CS: Is there a memory that sticks out for you from your experience with Karen Kao in a workshop? If so, would you mind relaying this?
DWM: Karen was quiet and thoughtful in our workshop, so it took me a day or two to realize just how deeply intelligent she was, how insightful. But once we came to know one another, I could sense her intellect and generous nature. I had a moment or two where I wondered if maybe she should be teaching the class and I should just shut up and sit down. But she was delightful, and the week went so well, much thanks to her.
CS: For SmokeLong, Kao writes about her reaction to a prompt you gave in a workshop about what to write about if one were to have six months left to live, stating, “But now that I am going through health issues of my own, I see this prompt as a great steer, though I don’t think the message is to go dark or avoid dragons in your writing. I think the idea is—whatever and however it is you write—you need to care deeply about the subject matter. Anything less is a waste of time.” As an editor, how is this reflective of Kao’s writing and the many amazing pieces Brevity has published through the years?
DWM: My purpose for that prompt is just what Karen suggests in her SmokeLong piece. I’ve observed over the years, working with writers at all levels, that there are areas of our lives that feel too precarious, too frightening to explore, areas that might unravel us if we tried to open them to honest exploration. So, we put it off, write around the margins, allude to that inner “secret” again and again without facing it head on. Maybe this is true of all artists, not just writers. But my experience is that when we go to that dark or mysterious place, it almost always reaps rewards—after some difficulty, maybe—but eventually. So, the prompt is simply a way of saying, “if not now, when?
DWM: As to the second part of your question, you are exactly right. When I speak of the need for ”urgency” in a piece of flash writing, I mean the urgency of expression, the pressing need to get our experience on the page. It is not a craft issue so much as an internal one, an act of artistic courage. (And just to be clear, this is easier said than done. I struggle with all of this myself.)
CS: About Taiwan 1969, as a BAE notable and Pushcart Prize winner, what about the essay stuck with you?
DWM: The opening metaphor is so rich, and rather daring, all of the octopus and oceanic imagery. Karen’s brilliant leap challenges the reader, momentarily confuses some readers, but expands her childhood story with such a mystical texture. It also expands how we understand cultural differences, I think. I remain in awe of how deftly she handles it all: “In the morning, my brothers and I are a school of sardines, devoted to the study of Mandarin. Our tutor, the parrotfish, sings to us in the four tones of bopomofo. Our bubbles break against his beaked face.” Just lovely.
