An Interview with L.L. Barkat

by Karen Swallow Prior

Rumors of Water: Thoughts on Creativity & Writing by L. L. Barkat (T. S. Poetry Press 2011) is a meditative, reflective book on the art of both living and writing. Its brief chapters—as poetic as they are helpful—cover areas important to any writer, from the beginning stages of writing through publication. I recently posed a few questions to Barkat, a Managing Editor at The High
Calling whose previous books include Stone Crossings and God in the Yard.

KSP: Often, writers want to begin writing with an abstract notion or principle. But your book begins where all good writing begins: with the materials of life. What are some ways writers can deepen our writing with the stuff of life?

Look around you right now. Where are you? Is it warm or cold? Do you hear sounds? What is sitting right beside you? A writer’s life begins in a place, and this place can be expressed in the simplest things. The fragile white teacup on the counter. The red oak floor beneath your feet. The French yellow tablecloth. The silver flute now mute in the corner.

If we trust the power of place, and the materials of place, the writing will come. Choose just the flute, for a moment. Is it tarnished? Are there fingerprints? What if you picked it up and made a single sound, after having abandoned it for a long time? Can you smell the metal (it has a fragrance that reminds you of your father’s leaving, perhaps). You see how it goes; emotions rise from the materials of life, as you begin to write them down. Themes arrive too, and insights you didn’t know you had until this very moment, as you touch the flute again after so long.

KSP: What you say about the writer’s voice is really helpful and important: a writer’s voice is distinctive, but not entirely her own. You say, “The voices of others fill our minds.”  How does a writer find her own voice among all those other voices?

Write a lot. Write every day. You aren’t trying to escape the other voices, necessarily, you are trying to feel the pulse of your own. That can’t happen if you aren’t playing around with words on a regular basis.

KSP: On the other hand, because we can’t help but be influenced by others’ voices, what kinds of voices do you think it’s important for a writer to be surrounded by?

Me? Oh, I choose the poets. Neruda. Kooser. Kevin Young. Poets have strong voices and they’ll teach you how to play. They collect words, and you’ll find yourself collecting words too, as you read them. You’ll also gather a way with rhythm, and you’ll develop a way of seeing that goes straight to the core.

KSP: One of my favorite chapters in your book is the one on small audiences where you address the importance of building these in order to develop larger audiences. Besides blogging, what are some ways writers can attract audiences both large and small?

Facebook is the first place people log in every morning, according to some recent study (don’t ask me to find the link for you; I just held on to this, because I thought it was so fascinating). So try writing a Note on Facebook every day. Twitter is good for micro-writing and can develop your ability with razor-sharp language. These places? They give you practice, and people notice you if you’re good. I say that as a publisher and an editor. I have contracted books with or acquired poems from people I met on Twitter, met on the Every Day Poems Facebook Wall.

KSP: In your book, you offer a perspective on book publishing that is both hopeful and realistic. What is the most realistic point you would make to an aspiring writer?

Write for love. It will take you far. And if you never get published (oh, but you surely will), at least you will have… love. You need to remember this, because a lot of rejection accompanies the dedicated writer along the way.

KSP: And the most hopeful encouragement?

In almost every arena of life, hard work leads to results—maybe every arena. Writing is no different. So go (happily) to work, and expect. It will happen. You may not make a lot of money, but you are writing for love, remember? That’s the most hopeful thing of all.