An Interview with Ted Morrissey, Brady Harrison, and Grant Tracey

The October 30 Final Thursday Reading Series features a live recording of the podcast A Lesson before Writing with co-hosts Ted Morrissey, Brady Harrison, and Grant Tracey. Morrissey is the author of numerous books, including the award-winning novels Mrs. Saville and Crowsong for the Stricken, and the publisher of Twelve Winters Press. Harrison is a scholar of Western American literature whose creative work includes the books A Journey to Al Ramel and The Term Between: Stories. Tracey is the author of the just-released novel, A Shoeshine Kill, the fourth book in the Hayden Fuller Mystery Series, and Fiction Editor for the North American Review. 

The Final Thursday Reading Series takes place at the Hearst Center for the Arts in Cedar Falls, Iowa. There will be an open mic at 7:00 p.m. (bring your best five minutes of original creative writing). The featured reading/podcast begins at 7:30 and will also be simulcast on Zoom. Click to register for a link.

Interview by Faith Okon. 

FAITH OKON: How did you three decide to start this podcast? What keeps you coming together for these conversations?

TED MORRISSEY: I know it was my idea or at my instigation, but I’m not exactly sure what got me thinking about it in particular. The three of us got together in the same physical space the first (and only, so far) time in Albuquerque, for the Southwest Writers Conference (in 2021, I think, or 2022) and had a blast talking about writing and books, etc. So doing a regular podcast would give us the opportunity to get together (remotely) and have those same kinds of conversations. I delayed starting it for a while because I thought I’d need special equipment, and software, and know-how. But then we started doing Zoom readings to launch books, and I realized we could use that technology to do a podcast. At first, I thought we’d just do a YouTube-based podcast, but some early watchers encouraged me to expand to other platforms, so I added Spotify and Apple Podcasts. I really enjoy our conversations and look forward to them every month.

BRADY HARRISON: The podcast! When Ted proposed it, I thought, sure, why not? What could be better: we get together once a month to talk about books, writing, publishing, journals, teaching, and more: what’s not to like? I look forward to catching up with Ted and Grant, and I especially like the old school, DIY feel of it: we have a topic in mind, but we also let the conversation go where it will, and we don't worry too much about tech or glam. (Grant and I were raised on punk, and back in the day, he used to invite me to sit in on his punk rock radio show, “The Spirit of ‘77,” and it feels like we just picked up where we left off: talking about the things that matter to us.) What I like most about the podcast: being in community with Ted and Grant and our listeners.

GRANT TRACEY: I just love hanging out with the guys and talking art. In the past few years, I’ve delved into writing a series of crafting crime articles for the North American Review’s Open Space platform, and when we get together, it expands my base of knowledge for future articles and helps me appreciate the work editors do. From both Ted and Brady, I’ve learned to have a greater appreciation for experimental literature and works that demand a lot from their readers. Brady’s new novel, A Journey to Al Ramel, is absolutely amazing, and it works on two levels: it’s accessible storytelling and has a sturdy adventure plot line, but it’s also rich in meta detailing, allusions, and connections to other works. And Sean Flynn shows up. How cool is that? 

FO: Throughout your discussions on the podcast, you’ve covered a wide range of topics related to writing and literature. How do you decide what themes to focus on for each episode?
TM: I select the featured story that we do in each podcast. Often times, though, I have in mind something Brady brought up or something Grant brought up in a previous episode, and that leads me to select this story versus that story. In the days leading up to a recording, one of us may jump on our text thread with an idea that we may want to talk about. Sometimes we actually get to that idea, but many times we don’t. The conversation just veers off in a certain direction, and we go with it. I teach creative writing for two different universities (undergrads for one, MFA students for another), so I’ll come up with ideas I want to talk about based on things that come up in my classes. Both Brady and Grant have a wealth of teaching experience, so I’m always curious how they might respond to a particular issue. In sum, the featured short story we’re going to talk about (recently published in a lit journal) provides some structure, and we have a vague idea of things we might want to address. But really, it’s free-flowing, and we never know for sure what we’re going to talk about. We never run out of things to say; we always have to cut off the episode.

BH: It’s just as Ted says: in the days leading up to the podcast, we’ll text back and forth: we should talk about X, or Y has really been on my mind of late (as I’m wrestling with a story or working on a novel or getting ready for classes), and we fire ideas back and forth and we sometimes get to them during the podcast and often we don’t. I like the energy of the conversation and the way things take on a life of their own. We have scores of topics we’d like to discuss about writing and writers and publishing and idea leads to idea—half the fun for me is how much I learn from our conversations. Most of all, I hope that our listeners get lots of ideas and practical advice about writing and publishing.

GT: I’m always blown away by what Ted and Brady have to say about the featured story for each podcast. They’re so smart and kind and empathetic to the work. And their genuine excitement creates an energy ball that we all toss around the room with vigor. It’s very cool. I always come away a richer man for having the conversation. I’d call our talks structured improv. We have a format, we have an opening topic, and then we riff. Sometimes, alas, I jump the gun and start talking about the featured story ahead of scheduled programming (because there’s something in the craft I want to get on Front Street and explore), much to the consternation of the fellas. LOL. 

FO: Have the discussions you’ve had on the podcast impacted your own writing or creative work? If so, how?

Ted Morrissey

TM: I find our conversations very stimulating. I get ideas for things to read and writing techniques to experiment with. Also, I’m forced to articulate things I have in mind but have never really fully grasped myself. Thinking through concepts and sharing them with these guys helps me to make those concepts more concrete and more useful. One specific example: I have a poetry collection coming out in 2026, and I thought about including a glossary with the collection. So I asked Grant and Brady what they thought: yes, glossary? No, no glossary? We had a really fascinating conversation about the pros and cons, and Brady and Grant came down on opposite sides of the question. Their feedback was really helpful (I’ve decided no glossary).

BH: Great questions. Just as Ted says, I learn from our conversations all the time. Every month, I get a chance to listen to really experienced writers talk about craft, and how to shape scenes, and how to handle dialogue and showing versus telling, and so much more. More, and as Ted also says, our conversations force me to think through and articulate (on the air!) my own practices and approaches and ideas. When I’m working on my own stuff, I often think: how would Ted handle this? How would Grant? I get to learn from deeply experienced and extraordinarily well-published writers, and it’s all for free! Best of all, it encourages me to keep evolving: we all have different approaches and philosophies, and I’m absorbing ideas and strategies all the time.

GT: Ditto to what Ted and Brady said. I’ve learned to have a greater appreciation for complex, experimental work. Moreover, Ted models, in my mind, what a good editor should be. If you like the work, publish it. Enter into the editorial process, but don’t hijack it. Respect the work and approach what you’re going to publish with humility, aligning yourself with the artist’s vision. In terms of my own writing, I learned that less can be more. By that, I don’t mean minimalism; I mean don’t try to create uncertainty for the sake of placing the readers in uncertainty. In my fourth Hayden Fuller novel, I got a little carried away with em-dashes at the end of every paragraph of dialogue, and I used free indirect discourse a bit too freely. I didn’t see my own flaws, but during one podcast, I went on and on about how I like the featured literary story for that week and how the writer mixed vivid prose with complex characterizations. The prose was clean, easy to follow, but dynamic. A few days later, Ted contacted me and said, kindly, “About that—your stories want to reach the truck drivers and the literary-minded, and I’m afraid they’re going to be confused by all the literary pyrotechnics on display and give up. I’ll publish the book as it is, but I want you to think about it.” I took the note, thought about it, and, in a final pass through of A Shoeshine Kill, made several changes for clarity. I think it makes the book much better. 

Brady Harrison

FO: What have been your favorite episodes or topics to discuss? Looking ahead, what are your plans for the future of the podcast?

TM: The only episodes that have been themed have been our October episodes, which have a Halloween-inspired theme. We talk about Gothic books, movies, and techniques of writing Gothic fiction. It’s a howling good time. Otherwise, we don’t have themes for our episodes. We talk about whatever comes up. In March, we’ll be at AWP in Baltimore. It will be the first time for Twelve Winters to have a booth at AWP. We probably won’t record an episode while we’re there, but we’ll interview various writers and use that material for bonus episodes (which we do from time to time).

BH: Agreed: I love the Halloween episodes. I often teach a course on the Brontës and the Gothic, and I can’t wait to talk about Gothic fiction and frights with Ted and Grant. More broadly, I also really enjoy discussing the stories that Ted selects. We cover a range, from very traditional to experimental, and some we love, and some we like less, but whatever the case, we dive as deeply as we can, in the time available, into the thematics and craft of each story. And, for the record: there’s a lot of truly astonishing work going on out there, and we’re glad to do what we can to spread the word.

GT: I love talking hockey, whenever we can talk hockey. 

Grant Tracey

FO: Is there any question I should have asked but didn’t? If so, can you ask and answer it?

TM: I talk to my students about the importance of writers having a community—other people who take writing and publishing as seriously as they do. Quite honestly, Grant and Brady are my community. They’re really the only people in my life who have such similar interests and experiences that I know they can relate to my goals and aspirations, my frustrations, my little victories. Their souls tick to the same rhythm, the same vibrations as mine, and that’s really important. I’m delighted to be their publisher but even more so to be their friend and colleague.

BH: Absolutely: why won’t Ted let Grant and me talk more about hockey during the podcasts?! (Just playin’, Ted! Grant and I grew up in Canada, so we come by our love for the game quite honestly.) I’ll close by agreeing with Ted: what’s best about the podcast, and working with Twelve Winters Press, is the community: we love books and stories and we love talking about writing and publishing, and we’re on each other’s side: I can’t wait to hear what the guys have been up to since we last met and to hear more about their ongoing work and publications and more. We may never be famous and rich, but we do get to do what we love, and I hope that that shows in the podcast. To quote Austin Powers, it’s all very groovy!

GT: I really love these guys. It’s a treat to get together and rap. I think we’re all simpatico, kindred spirits. We care about art, each other, our students, and all those aspiring writers who are tuning in. We respect and listen to each other (we don’t always agree), and I learn something from every episode. And I think we’re all humble. We talk about the need for writers to have rhino hide to keep going, and I think that’s our goal: inspire others to keep going, keep writing!!

An Interview with Monica Roe

The 25th anniversary season of the Final Thursday Reading Series continues with young adult novelist Monica Roe. Her novels include Air, the Wilderness Ridge series, and Thaw. Support for this event comes from the Ila Hemm Visiting Author Program. The Final Thursday Reading Series takes place at the Hearst Center for the Arts in Cedar Falls, Iowa. There will be an open mic at 7:00 p.m. (bring your best five minutes of original creative writing). Monica Roe takes the stage at 7:30. The featured reading will also be simulcast on Zoom. Click to register for a link. 

Interview by Sheila Benson. 

SHEILA BENSON: I am fascinated by the many, many hats you wear. Can you talk about how your public health hat and disability inclusion hats influence your author hat? 
MONICA ROE: What a great question. Public health and disability inclusion advocacy evolved pretty organically from my early days of clinical practice as a physical therapist. Both look at the overall health and well-being of broader populations of people, including factors which may (or may not) adversely affect access to services, education, jobs, social integration/engagement, and quality of life as a whole. Being rural-born and raised, I found myself naturally drawn to rural and remote area clinical practice—in Alaska and elsewhere—which further led me to consider how factors such as disability, geography, rurality, and socioeconomic status present both unique challenges and opportunities for anyone who exists within those intersections. As for my writing, I think I finally realized that I tend to do my best work when I write what I know—which seems to have led me down a path of writing real stories for real kids doing real things in real places. While I never set out specifically to tell a "rural story," or an "inclusion story," or a "public health story," somehow those bits and pieces of all my experiences and interests always seem to thread themselves into my work in unexpected ways! 

SB: You split your time between Alaska and South Carolina, which is also fascinating. What brought you to both places? 
MR: Straight-up wanderlust. :) I wound up in Alaska about a year after graduating from physical therapy school. While I originally went with the intention of paying off my student loans (plenty of people don't want to work in AK in the dead of winter, so it can pay rather well), I soon fell in love with the place and ended up spending the vast majority of my clinical career practicing in small, off-road communities all over the state. South Carolina happened just as randomly. Four years into my Alaskan career, I asked my (then) travel recruiter to please send me someplace warm—just for one winter. I ended up working at a tiny, rural hospital in the center of South Carolina and enjoyed myself so much that I decided to stay for an entire year (just to see if I could commit to one job and one place for that long). Just as I was about to head back north, I ended up meeting my husband-to-be. Over the years, we've gone back and forth between AK and SC, with a couple of segues down into southern Belize for variety. We're currently based in SC, due to some extended family needs, but travel back to AK when we can and are always ready for the next adventure. 

SB: You keep bees! What brought you to beekeeping? Has beekeeping worked its way into any of your writing, and if so, how? 
MR: We stumbled into beekeeping by accident over ten years ago when we stopped by an educational booth at the South Carolina State Fair. We were immediately hooked and promptly joined our local beekeeping association to learn more. We have had as many as 24 hives in the past (that lasted exactly until we became parents, ha!). In this season of life, we generally keep about 3-5 hives at any given time, leave most of the honey for the bees to enjoy (we do take a frame or two for ourselves, of course!), and offer educational outreach on a local level from time to time. Honey bees are a lot of fun to work with and observe, and I find their strongly female-driven hierarchy wildly fascinating. Bees do find their way into my writing on occasion! For example, in Air, Emmie's best friend, Alejandra, is an aspiring beekeeper. I have a few bee-specific book ideas floating around in my brain, which hopefully may take shape for future projects—stay tuned. :) 

SB: How do you see your writing positively impacting rural health and rural spaces? Feel free to wax eloquent about all things place-based here. 😀
MR: The places that shape us can have such a profound impact upon who we are, how we engage with the world, and how we view ourselves. For rural communities--who are often either absent from or misrepresented by more dominant cultural narratives—I think that having authentic, nuanced, sensitive, and engaging portrayals of their daily realities can hold so much value. In my opinion, we need so many more writers from rural backgrounds working in and contributing to the publishing and storytelling world. Our numbers are slowly growing, but the needs are great. and many aspiring rural writers face unique barriers-—on multiple levels—to being welcomed into those spaces. I don't have many lofty views about my potential broader impacts as an author—imposter syndrome is real, y'all, and deep down, I'm just a kid from dairy country who somehow stumbled her way into this world and is figuring it out as she goes! But if I were to hope for my books to achieve only one thing, it would be for them to encourage kids of all abilities growing up in rural spaces to see and believe that their stories—and the places that shape them—hold value, beauty, and a whole universe of potential. 

SB: Finally, it wouldn't be an interview with me if I didn't ask about pets, specifically dogs. Do you have any dogs? Wish you did? 
MR: I'm not actually much of a dog person by nature! That said, my dog-adoring husband and daughter have brought me a long way since my single days of only keeping pet reptiles. We currently have two dogs running around our place, and I'm reasonably fond of them both. 😉 Sally, our elderly border collie, is far too smart for her own good, chronically anxious, and can be counted upon to ignore at least 75% of the directions I give to her. To counterbalance Sally's high-test nature, we also have Drumstick. Drummy is a corgi/fox terrier mutt with the ears of a fruit bat, the legs of a dachshund, the heart of a lovebug...and a very uncomplicated brain! Pretty much the only thing that ever upsets her is being left out of anything fun. 

Hoing & Hileman at FTRS

 

An Interview with Bao Phi

The 2024-25 Final Thursday Reading Series concludes with poet and children’s book author Bao Phi. Phi is the author of the poetry collection Thousand Star Hotel (Coffee House Press) and the children’s book A Different Pond (Capstone Young Readers), a Caldecott Honor book. He is also a performance poet who is a two-time Minnesota Grand Slam champion and a National Poetry Slam finalist.

The Final Thursday Reading Series takes place at the Hearst Center for the Arts in Cedar Falls, Iowa. There will be an open mic at 7:00 p.m. (bring your best five minutes of original creative writing). Bao Phi takes the stage at 7:30. The featured reading will also be simulcast on Zoom. Click HERE to register for a link.

Interview by Maeve Miller.

MAEVE MILLER: In Thousand Star Hotel, you explore your experiences as a Vietnamese American, addressing issues of racism, violence, and discrimination. What role do you see poetry playing in challenging societal prejudices, particularly regarding the “invisibility” you reference in your poems?

BAO PHI: I believe all of us need to contribute to changing the world and engaging in dialogue with the tools we have and in the arenas we operate, and poetry happens to be mine. And not by accident: I come from a big, economically poor refugee family. Poetry is an inexpensive art form, generally speaking, and I gravitated towards it both for those pragmatic reasons and because of the freedom of form it offered. Because poetry doesn’t have a huge readership in America, I don’t know if it’s the most effective tool to mitigate invisibility, to be honest. But for what it’s worth, I came up through spoken word, and there’s something to the urgency and the audience-building capability of that art form, especially in the late 90s through the early aughts, that provided an opportunity to communicate your ideas to broad swathes of the community. And it helped that a lot of spoken word artists came from various historically marginalized, systemically silenced communities. 

MM: Your book also contains powerful reflections on fatherhood and raising a child. How has being a father influenced your poetry and perspective?

BP: I didn’t really write biographical poems until I became a father. My first book was largely made up of persona poems. When my partner and I at the time decided to have a child together, we went to a lot of meetings with doctors, care practitioners, doulas, and midwives. I remember going to a meeting where we went through a questionnaire. It asked if anyone in either of our families had survived war. And it really struck me. Although I was just a baby during that trauma, there were studies that suggested that though I may not have conscious memories of it, it's in my DNA, and I'd pass it along to my kid. So I felt like if something were to happen to me, what would my kid have to try and understand that chunk of them that they inherited from me? So I started writing more poems that leaned biographical.

MM: Parents shape our lives and our worldviews in one way or another. Your parents’ experiences as refugees often come up in your poems here—I’m remembering “Frank’s Nursery and Crafts,” “To Combust,” and “Lead,” to name a few. How do you approach writing about trauma that is both personal and intergenerational?

BP: Very carefully. I’m protective of my parents and my kid for very different reasons. There are multiple tensions I hold when writing these poems: how will my parents, who don’t have any power or influence in the American court of public opinion or the literary world, be perceived and subsequently treated? Is what I’m writing useful to anyone, or is it poverty porn, or trauma porn? There are a lot of tensions that, I think, any writer who chooses to explore personal experience has to reckon with. 

MM: As a spoken word artist who also publishes written poetry, how does your process differ when writing for the page versus the stage?

BP: There isn’t a difference. I approach both the writing of the poem, and then the reading or performance of a poem, as craft. When I choose to read a poem on stage or on a recording, each poem requires a different approach, a different energy. I write the poem first and worry about the performance later. But I want to emphasize that the reading of the poem is also craft. It’s labor, it’s practice. 

MM: You’re also a children’s book author whose work includes the Caldecott Award-winning A Different Pond? Can you talk about that process and what makes it similar to or different from writing poetry?

BP: It’s similar in that the art form itself lends to brief and dramatic form. You’re looking to condense. It’s different in that you don’t have to rely solely on your words. There are some things the illustrator can do for you in collaboration. For instance, in my newest book, there’s a part of the story where I want a character to reflect on their past. In a poem, I’d need to do that in verse. But in a picture book, I can make a note that I want the pages to convey a certain set of ideas, and the illustrator and I can collaborate on what those actual images can and will be. In my picture book, A Different Pond, I wanted to convey that the fishing trips the father took their kid on was more about feeding the family, and survival, more than sport. And that sometimes that was desperate and counter to the law. Instead of needing to either explicitly explain that, or figure out a poetic way to say it, the illustrator simply drew a sign on one of the pictures that read “No Trespassing.” These are great questions. Thank you!

An Interview with Kristi Hemmer

The March Final Thursday Reading Series featured reader is Kristi Hemmer. A UNI alum, Hemmer is the author of Quit Being So Good: Stories of an Unapologetic Woman (Wise Ink Creative Publishing) and the founder of the Academy for Women’s Empowerment. She is a social entrepreneur, and educator, and a world traveler. Hemmer’s visit is co-sponsored by the UNI Women’s and Gender Studies Program as part of Women’s History Month.

The Final Thursday Reading Series takes place at the Hearst Center for the Arts in Cedar Falls, Iowa. There will be an open mic at 7:00 p.m. (bring your best five minutes of original creative writing). Kristi Hemmer takes the stage at 7:30. The featured reading will also be simulcast on Zoom. Click HERE to register for a link.

Interview by Leah Gutknecht.

LEAH GUTKNECHT: You share in Quit Being So Good that you started off as a teacher. How did your role in education influence the work you do today?
KRISTI HEMMER: Once a teacher, always a teacher. I don’t call it teaching when I stand on stage in front of hundreds or thousands of people, because unfortunately not everyone had a good experience in school. But it’s what I do best—teach! From the PoWercourse I created to the keynote talks I give to the way I connect with people around the world—that comes from my time as an educator. Also, being in education for 20 years as a teacher, counselor, principal, coach, faculty development specialist, and substitute teacher gave me an understanding of the SYSTEM of education. And it gave me a lot of tools to be a social entrepreneur and start AWE INC (Academy for Women’s Empowerment). 

LG: Your college experience at UNI had an impact on Quit Being So Good. How did your time at UNI influence who you are today?
KH: UNI is an integral experience in my being. My education in education influenced how I taught for 20 years, and how I train/influence now as a social entrepreneur-11 years. Some of my favorite takeaways from UNI that I use today are…
1. I learned in my diversity class in 1991 that the word “sorry” means “I feel badly” to women and “I take blame” for men. I tested it out at The Stein that night, and it was true. It has shifted a little bit now, but not much. Language is powerful. I teach this and live by not saying “sorry” (except in great loss). Don’t get me wrong—I apologize. I just don’t use the word “sorry.”
2. Learning in Dr. May’s class that you can’t control a 3-year-old—only the environment. It’s true for a teenager or a fifty year old. I find this wisdom SO powerful not only for me, but for those I work with/influence.
3. UNI is the first place I didn’t have to show up as the “Smart, Nice” girl, because not everyone knew me. I’m so grateful my roomie was from a very small town in southeast Iowa. It gave me a chance to be me—she didn’t know any different. I loved the freedom to be me. Unapologetically. Don’t get me wrong, I was still on the Dean’s list every semester and ODK and KPD and on and on and on, but I also had so much fun meeting others and learning about myself. As I say in my book, I’m SO much more than a “smart, nice girl.” In addition, that’s what society wanted and benefitted from me—not how I wanted to be defined or remembered.
4. UNI gave me the opportunity to practice leadership. I headed the first Challenge of Teaching Conference. I was President of the NAEYC. I played a season on the Tennis Team (I didn’t make the top six but was on standby). I was Secretary of Kappa Delta Pi. I was a Desk Assistant. I taught tennis lessons for City Rec in Cedar Falls and the Wellness Program at UNI. It also gave me a safe space to start challenging authority and the limiting beliefs that I had and others had about me as a single woman in education. It also was a place that people saw my possible. Growing up, I was often encouraged to stay small—to shrink. My teachers/professors are the ones who saw my potential and showed me how to use it to get to something bigger than I knew about. I make sure I do the same now—wherever I go.
PS. In my book, chapter two takes place at The Stein and the friends I reference—we’re still friends today.

LG: In your travels to 75 countries and counting, what has been most surprising to you in terms of encouraging women to take up space?
KH: What surprises me the most is that once I say something, women share SO many stories. And once I show them how to take up more space, they do it for themselves and others! I call it #BeWhatSheCanSee. It’s powerful! Also, I get very frustrated and mad with how things are going for women in the USA right now. And then, I’m reminded by my friend from Indonesia who told me just this morning, “You know if you’re Indonesian and working in America, it’s like a dream of every citizen here.” After living in Indonesia for two years and returning every year since 2003 (except for COVID years), he’s right. I don’t worry about clean water. I do have the possibility of divorce. I do have the ability to raise my children without a man in my life (if I had children). And so much more. This doesn’t mean I will be blind to what’s going on in the world (I read Anne Frank). It’s just that I will pay attention AND use my power as an American to make the world better for everybody. 

LG: Quit Being So Good shares a mantra of Take Up Space, Be First, and Look for the Helpers. What's your advice to someone who feels they've tried and still haven't gotten there?
KH: Hmmm. This is a hard one. My belief is that when one uses the word “try,” it means “I think it’s a good idea, but I’m not going to do it (fully).” I’m not saying try harder—because try is still in there. I’d say choose one and do one thing every day to:
1. Take up space. Speaking up, standing taller/bigger, sitting at a table you usually don’t, raising your hard first, apply for a job, so so so many ways.
2. Be first. The first time you did… Or the first time a woman did…. Or be the first follower. The first one to show support of a group, individual, or idea.
3. Look for the Helpers. If you’re struggling to do #1 or #2—look for the Helpers. Ask for help. Or, if that feels too scary, hangout with people who are Helpers or Changemakers. Once I figure out that someone is not a Helper/Changemaker or doesn’t want to, I don’t spend time with them (or limit my time). 

LG: What advice would you give students today at UNI?
KH: 1. Do things alone. Especially travel. For me, experiencing things alone gives you an opportunity to see yourself deeply, see others (the same and different), and trust in both.
2. Connect with others—intentionally. If you do #1, you surely will do this naturally. For example, I’m in Aruba right now. When I first came here in 2021, I knew nobody. I searched for Social Entrepreneurs in Aruba. Anika’s name popped up. I messaged her on LinkedIn, we met up, she introduced me to Charisse, who introduced me to Deborah, and I did a presentation at the University of Aruba. I’m still friends with them today. And have expanded from there. It’s a fun game of Connect the Dots!
3. Take up space (and share space that you have). Be first (and be a first follower of others doing good work). Look for the helpers (and be a helper)! :)

An Interview with Laura Farmer

February’s Final Thursday Reading Series features short story writer and novelist Laura Farmer. Farmer is the author of Direct Connection: Stories and a Novella (Bridge Eight Press) and Catch and Release (North Dakota State University Press). A native of Cedar Falls, she currently directs the Dungy Writing Studio at Cornell College in Mt. Vernon, where she helps students tell stories of their own. 

The Final Thursday Reading Series takes place at the Hearst Center for the Arts in Cedar Falls, Iowa. There will be an open mic at 7:00 p.m. (bring your best five minutes of original creative writing). Laura Farmer takes the stage at 7:30. The featured reading will also be simulcast on Zoom. Click HERE to register for a link. 

Interview by Olivia Brunsting. 

OLIVIA BRUNSTING: The theme of moving through a season of change is at the core of Direct Connection. Was there a season of change in your own life that inspired this collection?

LAURA FARMER: I was actually in the middle of a season of bad luck, writing-wise. I failed to find a home for my first novel, and I ended up selling my second novel three times in seven years – lots of bad luck with publishers folding, agents not working out, etc. When I wrote Direct Connection, I didn’t know if I would ever sell a novel. So I put together this collection as kind of a last-ditch effort to get something out there. Short stories are also my first love. Putting this collection together was actually fun because I wasn’t putting any kind of pressure on myself. I was just trying to reconnect with writing, to find some of the joy I was afraid I was losing while pursuing the hunt of publishing. 

OB: Many of the characters in this collection had left Iowa but then decided to come back. What do you think makes Iowa so magnetic?

LF: Home is home, right? I think there’s a common story in Iowa that when we’re young we can’t wait to get out and build a life somewhere else. And then, for many of us, there comes a time when we can’t wait to come back and build something here. For me, I lived out in New York state for a number of years, and after a while I wanted something different. To be closer to my family. A different pace of life. I love how strangers talk to each other out here, how the sky is enormous. Iowa’s just home. 

OB: “Record of Grief” is the lengthiest short story in this collection although it's not the title story. Why did you pick “Direct Connection” as your title story?

LF: The themes in the story “Direct Connection” seemed to resonate throughout the whole collection: moving through a season of change, finding joy in small moments, searching for ways to be closer to something, be it another person, yourself, or the world around you. Plus, I liked the title. I thought it sounded pretty good. 

OB: Your novel Catch and Release was published this summer! Tell us a little about this book.

LF: Like Direct Connection, the novel is also set in Iowa, but on the other side of the state and at an earlier time. Here’s a brief description: Charles “Catch” Sherman has lived at the corner of Fourth and Lafayette, in the house his grandfather built, his entire life. While content with his small life in the river town of Beaumont, Iowa, he knows life will be much different for his eldest daughter Edie, a gifted physics student. Set in the late 1950s through the 1970s, and told in alternative voices between Catch and Edie, Catch and Release is the story about holding on, letting go, and the leaps we must take to become the people we are meant to be. 

OB: What would you say to other writers who are working on projects of their own?

LF: Writing is a long game, so do what you need to do to keep going. Take time off. Try something different. But do keep going. We’ve all got stories to tell.

An Interview with Gail Lynn

2025’s slate of FTRS featured readers begins on January 30 with Gail Lynn, author of the memoir Bell Bottom Blues. Gail grew up in Janesville in the 1970s during a tumultuous era when youth culture had disrupted conventions and redefined what growing up meant. It was an exciting and confusing time, and Gail captures it by documenting her 14th summer, a time when she was still a girl but experiencing all the complexities of adult life. Check out the Spotify playlist of music referenced in Bell Bottom Blues.

The Final Thursday Reading Series takes place at the Hearst Center for the Arts in Cedar Falls, Iowa. There will be an open mic at 7:00 p.m. (bring your best five minutes of original creative writing). Gail Lynn takes the stage at 7:30. The featured reading will also be simulcast on Zoom. Click HERE to register for a link.

Interview by Jim O’Loughlin. 

JIM O’LOUGHLIN: What initially led you to focus Bell Bottom Blues on the summer of 1972?

GAIL LYNN: Bell Bottom Blues exists BECAUSE of the summer of 1972. Initially, I thought that summer was significant because of the young hippie I had a crush on and the heartbreak that resulted. Although that is partly true, the more I wrote the more I realized there was much more to that summer. Yet Bell Bottom Blues would not exist without the heartbreak I experienced that summer. 

JO: The rock music of the era plays a big role in this book. Can you talk about its importance to you as a teenager?

GL: Music was a constant in my life, and still is today. I was a shy and lonely teenager and music, along with television and movies, were my companions. They comforted me. I could count on them when family and friends let me down. Music in particular is such an emotional experience and that emotion made me feel more connected to it. 

JO: What are the aspects of the 1970s that seem most different from today, and which seem most familiar?

GL: It was a simpler time in many ways. Of course, that wasn’t all good. I think parenting has changed for the better. People are generally more aware of what good parenting is. In the ‘70s we never used seatbelts or proper car seats. My father who suffered from PTSD would have been more likely today to get treatment, which may have resulted in being a more present father and husband. One thing I feel hasn’t changed is how teenagers respond to music. Although music is more varied today and is acquired differently, the emotional connection is still there. 

JO: One of the things that I most admire about this book is that you capture the perspective of “Gail at 14” and resist the temptation to look back with the hindsight of an adult to comment or correct. Was that something you did consciously, or did you find the process of writing just led to that?

GL: It was definitely a conscious effort on my part, and it wasn’t easy. Once I got into that mindset, it became easier.