Index as fiction, mess as virtue.
I first met Suzanne Scanlon just under a decade ago, both of us in a small conference room filling out forms for adjunct teaching gigs at an arts school in Chicago. I remember looking at this composed, smiling woman in that yearning kind of way, as I was longing for female friendship, especially with other writers. We were both, as I was later to learn, there to teach literature and writing, but I don’t think we had a conversation about it then. Being a writer wasn’t something either of us announced. I really met her, I think, through her writing, as she confessed to me several years later that she kept a blog (I had started one, too). I remember reading entries on her blog that became drafts for her book Promising Young Women and being completely struck by this intimate and searching voice, this memory project, and also a library of a mind inhaling and referencing literature voraciously, as if it was a crucial life force. It was through Suzanne’s blog and our correspondence that I began to feel a sense of community as a writer. I felt this same admiration and kinship reading Her 37th Year: An Index (Noemi Press, 2015), her fictional essay of a life and a marriage.[ Read More ]