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Writing Conference, Ashland, Oregon


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Robert Arellano in 1859oregonmagazine.com

Check out Robert Arellano’s interview in 1859oregonmagazine.com
Here’s an excerpt:
Tell us about your creative process.

I get up at 3 a.m. and sit down to write at a window looking out on the lights of Medford burning in the night. I dim the screen in the dark and type like my life depends on it against the approaching dawn, the mercury-vapor lamps on 99 gradually cooling to embers. Shouldering her way back into the picture, Roxy Ann slowly takes shape, looming black against a coal-grey Rogue Valley sky. An airplane rises straight out of MFR, over the house, and out of sight, and suddenly boom! the lightburst of a Siskiyou sunrise. Sometimes, I’ll find a quiet hour to write at one of my favorite watering holes like Omar’s in Ashland. Sitting alone in the corner with his laptop, I’m the guy you look over at and say, “Now there’s a literary fellow. He’s probably writing a book. Hope he doesn’t put me in it.”

RobertArellano


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tree roots 1“Fiction writers, though they spin stories, are really in the business of getting at the truth. Not a single, final, absolute truth, but rather the multiple and varied truths of how we live, what shapes our lives. Good fiction reveals worlds previously unknown, or sheds new light on the familiar.” ~ Kim Edwards


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child reading“So much of a child’s life is lived for others. We learn what they want us to learn and show our learning for their gratification. All the reading I did as a child, behind closed doors, sitting on the bed while the darkness fell around me, was an act of reclamation. This and only this I did for myself. This was the way to make my life my own.” Lynne Sharon Schwartz, Ruined by Reading: A Life in Books


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I write to…

blank page

I write to add my voice to the sum of voices, to be part of the choir. I write to be one sequin among the shimmering others, hanging by a thread from the evening gown of the world. I write to remember. I write to forget myself, to be so completely immersed in the will of the poem that when I look up from the page I can still smell the smoke from the house burning in my brain. I write to destroy the blank page, unravel the ink, use up what I’ve been given and give it away. I write to make the trees shiver at the sliver of sun slipping down the axe blade’s silver lip. I write to hurt myself again, to dip my fingertip into the encrusted pool of the wound. I write to become someone else, that better, smarter self that lives inside my dumbstruck twin. I write to invite the voices in, to watch the angel wrestle, to feel the devil gather on its haunches and rise. I write to hear myself breathing. I write to be doing something while I wait to be called to my appointment with death. I write to be done writing. I write because writing is fun.”
~ Dorianne Laux, a poet reflects