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Photo by Emile Hill |
Antiguan writer Joanne C. Hillhouse
shares here the effort of getting her work “out there” through the lens one
whose hometown is remote from the traditional publishing world. But her discoveries,
and what it demanded of her, are familiar to every author who didn’t quit. I’m
so proud to share Joanne’s essay with you here. Thank you, Joanne!
–Sarah P.
By Joanne C.
Hillhouse
Somewhere
between Little Women, Jane Eyre, Are You There God, it’s me Margaret?, The Last
of Eden and any number of foreign books I read and loved as a youngster, a seed
was planted. Likely it was planted earlier than that. I’m sketchy on the
details. What I do know is that there were a lot more books and films and such
from outside than inside of my world; and that I wanted to be a writer but
maybe didn’t believe it was possible. Today, somewhere between local calypso
writers Shelly Tobitt and Marcus Christopher, and calypso giants like Short
Shirt and King Obstinate in my Antiguan childhood; classroom introductions to
Michael Anthony, Sam Selvon, Zora Neale Hurston, Langston Hughes, Toni Morrison
and others; discovering Jamaica Kincaid and Annie John and a still evolving
list of Caribbean writers; and owning up to what I really wanted to be, that
seed sprouted.
That’s the
first challenge for a Caribbean writer, I think – when your 108 square miles is
so far from the world where books are made and dreaming impossible dreams is
encouraged – even now that the West Indian literary canon is well and truly
established and technology has opened up opportunities for publishing: the
Claiming, capital C. I am a Writer, capital W.
The second
challenge: be careful what you wish for. That’s what no one tells you.
Few things
can compare with the validation that comes when you receive word that your book
– after many cycles of rejection and self-doubt – has found a publisher. You
feel happy and you also feel relieved and open – you’re not sure what to expect
and you’re unsettled by that, but you’re also over the moon.
Well, here’s what no one tells you. Your job
is not done. See, writers, all we really want to do is write; many of us are
the shy, awkward people at the party, the people whose heart thunders like a
runaway herd at each invitation to step to the mic, who would just as soon
write, not speak. And yet, once we’ve written, speaking is inevitable and, as
it turns out, necessary; because you’ve got to sell, sell, sell. If you don’t
want to be dropped, dropped, dropped.
I know what
it is to be dropped. Well, technically, to have my books go out of print.
That’s what happened with my first publisher, just as Antiguan school officials
started expressing interest in putting one of them – The Boy from Willow Bend –
on the secondary schools' reading list. And swallowing the taste of bitterness,
and the bitter irony of it, persistence paid off with a re-issue with a new
publisher, and a determination to work that much harder, to sell, sell, sell.
Still, all I
really want to do is write, write, write.
The other
challenge: Space (internal and external) to create. There are bills to be paid and writing
royalties don’t quite cut it, not for a writer still finding her legs in the
vast land of publishing. So you work, and even if you’re fortunate enough to
turn your skill into currency, the creativity that yielded your best work soon
settles in the corner like dust left overnight then forgotten. This is
compounded by the fact that there are very few writing programmes in or for
Caribbean writers. I’ve been fortunate to participate in one of the best, the
Caribbean Writers Summer Institute at the University of Miami on recommendation
from my writing mentor at UWI, esteemed Jamaican poet, Mervyn Morris. It was
during this programme that I felt my limbs stretch and grow in new directions;
it was during this time that I penned, substantially, The Boy from Willow Bend.
And the opportunity to interact with other writers and make lasting connections
and be in a world where creativity was encouraged was – like the ad says –
“priceless”.
I remember,
shortly after Willow Bend was first published, I was at a Caribbean Canadian
Literary Expo in Toronto listening to fellow Caribbean writer (Guyanese
Literary Prize winner and Cropper Foundation alum) Ruel Johnson talk about the
lack of nurseries for the literary arts in the Caribbean. That’s when I got the
idea to introduce the Wadadli Youth Pen Prize to Antigua. I wanted to provide
something I’d never had to young Antiguan writers. Though I’ve felt burned out
enough by the work involved to put it on hiatus in the past, I still dream of
making that programme all I envisioned it to be then.
Not so long
ago, I won a fellowship to the Breadloaf Writers Conference where I sat beside
the likes of Oprah Book Club pick Ursula Hegi, my workshop leader and author of
the superb Floating in My Mother’s Palm; had the opportunity to read and take
workshops and learn and teach and just be in a literary space in the beautiful
Vermont woods; and had people like Lynn Freed and Robert Boswell complement me
on my reading – the reading I was so nervous about I fled the room as soon as
it was done. It was amazing. It’s the kind of thing being a writer of and in
the Caribbean I rarely get to do, but it’s awakened in me a yearning to seek
out these programmes and the creative space they may offer to writers like me.
And it’s re-awakened in me a desire to help create such spaces at home. And so
Wadadli Pen is reborn and I do what I can to support other workshops and
initiatives like the literary festival – even though it’s something else that
takes me away from my own writing and, also, doesn’t pay the bills.
I’m trying
to learn as I grow – another challenge, to avoid repeating mistakes of the
past, to find the balance needed to write while being a literary activist and
working my own literary career. It’s a work in progress. I decided to seek
representation, and part of what I hoped to accomplish at Breadloaf was find an
agent.
Challenging? Hm, it’s about as easy as finding a publisher – i.e. it’s
not a writer’s market. I did get to meet a couple of agents at Breadloaf but
could feel myself failing to hold the interest of all but one of the three with
whom I managed to get face time. Still, I’d become convinced that to get your
foot in the door you needed an advocate, someone who knows the lay of the land
enough to advise you and nudge some doors open. And so now I have one, not from
Breadloaf but through another contact I made prior to that at the Antigua and
Barbuda International Literary Festival and on the strength of the manuscript
submitted; my writing always spoke better for me than I could. And, on the
heels of her recent call announcing a contract offer for my next book, I’m –
knock on wood – hopeful of an even better publishing experience next time
around.
And now I
find myself trying to make space again in my life for writing. I’m once again
part of a fledgling writers group. Incidentally, one of our small group is
actually a regular youth writing workshop leader and was with me and others
like Unburnable author Marie Elena John part of a team of Antiguan writers who
sought and won Commonwealth funding to attend Calabash in Jamaica, a highly
stimulating experience. I hope to be similarly stimulated through my
interactions with this small group and outside of it, to continue to strive for
authenticity (and avoid self-censorship; another of those challenges for
writers writing from a small place – just ask Kincaid).
How will
this story end? I don’t know. And that’s the scary exciting part of it. The
part I’m not looking forward to is the sell, sell, sell of publishing – that
part where you have to stand up in a crowded marketplace and shout, hey look at
me, in a book selling world seemingly intent on keeping the wider audience you
seek just out of reach (i.e. limiting you with labels that don’t begin to
capture all you could be to a reader on the prowl for new material). We are not
just a homogeneous bloc, Caribbean writers; we write sci-fi and romance and
romantic histories and comedies and dramas and thrillers…readers in these
genres might also find us interesting, if they knew we existed.
That’s a
challenge – how many is that now? – all the things you can’t really control;
where you’re placed on a shelf, how you’re perceived in the reader’s mind,
often even what the cover of your book looks like. For all of the dancing you
have to do, the one thing you can really bend to your will – sometimes – is the
writing; stepping into the deep end of publishing and trying to feel your way
around that’s a crab hunt.
So much to
learn, and so many pages still to be written; but then that’s any writer’s yoke
I suppose, and the Caribbean writer only a little more so for being off the
map.
Antiguan Joanne C. Hillhouse is the
author of two books of fiction: The Boy from Willow Bend
and Dancing Nude in the Moonlight. Oh
Gad! – to be released by S&S in 2012 – is
her third book of fiction and first full length novel. A 2008 Breadloaf fellow
and announced recipient of the 2011 David Hough Literary Prize from the
Caribbean Writer, her fiction and poetry have, also, appeared in Tongues of the
Ocean, Small Axe, Mythium, Ma Comère, The Caribbean Writer, Calabash, Sea
Breeze, and more. She was awarded a 2004 UNESCO Honour Award for her
contribution to literacy and the literary arts in Antigua and Barbuda. Among
her projects are the Wadadli Youth
Pen Prize –She’s a freelance writer, journalist, editorial consultant, and
producer. For more, visit http://www.jhohadli.com
I enjoyed reading your post. Thank you!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Mindy.
ReplyDeleteAn inspiring voice from the Caribbean.
ReplyDeleteVery useful post as I am juggling the same issues and as an Australian living away from home for twenty years, now in Italy, I don't even know how to 'classify' my myself any more.
ReplyDeleteSo true about the need to sell, sell, sell. I am promoting my debut novel now and already terrified by the thought of mumbling through readings on a stage or sitting tongue-tied in front of a crowd..
Good luck and thanks for the post. Ciao cat
Thanks, aromaproductions.
ReplyDeleteAnd thanks for commenting, Divorced Lady; I actually just recently read your post about your book over at novel spaces. Small world.