“BIOHAZARD”

By: Javi Fernández, age 11
Julian Maldonado, age 10

A stick and some moss were laying on the ground by a nuclear plant. Suddenly the alarms went off. The nuclear plant exploded, nuclear waste going everywhere and melding the moss and the stick together, giving it a temporarily paralyzed mind.  A month later a 10-year-old boy, Teddy, finds it and takes it to his tree house to use as a duster. The boy uses it once, then leaves it in a corner and forgets about it. Twelve years later the moss stick comes out of its coma realizing it can think and move independently. It names itself “Gorge” and heads into the forest. Thinking he’s still a plant, he tries to put himself in a tree. Suddenly a bird lands on him pushing him off onto a turtle, and he walks away saying, “Why were you in my way?!” Then the turtle says, “Where are your manners?” And Gorge says, “What are manners?” And the turtle says, “Oh, you aren’t educated,” and the turtle taught him everything that Gorge should know. Being educated, he names himself Frederick, and goes out to get a job. He tries to work at a law firm. They all ran away, scared. Then he tries to work as a mechanic, but he gets kicked out. After that he tries to work as a warehouse helper. They all hide from him. Dismayed, Frederick tries to work at McDonald’s. But the workers all walk away. Feeling useless, Frederick goes back to the tree house. Just then Teddy comes back from college. Then, he and Frederick team up to protest against nuclear waste and stuff.

Ed. Note:  Javi Fernández and Julian Maldonado will attend NEISD’s Science, Technology, Engineering, and Math (STEM) Middle School this Fall. “Gorge” is pronounced “George.” One of the authors explains that when “Gorge” named himself the first time, he was not yet educated.

Warren will teach the class, Dawn and Dusk: Crepuscular Writing, during Gemini Ink’s Summer Literary Festival. The class will take place July 18^th-20^th at Government Canyon State Natural Area and Gemini Ink. At the state park, class participants will hike at dawn and dusk, create journal entries about their experiences, and then, craft their journal entries into poems at Gemini Ink.

Gemini Ink intern Iris Ayala interviewed Warren about her upcoming class, the relationship between nature and art, her favorite poem about nature, and the current state of the environment.

After reading your interview with Denise Gamino from the Austin American-Statesman, I learned that you lead a haiku hike once a month. If any, what elements will you use from the haiku hike for the Dawn and Dusk: Crepuscular Writing class?

The thing that people who come on Haiku Hikes always say they appreciate the most is the silence.  I have participants hike at a very slow pace, no talking allowed, in order to allow the windows of the senses to fully open.  Silence is like a pair of binoculars — you suddenly notice details that are very surprising.  The Crepuscular Writing workshop will utilize the same elements of hiking and silence, but I’ll also be sharing writing prompts I don’t use on Haiku Hikes, and we’ll be paying special attention to how the quality of light affects our sense of being, our imaginations, and the rhythms of our writing.

What is it about the crepuscular time that interests you? Have you explored the time between dawn and dusk before?

I’m a runner and my favorite time to run is early in the morning, because the gradual shift from dark to dawn feeds my spirit in a way nothing else does. For the same reason, my favorite time to take walks is at dusk.  The blending of light and dark, the brief overlap of day and night evokes peace and reflection. I’m better able to listen to myself during crepuscular interludes.

From a naturalist perspective, how would you explain the relationship between nature and the inspiration to write or create art? When writing poems about nature, do you think writers are simply trying to make sense of nature or is it much deeper than that?

I would say that the inspiration to write or create is itself a force of nature, a sign that one is in “right relationship” to the ground of our being. That ground of being can’t be separated from the natural world, from the long trajectory of earth’s history, from the laws of physics.  I personally find it very helpful to get out of the city from time to time in order to hike and sit in a wildscape like Government Canyon — it feeds the roots of imagination by literally grounding me.  But you don’t have to leave the city to make this connection. Sky, bird, insect, rock, breeze — these are available everywhere, and to me these are the most essential vocabulary of poetry.

Who is your favorite naturalist poet? What is your favorite poem about nature?

I could not survive without poetry.  I really admire the work of Mark Doty, Linda Hogan, Issa, Randall Jarrell, Mary Oliver, and Pattiann Rogers. But I have to say my favorite poem is Mark Doty’s “A Green Crab’s Shell.”

With the Gulf Coast oil spill in mind, what do you think about the current state of the environment? How can we, as writers, give nature a voice? And how can we also listen to nature better?

The BP oil spill has torn a huge hole in my heart that gets bigger every day. And it is only one tragic consequence of our whole addiction to fossil fuels. It is past wake up time. I believe we all have a responsibility to address climate change by making deep, essential changes in the way we live.  Because writers are deep listeners, we have a unique role to help others listen. Through our use of image, sound, and story, we can help others re-imagine both our present path and our collective future.

Rosdahl will conduct the class, Structural Biomimicry in Short Prose, during Gemini Ink’s Summer Literary Festival. The class will be held the week of July 12 through July 15. Class participants will examine some of nature’s processes and models and use those insights to create similar structures within their writing.

Gemini Ink intern Megan Peak interviewed Rosdahl and discussed his writing process, fascination with Oulipo, and what inspires him to write.

Megan Peak: Can you tell us more about your interest in Oulipo and how you use those techniques in your own writing?

Lyle Rosdahl: Oulipo is a literary movement that, generally, uses constraints. We all use constraints, though they are often overlooked. I find that when I am conscious of the constraints I use, my writing opens up and I am surprised and pleased by what it produces. I’m partial to visual constraints, but love the idea of patterns (in structure or in ideas) and series. Some constraints that I’ve used recently are using tarot cards to push a story in mysterious directions. I let the cultural subconscious understanding of tarot cards (and the images more literally) affect the direction of the story. Recently I’ve used structures informed by nature to write stories (the path of a slug or the lines on a snail’s shell). I find this challenging and liberating.

How does photography influence and connect to your writing?

Imagery is very important in my work. Not only do I love to use senses in my work, but I love the interconnectedness of image/language (what is language, but image?). I created and have been facilitating a collaborative (Postcard Fiction Collaborative) for almost a year now in which I and other writer friends respond to an image (usually a photograph of some kind). They are short fictional (mostly) responses and it’s interesting to see where our ideas intersect and diverge. Photography is such a powerful art form (and one that I enjoy pursuing) and my interest in cross genre and cross form work naturally moves toward it.

You have a blog, “dead rats press,” how is it the “ultimate workout” and is there any significance behind the rat?

I change the “description” every so often and I liked the pun on this considering I had originally started a website by that name (the address is different now: lylerosdahl.com) with the intent to self-publish, maybe even start a small press of some kind. The pun is in using “press” as an action — both mental and physical. The idea of using a dead rat to exercise with is rather ridiculously funny. I also hope that people will take something away from the site, that it will challenge the reader. I did do a little self-publishing, but I’m not very good at promoting myself. I kept the name for no real reason other than it being something I had picked originally. I do like the rather morbid idea of a dead rat. They’re tough buggers (I mean they can eat through metal) and somehow their mortality is poignant to me in that Buddhist sort of way of staring at a human skull for days as a way to enlightenment. I guess I think of writing like that.

What does your revision process look like?

I tend to be a pretty erratic writer as it is. That is I get up and walk around and wash the dishes or do laundry as I’m writing. I find that breaking up the experience lets my mind breath a little bit. That also means that I’m constantly revising because I’m thinking about what I wrote and how to continue. I believe that writers shouldn’t just bull their way ahead (though, of course, everyone is different), but should stop and think about where the story is taking them. That said, it’s very important to sit down and write and then put the work away (sometimes for weeks or even months) and then come back to it with a fresh eye. I probably don’t do this often enough, but whenever I do I find that there are changes I can make to create a stronger story (typos, of course, but larger issues and questions often crop up).

What, or who, inspires you to continue writing?

It sounds a little corny and overused, but I feel compelled to write. Or rather I feel awful if I don’t. That impulse is really a horrible feeling of guilt. Sure I can bask in the glow of a story or prose poem or what have you (the wonderful way that words play into each other, the ideas they create, language), but that feeling is temporary. It’s the lack of sleep and frayed nerves that really get me going. I suppose when it comes down to it, that means writing is an integral part of my psyche. And a fairly cruel part at that.