-35 page sample of the manuscript (DOC, DOCX, or PDF); the sample should include the author’s name and an acknowledgements page. The sample may include one story/essay or a number of shorter pieces. After our initial selection process, semi-finalists will be asked to send the full manuscript in the spring.

Submit your manuscript samples to us here.

Please note that we are unable to accept manuscripts from authors who reside outside of the USA or Canada as we are unable to adequately support books in international markets.

Any questions or concerns, as well as withdrawal notifications, can be sent sundresscontest@gmail.com.

Before the debut of his lyrical memoir, Ruin & Want, José Angel Araguz spoke with Sundress Publications’ editorial intern Izzy Astuto about artistic expression and the traumatic events that shaped him.

Izzy Astuto: How did you decide to first introduce L through the eyes of the narrator at the time girlfriend?

José Angel Araguz: This decision came via feedback from poet and dear friend Rivka Clifton, who noted that the project needed an entry point into what was at stake. Seeing it now that the project is completed, it was a great suggestion.

I see it as a moment of crisis similar to the sense of crisis in the rest of the project, a moment where different roles and kinds of masking I performed in my relationships clashed. In this moment of friction, all I had were questions I couldn’t take the time to answer because of the damage control I had to play, with my at the time girlfriend, with the image I had of myself that I fought to maintain.

IA: Can you speak more about how you chose the specific experiences throughout to create this narrative?

JAA: This book started as my creative dissertation during my time earning a Ph.D. in creative writing and comparative literature from the University of Cincinnati. My focus was on Latinx/e poetics and hybrid forms, which had me indulging my fascination for writing forms. This timing would have the first draft of the book circa 2017. I had tried often to write about these experiences, the relationship with L in particular, but often found myself fraught with indecision and inarticulation. Some part of me wouldn’t allow myself to say it clearly—there was a sense of shame, guilt, responsibility, etc. that kept me starting over only to end up thwarted again.

As a lapsed Catholic, I believe I just wanted to self-flagellate (which makes for terrible reading, haha). When I began working on what would become the first draft, I was struck by the idea of fragmentation and juxtaposition as formal means to bring together various narratives. From there, I worked out that while the relationship with L would be the focus, it could also be used as a lens to engage with the ways the harm from being involved with L had played out in me. So, instead of shame and self-flagellation, the goal became naming what happened and acknowledging it as a part of my history, a part of myself, for better or worse.

One of the other sources of thwarting was the fear that by writing about it I would vilify L in an unfair way. Lines were crossed, yes, and naming them is enough; vilifying someone, especially in creative nonfiction, however, implies that there is a hero to that villain. What I felt/feel having survived that relationship and its effects is complicated, for sure, but I don’t feel like a hero. I feel like a ruin, so many scraps of identity, none of them cohering.

Only now, 23 years later, do I feel I am doing the work to bring these pieces together. By doing the work to name what happened I had to get over myself. An example of that is in the use of the word survivor, that for the longest time I wouldn’t let myself see myself as that. I also wouldn’t let myself call what L did to me predatory. Yet, after being an educator for a number of years and engaging in that space where learning happens, I couldn’t ignore the thought that arose that L was in the same position I was and made the choices she made.

I can’t imagine crossing the same lines with any of my students, can’t imagine betraying the trust of being looked at for help and resources and building, and twisting it into something selfish and harmful.

Reflecting and dwelling on the complexities of thoughts like this forced me to see how the story of L wasn’t just the story of L, but also the story of my youth being stunted; was also the story of my family as authority figures that helped me survive but also harmed me through their homophobia; was also the story of my confused, misguided young self that went through early relationships in college and after that was marked by efforts to dismantle toxic masculinity within me while also trying to live up to toxic masculinity’s idea of what makes a man; was also the story of a white woman doing harm to a brown boy, the racial and power imbalance something that follows me to this day; was also the story of dismantling not just toxic masculinity in its social forms but also in their academic and literary forms, how someone like e.e. cummings is beloved yet when you read deep into his work and biography you learn he was cringe; was also the story of a man having an eating disorder, something that gets discredited due to the same toxic heteronormative gender binary people use to discredit men who have experienced sexual abuse.

Really, in a way, the 2017 draft was the outpouring of material, and the time since then to publication has been organizing, editing, and discovering the story from the ruins, so to speak.

IA: When did the almost syncopated format of this book come to be?

JAA: Syncopated—what a great word! That feels right. As you can tell from above, the living/writing of this book was messy! From the start I wanted this to be a distinct reading experience, one marked by fragmentation and juxtaposition. I wanted the reading experience to be like walking across an old wood floor, each passage a step inviting creaks and give. That’s what it felt like writing it, like I was up at a time no one else was and didn’t want to disturb anyone or draw attention to myself.

At one point in the memoir, I talk about trying to write of L and looking over my shoulder anxiously. Part of how this effect was created was formally through the lack of essay titles and the brevity of passages. I also approached this effect conceptually. A number of early drafts had me printing out the manuscript in a “shrunken” form (four pages per page) and cutting those pages up so that the manuscript looked like a deck of tarot cards. I then shuffled and reshuffled, literally, inviting chance to help guide the mix of narratives.

IA: Can you talk about chapter five, the abandoned manuscript, and why you came back to it for this book? Why was it abandoned?

JAA: Hadn’t thought about it as abandoned but that’s a good word for it. As if my list earlier, re:the stories that connected to the story of L, wasn’t expansive enough, from the start I intuited that these devil riffs I had in my files were related. I had started working on the devil riffs in 2011 after reading Luc Ferry’s A Brief History of Thought: A Philosophical Guide to Living. In it, he referenced the idea of “diabolos” or “the who who divides.” I remember writing that down in my notebook and thinking about it every once in a while, riffing on ideas of division and duality in free writes. The more I wrote, the more I felt that I wasn’t writing about religion directly, instead taking the devil on as a lens, how we humanize the devil and project onto them everything from our misdeeds to an idealized swagger and power.

So, the breakthrough of using one narrative as a lens with which to approach other narratives was practiced with the devil first. When I began working on what would be the first draft of this book, the devil riffs naturally came to mind as an element to put in play, at the time as foil, at other times as confidant. It was around this time, too, that the moment happened where the word devil was confused for double—a natural moment in conversation that made it into the world of the book. Every draft of this book had these devil riffs (I keep calling them riffs as they never felt like poems but more that they borrow from philosophy and aphorism) scattered throughout.

They always stood out to folks who read the manuscript, the reactions a mix of confusion and amusement. The idea of bringing them all together under one title came late in the process, and was born after reading an article about books that don’t exist. As I read it, it occurred to me that the devil riffs were their own book within a book, so I tried a draft with it. Once I saw them all together, I was inspired to add some further riffing, turning out what you see in the final version.

This move allowed the role of the devil to be clear while also engaging with the ambiguity in the way that I envisioned. This book within a book allowed for a different voice from the main speaker of the manuscript. This shift also allowed the devil voice to address a “you” which is both me and the reader of the book, which is eerie (I hope). Suddenly the devil is not just the usual projections and excuses (the devil made me do it) but also devil as conscience, devil as speaking in a more assertive register than the speaker elsewhere.

Note, too, that the devil says things that L turns out to have said, and also riffs against some of the speaker’s own words. Here, again, the idea of the double. The play of “Devil or nothing” was one of the final things to be written. I suppose that the manuscript is abandoned in order to enact the “nothing” half of it.

IA: Were there any parts of this that felt uniquely difficult to write about?

JAA: All of it, haha! I mean, what I’ve shared so far about the process of writing this book I hope shows the lengths I was willing to go both in terms of writing craft but also personal growth as well. I knew I had my work cut out for me when my dissertation committee (all white cis-het males) responded to the book by calling it “sexy.” Soon as I heard that response, I realized that I had written it all wrong. My goal hadn’t been to write some Henry Miller-esque text that exalted in toxic heteronormativity, and yet, that was what I had written. Through my formal education, it was all I knew how to write. It was yet another lesson of trusting myself to write from my authentic self rather than some perceived, white idea of literariness.

This has always been the struggle, to write the thing in the way only I can write it. Academia and creative writing are very white spaces. I mean, I’ve shared that my focus for the Ph.D. were Latinx/e poetics and hybrid forms, but I ended up fielding questions about T.S. Eliot, Ezra Pound, and the translations of Richard Howard—none of which were on my reading lists or were written about in my exams. I specifically dived into my studies to ground myself in Latinx/e traditions and yet here I was having to talk about the frkn Wasteland and Whitman. That’s what I mean by calling these spaces white. It’s an influence so pervasive that marginalized writers have to actively dismantle and seek out other traditions. The other aspect that felt distinctly difficult to write about was my queerness as it relates to my family.

Only now that the project is done am I able to see the implications of what I named in this project, specifically the homophobia inherit not just in my family but in Latinx/e culture in general. It’s something I teach about—how Latinidad is an imperfect concept and needs to be regarded as living and in need of critique as well as efforts toward restorative justice for its inherent anti-Blackness and homophobia—but in the same way that I wouldn’t let myself see myself as a survivor, I haven’t been able to see myself as affected by it. Only recently have I allowed myself to own my queerness, and with the positive of acceptance necessarily comes the acknowledgment of what kept me from accepting myself.

IA: Can you speak more on the juxtaposition of sex and violence in this book?

JAA: What’s that Tolstoy quote? “Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” It’s not enough to say I grew up in a dysfunctional family as every family dysfunctions differently.

I grew up with the United States version of toxic masculinity fed to me through TV and school, but I also inherited machismo through my family. I was raised by two strong women, my mom and my tia, who through their love and hard work helped keep me alive, and yet, even without the presence of a man in the house, machismo crept through the sexualized, gendered teasing I’d receive and the gendered expectations of what a man should be. That’s the insidious nature of patriarchal violence; we pass it on unintentionally if we’re not careful.

There’s also the violence of systemic oppression, of growing up below the poverty line, of living with the fear of border patrol and INS. I knew I didn’t want to perpetuate toxic stereotypes of the male gaze but more the violence and harm people cause each other through ignorance and despite good intentions (along with bad intentions). There’s also the violence of an eating disorder, a condition of self-harm tinged and/or urged on, in some part, by sexual desire, the need to be attractive.

I name all this to say that some of what I’m interrogating here is the ways in which sex and violence imply each other. That it’s not a simple thing. The first night L touched me physically didn’t have to happen; and when it did happen, there was the intimacy of sex as well as the intrusion of violence, of crossed lines. I guess I’m saying the book is messy because life is which is something I don’t want to have to say, mainly because it’s what scholars say to excuse and justify Eliot’s Wasteland.

IA: Considering the narrator’s struggles with family and identity, how did you approach queerness and forming communities in Ruin & Want?

JAA: I’m noting that there’s a theme in my responses, that of unpacking and de-obfuscating what the story/stories of this manuscript were. As I spoke of earlier, my queerness wasn’t part of the original mix, not really. I did try to include some vague gestures toward queerness early on, but it fell flat. Not until I was able to acknowledge within myself that I am queer was I able to own the experiences and the relevant narratives. A lot of the block for myself—both in my life and on the page—was formed by violence. I spoke earlier of the homophobia in my family and the Latinx/e community, but there were also harmful interactions with supposed friends, would- be partners. Lots of blurred lines and toxic denial and judgment.

When Sundress Publications picked up the manuscript, that acceptance led to a whole other chunk of the book coming into being. Literally, SP’s acceptance gave me permission to accept myself. There were countless times when I almost shelved this manuscript for good. I would have these thoughts in my head: Does the world need another man writing about his sex life Does the world need a man taking up space talking about his survival of sexual abuse when there are more dire, more legitimate cases of abuse that need to be discussed?

The publishing world as well as academia give you plenty of opportunity for self-erasure. If not careful, you can edit yourself and your manuscript out of existence. It was only after I took the time to realize what the story was that I was telling—that it was a queer narrative, that I was a survivor—and let myself see myself in those terms, and see my family, and see L—only because of all that work was I able to keep going and see this manuscript through.

The acceptance by Sundress sparked a deeper revision. It also let me know community was out there. I want to give a shout-out as well to Elizabeth J. Colen who gave an encouraging response to the manuscript early on. Meant the world to me. Another thing about community: so much of the road to writing to the end of this book has been realizing not just that I’ve been queer this whole time, but that I’ve been creating community along the way. I have another poet and dear friend, Temple Loveli, who recently encouraged me not to discredit my queerness.

For the longest time I thought in terms of not wanting to take up space, that even if I was queer, I didn’t belong, that there were others more deserving of that space than me. See again how we can erase ourselves long before anyone can try to erase us? I hadn’t thought of my family erasing me in this way, that whenever they were homophobic I just took it as cultural, the way of the world, but that my unease in those moments was a sign of being erased, of something being wrong, which there was socially, but also that there was something wrong happening personally to me.

IA: Why did you name the last section “epilogue,” rather than an eighth chapter?

JAA: I wanted to mark a shift in tone and perspective, that the narrative whirlwind was dying down and some sense of closure for the reader (if not the speaker) was in sight. Also, I feel like the I in this section is more assertive, doing the work to make clear connections across narratives, less of letting the reader do the work.

IA: How did you decide to end the book with another poet’s words? In this case, with Yeats?

JAA: I have Samantha Edmonds (Associate Prose Editor at Sundress Publications) to thank for that ending. In some of the later drafts, the epilogue section was a little too on the nose, a lot of underscoring my intentions in the book rather than letting them ring and resonate. When she pointed out the image in the Yeats reference as a possible ending, it felt right.

There’s also that quote about all of us being in the gutter only some of us are looking at the stars—there’s some of that in that last line. Also the feeling that the reading experience of this book is a “blur” of memory and narrative that leaves us looking at the “stars.” That starts as things romanticized but also, as the devil tells us in the book, they are things that are “dead inside” as well. That mix of darkness and light, hope and nihilism, pues, that’s where I live.

Ruin & Want is available to order on the Sundress website.

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José Angel Araguz, PhD is the author most recently of Rotura (Black Lawrence Press, 2022). His poetry and prose have appeared in Prairie Schooner, Poetry International, The Acentos Review, and Oxidant | Engine, among other places. He serves as an Assistant Professor at Suffolk University, where he is the Editor-in-Chief of Salamander, and is also a faculty member of the Solstice Low-Residency MFA Program. He blogs and reviews books at The Friday Influence

Izzy Astuto (he/they) is a writer currently majoring in Creative Writing at Emerson College. When not in Boston for college, they live in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. His work has previously been published by Hearth and Coffin, Sage Cigarettes, and Renesme Literary, amongst others. When not writing, he can often be found watching movies and crocheting.

The Sundress Academy for the Arts is hosting its fourth generative writing retreat celebrating survival and healing on March 22-23, 2024. This two-day retreat for sexual assault survivors will be held in Oak Ridge, TN and will be a safe space for creativity, generative writing exercises, discussions on ways to write trauma, advice on publishing, and more. Come join us in mutual support for a weekend of writing time for healing, safety, and comfort.

The event will be open to writers of all backgrounds and provide an opportunity to work with many talented poets and writers from around the country including Monica Prince, [sarah] Cavar, Najya Williams, Karo Ska, Aly Tadros, Beth Couture, Krista Cox, and Erin Elizabeth Smith.

Session topics include the following:

• Labor of Delight
• Speculative F(r)iction: Writing Mad, Unruly Trauma-Truths
• The Pleasure Principle: Writing Erotic Poetry after Trauma
• From Inside the Margins: Using Narrative to Facilitate Intercommunal Healing
• Giving Voice to Our Emotions: Writing Through Difficult Feelings

The weekend event runs from 12PM on Friday through 8PM on Saturday and includes group instruction, a reading by workshop leaders, an open mic, writing supplies, and meals. Writers will need to provide their own overnight accommodations.

To apply for the retreat, please send a packet of no more than (8) pages of creative writing in any genre along with a brief statement (no more than 250 words) on why you would like to attend this retreat. Applications are due by January 15^th, 2024.

Apply here!

Thanks to a generous grant from the Academy of American Poets, all fees for selected applicants will be waived. We will require a small, refundable deposit to hold your space. Attendees will be required to show proof of Covid vaccination and a negative Covid test before the retreat.

Sundress Academy for the Arts Grant Manager and current farmhouse Writer-in-Residence, Alexa White, spoke with SAFTA intern, Kyle Wente, about her writing and residency.

Kyle Wente: Why is art important for you to create right now? What’s been inspiring you lately?

Alexa White: What I’ve been writing lately has been pretty introspective and, paradoxically, I’ve been inspired to explore it through my surroundings and the landscapes I’m coming into contact with— it’s very setting-driven. In fact, the holler and spaces in the vicinity of Firefly Farms have been very inspirational!

However, with all the terrible things going on globally right now (and always), it feels weird to write about my own problems when such overt oppression and violence take place daily, hourly even. I don’t know the best way to talk about it in a creative mode at this point, so I’m hoping what I’m writing can connect with at least a few people in the meantime.

KW: You’ve said in the past that Knoxville is your “semi-hometown.” Where else do you call home, and how do you think your writing manifests both sides?

AW: I was born in Chesapeake, Virginia and lived there until I was 10. I’ve only visited once since leaving so I feel pretty disconnected from it, physically and mentally, despite all my memories. While I’ve connected more to Knoxville creatively and think of it as my home, having previously lived somewhere very different has given me an ability to examine and appreciate this area that I wouldn’t have if I was born here. I’ve been here almost 15 years and am still finding new ways to look at it and write about it.

KW: What excites you the most about your writing and writing experience during the SAFTA residency?

AW: Definitely the other residents! I’ve met so many amazing people from all over and had some great connections, conversations, and shared experiences. As for my own writing, being around other writers makes me want to write more. As an introvert, I was pretty nervous coming in, but the environment here is instantly communal; often we’ll all be writing and doing our thing in the same room right after meeting. I especially love sharing work and hearing what other people have been working on. 

KW: What are you working on right now?

AW: I’ve noticed in the past year or so that most of my poetry often revolves around driving or cars, so I’ve been leaning into that obsession and trying to understand where the urge is coming from. I like the idea of exploring my experiences with isolation, escapism, and depression through the lens of a driver moving through landscapes while being detached, alienated or even threatened by them. I’m hoping these poems could become a chapbook at some point.

KW: What forms are you interested in working with at the moment? What’s a form or style you want to write in?

AW: Along with fiction, I’ve been wanting to experiment with screenwriting for a while now. I’ve always loved film and, after taking a great screenwriting class during my last semester at UTK, really came to enjoy and appreciate it as a form. For me, it’s almost a bridge between fiction and poetry because, in addition to being narrative, scripts rely on imagery and attention to visual details. Every description should be there for a specific reason. I’ve started writing a few scenes for a little project I’ve been working on— right now I’m just seeing where it takes me. 

KW: What has been your favorite part of your SAFTA residency?

AW: After the human residents, my favorite things are the animals and space. As someone who gravitates towards chaos rather than routine, it’s been nice to have an immediate responsibility to jumpstart my day. The furry ones gotta eat, and once that’s done I’ll go from there. I’ve really come to love the holler and its lovely quirks too. It’s serene and quiet but very alive and sometimes bustling. It’s become a home away from home but only 25 minutes from home.

KW: What’s something you want everyone to know about your upcoming work?

AW: That it may take some time and is probably going to be pretty weird!

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Alexa White is a mixed-race, neurodivergent writer and graduate of the University of Tennessee, Knoxville, where she earned her BA in creative writing and studio art. While attending, she won the 2022 Bain-Swiggett prize for traditional poetry forms and her poetry and art has appeared in The Phoenix, the school’s literary and arts magazine. Alexa lives in Knoxville, her semi-hometown, and is the Grants Manager at Sundress Academy for the Arts. She takes delight in backroads, quarries, and the last few seconds of sunset and redefines her bedtime nightly.

Kyle J. Wente (he/him) graduated from the University of Tennessee, where he studied English and Creative Writing. He has served as Editor of Poetry for Sequoya Review in Chattanooga, TN. He loves nature, playing bass, and co-parenting his partner’s ten-year-old beagle, Marlowe Eugene.

Poets in Pajamas (PiP), a Sundress Publications reading series, is organizing a cohort of readers for 2024 and invites you to apply! 

Poets in Pajamas is an online reading series which prides itself on producing high-quality poetry readings for an online audience. Hosted on Zoom and live-streamed to Facebook, two readers are paired together per reading to perform for twenty minutes each and answer audience questions for an additional fifteen minutes. 

We are interested in hearing from all writers around the globe, but we particularly welcome writers that identify as being a part of disenfranchised communities (such as, but not limited to: persons of color, those from immigrant populations, native and indigenous people, LGBTQ+, d/Deaf and Disabled, non-binary folks, members of non-dominant religious groups, all women, Dreamers, the formerly incarcerated, and more). We want to promote you and your work. 

This year, we are pleased to offer a $250 honorarium to each of our readers by way of the Poetry Foundation’s generous “Poetry Programs, Partners, and Innovations” grant! 

To apply, submit three (3) poems or up to six (6) pages of flash fiction or micro fiction. Also submit a short video of you reading your work (note: please send a new video of you reading in a quiet place, such as at home, in your garden, in front of your computer, or in your living room). Read for no more than 1 to 2 minutes. Include in your submission a bio, a brief cover letter, and an author photo. Submissions must be addressed to: poetsinpajamas@gmail.com. Submissions close December 18, 2023. 

Note: We’re NOT concerned with audio/video quality, nor your appearance. We are looking to get to know your reading style as a means of connecting your magical words with your personal flair! Don’t overthink, please apply! We would be honored to consider your work. 

In the wake of the release of her full-length poetry collection, Nocture in Joy, Tatiana Johnson-Boria spoke with Sundress Publication’s editorial intern K Slade about Black Womexhood, generational trauma, and the beauty of unrestricted Black joy.

K Slade: The speaker recollects their time during childhood, sharing intimate and loaded moments with their close family. Was it hard to transport yourself back in time to a place where the world was so big but you were so small? Or were these moments the speaker reflects on ingrained in you, something you could innately write about?

Tatiana Johnson-Boria: I currently live with PTSD, and I think that I needed to care for myself while also allowing myself to speak the truth of my experience in this book. The process was difficult, and these moments will always be prominent because they are the core of my own survival. I am not thankful for these moments, yet I’m not afraid of them. I am mostly in earnest care for the versions of myself who endured the things I discuss in this book.

KS: How did you navigate the separation between the male characterization in your poems (particularly in “My Brother Outruns a Dog on W. Concord St.” and “My Father Hums in the Kitchen and for the First Time This is Art”) and the characterization of your women?

TJB: I really wanted to center the Black womxnhood/womanhood in this collection. I don’t see the male characters as separate but as in connection with the speaker. Some of these connections are harmful, yet some of them are loving and full of care. I also think there is a moment where tenderness is central to the male figures in this collection. Yet, this isn’t an overarching characterization of males in general. I tried not to make overt generalizations and focus on the humanity of all the people in this collection while also being truthful to my own experiences.

KS: You’ve dedicated your poetry collection to “Black Womxn” of any and all embodiments. How do Black Womxn shape your unfolding narrative? What pieces of Black womxnhood mean the most to you within your collection?

TJB: There’s this famous quote by Toni Morrison that says: “If there’s a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.” As a writer, this is something I’m always doing. As a Black woman who comes from Black womxn, of all origins, it felt organic to dedicate this book to them and to the versions of myself that desperately needed to read this book. There are also so many parts of my healing journey that center Black feminist teachings and for me, I would not have survived without the ecosystems created for me by Black womxn.

KS: In “Ars Poetica,” you write “A walk through a field carrying my mother’s wounds // The glorious gap in my grandmother’s teeth // The iron swallowing the wrinkles from my sister’s dress // My stubborn brothers throw their heads back in laughter I marvel the harvest of their uncombed kinks //A phantom of a father the tremor of his voice.” What does it mean to carry all these lives on such tiny shoulders?

TJB: I think a lot about generational trauma, and I find it surreal to know our lives stem from lives lived before us. All of these things are embedded in who we are, from the smallest detail to the most immense memory. I focused on the things from my past that I only saw glimpses of but that tell such a big story about my lineage. I got so much inspiration from Joy Harjo’s poem “Perhaps the World Ends Here” and the way she uses a kitchen table to weave through time, memory, and ancestral experiences.

I wanted to emulate the way a poem can do that, and I found an avenue through fragmented mages. These fragments, to me, feel easier to hold onto, and because of this more possible to hold.

KS: Many of your poems center on the weight of generational trauma, such as the opening stanzas of “Ars Poetica” and “Another Death.” How do you think the uniqueness of the Black experience contextualizes generational trauma? How does it impact the speaker in your collection?

TJB: The Black experience is rich and vast, and racism, in the United States, actively violates the depth and beauty of Blackness. I recently visited the Simone Leigh exhibit entitled “Sovereignty.” The art was created in an examination of Black femme identity and the state of being sovereign. Simone Leigh writes: “To be sovereign is to not be subject to another’s authority, another’s desires, or another’s gaze, but rather to be the author of one’s own history.”

I saw this exhibit after writing this book but couldn’t help but see the connection. Simone Leigh is examining Blackness and I’m examining Blackness, and there’s a thread of “being the author of one’s story” that binds us. This is something I see as a unique aspect of Black identity. We are learning to love, care, and be ourselves in a society that actively violates us.

Blackness is infinite and sacred. It’s not only the relationship between Blackness and white supremacy that echoes into the life of the speaker, it’s the relationship between the speaker and their own Blackness that encourages the writing of their own story and existence. This is core to the speaker’s survival.

KS: “Add Half & Half for Sweetness” embodies what it’s like being a Black girl in the South. You write “The woman whose hair is as unruly as mine says there is something wrong when the cake is too dry to always add creamer to please the palate. My hair is burning in her kitchen an iron close hissing my scalp the static of my hair bakes knots smooth.” How do the female relationships within your collection speak to the trauma of growing up as a Black girl?

TJB: There’s a line in the poem “Nocturne in Joy: where the speaker states: “I am old enough to know that no man has ever come to save me//the way a woman has.” This line encompasses much of the core of how crucial Black women, womxn, and femme relationships are. These relationships are crucial not just for survival, but in being seen. In being seen, we can be heard, and being seen in a community of Black people upends what has historically and what is currently occurring (violence, neglect, etc.) for Black women, womxn, and femmes in our society. In archiving these moments of care between Black people, we are tending and caring for Black people to thrive.

Nocturne in Joy is available to order on the Sundress website

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Tatiana Johnson-Boria (she/her) is a writer, artist, and educator. Her writing explores identity,  trauma, especially inherited trauma, and what it means to heal. Her work has been selected as a  finalist for the Prairie Schooner Book Prize, the Black Warrior Review Poetry Contest (2020),  and others. She is a recipient of the 2021 MacDowell Fellowship and the 2021 Brother Thomas  Fellowship. Johnson-Boria completed her MFA in Creative Writing at Emerson College and is a  2021 Tin House Scholar. Find her work in or forthcoming at Ploughshares, Kenyon Review,  Pleiades, and others.

K Slade (she/her) is a Black gothic and speculative fiction writer pursuing a BS in Digital Journalism and a Japanese minor at Appalachian State University. She currently serves as Visual Managing Editor for The Appalachian, her collegiate newspaper, and specializes in multimedia journalism. Horror media deeply inspired her love for the craft and in the future, K wants to write a script for a horror game. After undergrad, she hopes to move to New York and pursue an MFA in Creative Writing. 

Knoxville, TN—The Sundress Academy for the Arts is pleased to announce Poet-Tea Community Reading with The Bottom, featuring Joe Tolbert Jr., Jazmin Witherspoon, Felecia Outsey, a.k.a. “Sistah Felecity Luv,” and Asante Knowles. Join us on Saturday, December 9th at Pretentious Beer Co. from 2:00-4:00 PM for Sundress’ special tea blend, a reading, and open mic!

Joe T. is a minister, scholar, writer and cultural organizer whose work is at the intersections of art, culture, spirituality and social justice. He received his B.S. in Communications from the University of Tennessee, Knoxville, and completed his M.Div. with a concentration in Social Ethics from Union Theological Seminary in the city of New York.

Jazmin Witherspoon is a poet from Saint Louis, MO, though she has spent all her adult life thriving in the mountains of East Tennessee.  She received a BS in Communication from the University of Tennessee in 2017.  In 2020, she accepted a fellowship with the 5th Woman Poetry Collective.  Her poem “Roots of Revolution” was featured in the first issue of Pigeon Parade Quarterly. Jazmin is an MFA candidate in Creative Writing Poetry (‘24).  In her free time, Jazmin enjoys reading, singing, and cooking, and she dreams of combining her love of literature and travel into a television show.

Felecia Outsey, a.k.a. “Sistah Felecity Luv,” a native of Birmingham, AL and Graduate of Berea College is a Dancer, Instructor, Cultural Organizer, Community and Youth Advocate, and Artist. As Artistic Director of Divine Urban eXpressions Cultural Arts N Dance Productions, she founded the program in 2007 for talented yet underserved youth and young adults in Knoxville, TN. She aims to spread Faith, Hope, and Love in the community through Poetry and Dance alongside all the youth and young adults she serves. She is Motivated to Overcome Violence through Expression and truly believes that Love is the Answer.

Asante Knowles is a UTK grad student, creative artist, poet, musician, and philosopher. He aims to seek truth, find peace, and spread love through artistry. He’s the author of ebook titled “10 Dimensions of You” which gives a perspective of how looking at the space within can bring us into the space beyond. How your very essence in entangled with the essence of the universe. In the depths of nothing you are there expanding and growing into everything. Come take a look at this perspective to see where you can go beyond where you have ever been

This event is brought to you in part by grants provided by the Witter Bynner Foundation for Poetry and the Tennessee Arts Commission.

The Sundress Academy for the Arts is excited to present Poetry Xfit hosted by Emory Night. This generative workshop event will take place on Saturday, December 17^th from 2 to 4 pm EST via Zoom. Join us at the link tiny.utk.edu/sundress with the password “safta”. 

Poetry Xfit isn’t about throwing tires or heavy ropes, but the idea of confusing our muscles is the same. You will receive ideas, guidelines, and more as part of this generative workshop series in order to complete three poems in two hours. A new set of prompts will be provided after the writers have written collaboratively for thirty minutes. The goal is to create material that can be later modified and transformed into artwork rather than producing flawless final versions. The event is open to prose authors as well!

Emory Night is a queer author from East Tennessee. They are currently a senior at the University of Tennessee, Knoxville and are working on getting their bachelor’s in creative writing. They have worked as an intern for both Sundress Publications and SAFTA. They have been published in The Phoenix, a literary magazine at the University of Tennessee.

This event is brought to you in part by grants provided by the Witter Bynner Foundation for Poetry and the Tennessee Arts Commission. 

While this is a free event, donations can be made to the Sundress Academy for the Arts here.

Each month we split any Xfit donations with our community partner. Our community partner for December is The Bottom. To learn more visit https://www.thebottomknox.com/