Through Reading and Writing, We Taste Enchantment

Written by Anna Stowe, Hope College Creative Writing Major and Student Managing Editor for the English Department

2024 Critical Issues Symposium

The Jack H. Miller auditorium fills slowly. There’s nothing special about today’s set-up, only a lectern poised in the center of the stage. It’s unassuming, even ordinary, a design choice that soon becomes clear. As the clock strikes 10, Provost Griffin takes the stage, introducing the 2024 Critical Issues Symposium. For more than forty years, CIS has been an opportunity to consider intellectual topics, a space for engaging ideas, and an opportunity to emphasize curiosity among the Hope College community. This year’s topic considers processes for engaging with a world of differences. 

The keynote speaker is Chloe Valdary, who created the Theory of Enchantment. This framework for approaching the world aligns with Hope College’s model of the virtues of public discourse: the courage to challenge, honesty to speak truth in love, the humility to listen, the hospitality to welcome, and the patience to understand. As we would discover, Valdary’s approach to engaging with difference through enchantment also resonates with the practice of reading, writing, and discussing literature.

Chloe Valdary, creator of the Theory of Enchantment

The auditorium crackles with applause as Valdary takes the stage. Arranging her papers, Valdary’s powerful, calming voice fills the room. “Pardon my exuberance, but I find myself overwhelmed with joy…” With these words, Valdary begins singing a portion of ‘How Great Thou Art.’ This song became the refrain of her speech. 

“Then sings my soul, then sings my soul. I must sing—I need to sing—all day long and all throughout the night of the wonders made by the divine hand. And it is this desire that led me to the Theory of Enchantment. I marvel at the universe and I stand in awe of the miniature universes every single one of you are. Then sings my soul, then sings my soul.” Structurally, Valdary’s speech follows the elements, the forms through which we experience the world and each other: earth, water, wind, fire. 

First, the earth. Recalling a recently finished book called Spell of the Sensuous by David Abram, Valdary explains that the natural world possesses an intelligence that is not ours but is, by relationship, related to ours. Functionally, the land and the animals demand our respect for they too are created things that are not diminished by human failings. It is the principle of Komorebi, a Japanese word translating to sunlight leaking through trees. As the wonder and beauty of light moves through the leaves, so it moves through us. “This is enchantment: part of the complexity of what it means to be human. Then sings my soul, then sings my soul.”

Second, water. Water is baked into language, is necessary for human survival on its most basic level. The body is made up of water—the brain is about 75% water, kidneys around 79%. This too is part of the complexity of what it means to be human. “And so I sing of water, that which flows within and without. Then sings my soul.”

Third, wind. According to Native American tradition, the wind flows in many directions—up, down, sideways, through us, and in us. “I could not sing or speak without the wind for speech is but sounded breath. Wind is the breath of the land itself. It is the spirit of freedom and it pushes and pulls, pushes and pulls us all forward.” And yet, so many of us take this beauty, this connection to the world, for granted. We see breath as something of survival, not something intrinsically connective. Valdary reflects on how she, like many of us, treats the wind in her everyday life: “In my waking hours, I do not breathe deeply enough, I do not take time to notice, and I do not take time to breathe from the diaphragm the way I did when I was born. But in some moments when I am still I remember the sacred wind and the breath that are one. From the wind and the breath, we can learn freedom, to be fully engaged by whatever rises. This too is part of the complexity, the beauty of what it means to be human. Then sings my soul.” 

Fourth, fire. It is fire that gives us sensation and metaphor: light and dark, hot and cold, internal and external fire. In this image, fire is what brings about willpower, anger, and rage as energy combusts within us. Fire signals that our needs have not been met or that our value systems have been dishonored. Fire prompts us to defend ourselves. Recalling Martin Luther King, Jr.’s Letter From the Birmingham Jail, Valdary explains: “We must channel our anger productively and constructively so that it moves in a way that is healing without burning down the forest. Fire has a dual nature: rage/fellowship, bitterness/communion, hatred/love. This too is part of the complexity. From fire, we learn to wield power, constructively or destructively. So sings my soul.”

But what do these elements have to do with each other and with the broader human experience? Valdary is clear: “The divine hand which conjured the elements into being also brought me into being. And therefore, I am the very frequency of love. No matter what, I then have faith in my life for I am the frequency of love itself.”

The natural elements form the basis of Valdary’s Theory of Enchantment: “It is easy to forget that life itself is a prayer. It’s easy to forget when [the chaos of life steps in]. And I forget that the fire, the water, the wind moves through ‘them’ as well as me. I created the Theory of Enchantment to help myself and others remember.” This Theory is divided into three basic tenets:

  1. Treat each other like human beings, not political abstractions.
  2. Criticize to uplift and empower, never to tear down or destroy.
  3. Root everything you do in love and compassion.

Drawing on both Maya Angelou and James Baldwin, Valdary explains that humans should never be treated as objects. Regardless of differing views, we have all been created; we all share the frequency of love given by the Creator. Hatred and insecurity cause us to lash out against things that challenge us. Met by love, change is possible. 

Valdary is clear in her exhortation: “As a being you are durable and strong like the earth, constantly changing and transforming like the water–not an object, not a fixed thing. Feelings and emotions that come and go like the wind. Do not deny or repress your feelings for they will return with a vengeance and you will compulsively act them out like the fire.” The only way this changes is if we remember that we are the frequency of love ourselves. In light of this, all our actions become an act of prayer, an overflowing of the love that has created us. 

“Become love. Embody that which you already are. Reject things that seek to turn you into an object, a fixed thing. For you are a universe in miniature, constantly becoming the very chant in enchantment. Then sings my soul, then sings my soul.”

It is enchantment that connects everything. It’s not enlightenment, not an overpowering light–enchantment is about holding light and shadow in balance rather than light overwhelming everything. All these things make up the complexity of who we are. And there is no light without darkness–it’s built into the fabric of our existence. “If we can hold that delicate balance, then we can spread that compassion to others.” 

Following this encouragement, Valdary read the poem “Please Call Me By My True Names” By Thich Nhat Hanh. The poem serves as an example of what Valdary has highlighted thus far. There is always room for compassion, for acknowledging the humanity in everyone—even those who are ‘against’ us or who do horrible things. There is space to acknowledge the rhythms of the natural world, to see complexity as beauty. There is room to see everything in life as a form of ongoing prayer. 

But what does this talk have to do with English? As scholars and makers of literature, how often do we really come into contact with these conflicting relationships?

The answer? Every single day. Just as it is important to engage with many voices whether we agree with them or not, so too is it important to engage with literature from different times and cultures. In the pages of books, we learn what it means to be brave, to be wise, to be flawed, to be human. We enter and exit the imagination and experience what it is to be enchanted with the world and the beauty that fills it. Through literature and writing, we encounter voices and lives that are vastly different from our own—that contain ideologies we may fundamentally disagree with and that may offend us. Tasting complexity through literature and applying what we have learned to the outside world, we step into the Theory of Enchantment. 

Authors of the past were once of the present; their writing is shaped by the world in which they lived, by their beliefs and experiences. In analyzing their works, there is room to criticize and praise, moments of insight that became critical for ongoing thought processes. As for love and compassion, these can be applied indirectly—even in connection with modern society. The ideologies of the past influence the thoughts of today. We can engage more effectively with the current climate by understanding these ideologies. Such language and connection is that of poetry. And it is this quality that Valdary’s speech takes on. Through repetition and imagery, Valdary’s words are memorable and applicable. They are enchanting. 

Beyond these qualities, Valdary’s speech itself reveals the value of engaging with literature while pursuing the Theory of Enchantment. She draws on Martin Luther King, Jr. Maya Angelou, and James Baldwin—all historically located thinkers, writers, and speakers. Their ideas are not merely centered in their own time—they are foundational to the present. 

Literature and writing. The past and the present. Earth, water, wind, fire. 

Then sings my soul, then sings my soul. 

From Hope to Houston

Written by Anna Stowe, Hope College Creative Writing Major and Student Managing Editor for the English Department

Alumni Spotlight:

Eileen Ellis (’23)

What do you do now? And we’d love to hear a bit about how you got there as well.

Currently, I am in my first semester in the University of Houston’s  M.F.A. in Creative Writing (poetry, specifically)! I didn’t realize I was interested in pursuing an MFA until the spring semester of my Senior year (nor did I think I was “good enough”), and as such, I missed the deadline to apply for programs that started in the fall of 2023, but I’m actually very grateful of that since in taking a gap year, I could focus on my applications without the added stress of school, as well as work full time and save some money. Although I am only a handful of weeks into my program, I am really enjoying being back in an academic environment where both my intellect and creativity are fueled and nurtured by wonderful, brilliant people.

How did you Hope English education shape you?

Speaking of being in an environment where I was lucky enough to be surrounded by wonderful, brilliant people, that is what shaped me the most during my time at Hope College. Without the people at Hope who took a personal interest in my poetry and who believed in both me and my writing, I would not be where I am today. To that end, I would be remiss if I did not express my gratitude to Professor Peschiera, Professor Childress, and Professor Burton, as well as everyone I worked with at Opus and in the many, many workshops in my creative writing classes.

What advice would you give to current English majors or students considering an English major?

To anyone majoring in English or considering it, and especially those interested in English as creative writers, I would first emphasize the importance of being an active participant in workshops. It’s always exciting (and/or nerve-racking) to get your writing workshopped, but I think the most important part of workshop is giving constructive feedback to your peers. I would argue people learn the most and improve their writing the most when workshopping other people’s writing. My second piece of advice would be to get involved outside of your classes. For me, I found a home in Opus and in studying abroad in Dublin, but Hope also has lots of other organizations worth getting involved in. Whether they be related to English/creative writing or not, they will add flavor to your life.

Favorite book read recently?

Written by Mary Rakow

My favorite book that I read recently was for a class I’m in right now that focuses on the relationship between creativity (especially that of creative writers) and consciousness. The novel This is Why I Came by Mary Rakow is about a woman who, while waiting in line for confession, retells herself stories from the Bible using beautiful lyrical prose that essentially turns the novel into a book of poetry. I think part of why I enjoyed this book so much is that it wasn’t something I would’ve picked up on my own and yet I liked it so much, I plan to read it again (which I almost never do) when I have the time!

What do you wish we’d asked, and what would your answer be?

I wish you’d asked, “Hey, Eileen, did you happen to get a cat in Houston?,” and I would’ve answered, “yes and his name is Loki, he is my perfect baby boy (he’s actually about 2.5 years old), and he likes to sleep with his face smooshed into the armrest of the couch.”

Writing That Reached Us

By Anna Snader ‘26, English Literature Major and Political Science Minor

On September 30th at 7:00 pm, the Jack Ridl Visiting Writers Series welcomed Heather Sellers, a former Hope professor, and Anna Gazmarian, a 2014 Hope alum, to read their work. After reading Devout by Anna Gazmarian and You Don’t Look Like Anyone I Know by Heather Sellers, I was eager to hear them read their writing in their own voices. 

First, we heard from Anna Gazmarian, who graced the stage in her lively red pantsuit. Immediately she cracked a joke about how 10 years of drafts would lead to book material. Her wit and honesty captivated us, and only grew as we were brought back to her Hope College days. She leaned into the podium over her memoir, Devout, and read a passage about her poetry class with Heather Sellers that helped her navigate her struggles with faith and her bipolar disorder.

Anna Gazmarian

She wrote about an Elizabeth Bishop poem that made her cry, her group workshops at Good Time Donuts, and the first poem she wrote that was featured in the class packet. Interspersed with Bible stories and her own, Gazmarian captured the power of writing and community, and the ways her writing became a form of prayer and redemption that her evangelical churches could not provide.

Next, we heard from Heather Sellers, who walked on stage with various books and journals. As she introduced her recent poetry books and manuals, we expected her to read from her recent collection, Field Notes from the Flood Zone, but she did not. She did not even begin with her own work, but with her friend John Brehm’s haikus. Sellers explained that haikus were hard to write in both languages and admitted, “I can’t write anything short.” We laughed. She explained that haikus were like a door swinging open. They left us with something more. Something to wonder about.

Heather Sellers

Sellers read two poems from her collection, Present State of the Garden, and a new poem called “Women in Tampa Talking about Alligators.” In these poems, Sellers drew us in with her vivid poetry, descriptions of her classrooms, students, and wildlife. She was not concerned about our expectations, but cared more about performing in a way that was immersive. When she began, I leaned in. Her words alone were astonishing, a perfect balance of humor and sorrow, but it was the performance of her writing that I was most struck by. Her reading left me with space to wonder. 

After their readings, the audience asked Sellers and Gazmarian questions about their writing, practice, and teaching. 

Could you share more about the impact of communities on writing, particularly communities of faith?

Gazmarian explained how essential community is to her writing and faith practice. Her friends are her church, helping her through many mental health struggles and supporting her in her writing journey and career. She believes these people are made in the image of God and point her back to Him. Sellers considered her community as one that included the readers. She said her work moves away from herself and toward the reader, because ultimately, it is for them. She describes this relationship as a type of grace.

How did you find freedom from genre? 

Sellers joked about being naturally rebellious, but also explained how daily practice was important to improving her craft. She firmly believes that in order to be a writer, you should be able to write in every genre. Gazmarian spoke about the uncertainty of writing and how dwelling in the mystery made it similar to a faith practice. For her, writing is a way to connect to God and help her reclaim her belief that she is made in the image of God.

What makes a good teacher?

Sellers, an educator for multiple decades, defined a good teacher as someone who was passionate about learning, had a deep reverence for their students, and personalized the content. She believes that teaching is shared with the students, and that teaching should come from a disposition of humility and openness. Finally, she said her job was dependent on bad writing.

 “I love bad writing!” she said. We laughed but didn’t doubt her for a moment. 

Gazmarian said a good teacher believed in a person’s potential, had compassion and understanding, sought creative ways to engage, and recognized how people access the world.  

By the end of the night, I was incredibly grateful and inspired by the courage, humor, and insight that both our visiting writers brought to the stage. Although Sellers and Gazmarian approach their writing practice in different ways, I am reminded that there are many ways to be a writer. In the end, their words, advice, and presence reached us, and that is what was most important. In fact, their words are a reminder that writing, committing to a practice, and sharing it with others is no small thing. On the contrary, it is everything. 

English Course Preview – Spring 2025

  • Pre-Registration Advising:  October 21 – November 1
  • Registration Week:  November 4 – 8

Take a look at our upcoming offerings as you begin to plan. Be sure to make an appointment with your advisor if you are not sure which English classes to take in the spring.

Making Art Is A Kind Of Play: An Interview with Heather Sellers

Written by Anna Stowe, Hope College Creative Writing Major and Student Managing Editor for the English Department

For many writers, the name Heather Sellers is a familiar one—we’ve all used her textbook, The Practice of Creative Writing, in an Intro to Creative Writing class. This, however, is often the only contact we have with her work. In contrast with this limiting perspective, Heather Sellers is the author of four poetry collections, most recently Field Notes from the Flood Zone, the text from which she will read on Monday night. Sellers has also written many articles, a collection of short stories, and a memoir called You Don’t Look Like Anyone I Know, which considers her family relationships and prosopagnosia, a condition that causes face blindness. Sellers also taught at Hope College from 1995 to 2013, working with creative writing students. Following her time at Hope, Sellers moved back to her home state of Florida where she works with the creative writing programs at the University of South Florida.

As a prelude to the Jack Ridl Visiting Writers Series event on September 30th, I reached out to Heather Sellers and asked if she would be willing to participate in an email interview. What follows is a transcript of that conversation. 

ON THE WRITING PROCESS:

You briefly mention the start of your writing journey in You Don’t Look Like Anyone I Know. Could you share some of what that looked like? When did you realize being a (published) writer was a real possibility?

I always made books and wrote stories and poems, growing up. If we can bring that kid sense along with us – that making art is a kind of play that we can always do, and not lose that–that’s what I’m hoping to teach and model.

Can you describe your writing space (if you have a particular setup that inspires you to write)?

My writing space is a large room with built-in bookshelves that overlooks my garden and my swimming pool.  It is so peaceful.

How would you describe your writing process? (First drafts, research, revision, etc.)

I usually start with a drawing of the situation, as a way to upload and extend the sensory detail. I write by hand and I do a lot of drafts on the computer, printing out, reading aloud, revising. I do ten or so drafts before I send the work to my writing partners.  Then the real work begins.

What were the differences (and/or difficulties) between writing memoir, poetry, and a writing textbook?

Writing a textbook is a way to talk to students directly.  It’s a very intensive way of teaching, and rewarding.  Writing memoir requires so much work on the level of structure.  You have to have the skills to plot out the story, stay true, and create a compelling tension line for the reader to follow.  Poetry is more work with the ear and eye in concert.

How do you handle moments when inspiration seems hard to find?

Inspiration isn’t part of the equation for me.  I work every day–I try to never miss a day. It’s more like practicing an instrument or playing a sport.   I have to show up, and practice, every day, trying to improve my skills.  Focusing on the image or the scene, or building out a sequence requires concentration.  That’s the crucial part rather than inspiration–concentration.  When it’s hard to concentrate there are usually external factors maybe out of my control.  When it’s an internal situation, it is important for me to meditate, or pray, or find a way to center and ground my attention.

ON POETRY

In Field Notes From The Flood Zone, the centrality of water and of location is clear. That said, how would you describe the idea or emotion that reflects the heart of the book as a whole? Would you classify it as a love letter, an elegy, or something entirely different?

What a beautiful question!  I absolutely think of the book as a love letter to Florida, this place I am from, that is part of me, and an elegy for what we’ve lost.

What inspired you to write this book of poems? Did they come together all at once or did the writing span years before a connective line was formed?

During the pandemic, I was keeping a daily diary, lists of things that I saw and heard.  Much of the book came from those journals.

Along what narrative time frame do these poems take place? (A year, six months, etc.?) Does a time-oriented narrative matter in context with how you wrote the book itself?

You are such a good reader.  I did organize the book in terms of a year, loosely, the four seasons.  We have profound seasonal changes, but you have to pay attention, close attention, so that’s a poet’s dream, right? I did not write the pieces in that order–they come from several years’ worth of my field notebooks.

ON MEMOIR

You Don’t Look Like Anyone I Know delves into your complicated relationship with your parents and discusses prosopagnosia (face blindness). What was it like to write about these complex, emotional subjects? Did it feel like a form of therapy or were there times when you needed to take a step back from the work?

I think (and everyone has their own opinion) it’s important for the writer to have processed the emotions before going to the page. I’m wanting to write for the reader, and not to use the writing as therapy.  Therapy is therapy.  Writing is for others to be able to come to something that is hopefully whole and complete, and meaningful….

By nature, memoir is highly personal and involves very real relationships. How did you handle the complexity of these relationships–accurately representing people, places, memories, and ideas while also staying consistent with what you knew to be true?

I have a good memory and I kept journals.

How would you respond to the (narrow-minded) critique which states that young people do not have enough lived experience to write a memoir?

A memoir requires the ability to look closely at one’s own experience in a specific situation. Younger people are able to do things in memoir that older people can’t–they have special access to emotions and time.  Older people may have access to a different type of reflective wisdom.  They are just different skill sets. In both cases, it takes a lot of work to take one’s own experience and make it meaningful for another person to read.

WRAP-UP/FUN QUESTIONS

What is the most inspiring feedback you have received from a reader (if applicable)?

They gave my book to their mom.

What is the best advice you have received as a writer? What advice would you share with aspiring writers?

Practice every day.

Research Is No Solitary Sport

Discovering Chasing Beauty

Written by Anna Stowe, Hope College Creative Writing Major and Student Managing Editor for the English Department

Deep in the basement of the Van Wylen Library, you’ll find the Rare Books Room. Lining its walls are hundreds of books ranging from first-edition novels to tomes of Michigan history. It’s both atmospheric and historical as the honey-toned wood seems to invite curiosity. Beyond the books lie the Archives and Special Collections, a nod to the detailed work of Dr. Natalie Dykstra’s biography Chasing Beauty: The Life of Isabella Stewart Gardner. Rows of chairs fill the small room which is soon filled with eager listeners. At 3 pm on a Thursday, this space often lies empty and quiet, but today is different. 

Today is for storytelling—for imparting the discovery of Isabella Stewart Gardener. 

Isabella’s story was brought to life by Natalie Dykstra, an emerita professor and senior research professor at Hope College. In 2018, Dykstra received a Public Scholar Award from the National Endowment for the Humanities which supported the detailed archival work needed to craft Isabella’s story. Dykstra’s research and writing were also supported by the inaugural 2018 Robert and Ina Caro Fellowship sponsored by the Biographers International Organization (BIO). 

Dykstra opened the talk by describing biography as a genre and providing a brief recap of Isabella’s life. First, Dykstra explained that biography deals with “a fascination with the past, a love of storytelling, and the intrigue of the archives.” Recalling a Virginia Woolf quote about biography, Dykstra described the work as “something intimate. People are never the sum of our theories about them. Biography is a kind of resurrection of the individual.”

As for Isabella herself, at age sixteen, she moved to Paris where she became friends with Julia Gardner and Helen Waterston. By twenty, she had married Jack Gardner and, by twenty-five, she had lost her first and only son, Jackie. At this point, Isabella began to travel the world—it became her second education. Whilst traveling, she created travel journals and photo albums, training her eye to put artwork together in a narrative—which she would later do in her museum Fenway Court. In the museum, no artwork is isolated—there’s both historical and personal context, as though you’re moving through both place and time

Isabella Stewart Gardner in 1888
Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum

Dykstra faced many challenges throughout the project. Simultaneously, there were too many sources and too few. There was an incredible quantity of material surrounding her later life, but very little about her early life. For example, although the loss of her son was pivotal, there’s almost no record of Isabella grieving her son. Periodically, however, Dykstra experienced the great joy of the biographer. While combing through records in Massachusetts, Dykstra discovered the Waterston diaries, including an entry on December 8, 1856, in which Helen mentions meeting Isabella. In Dykstra’s words, “To find your character in newly discovered sources is a biographer’s dream.” 

After introducing Isabella, Dykstra drew attention to the panelists surrounding her—the former Hope students who assisted her in the research process. These students included Hannah Jones ‘21, Aine O’Connor ‘20, Sarah Lundy ‘19, and Melanie Burkhardt ‘18. 

After the introduction, the panel discussion began, moderated by Dr. Stephen Maiullo, the Dean of Arts and Humanities. What follows is a transcript of the discussion, edited for length and with a focus on the research process. 

How did you get involved in this project?

Burkhardt: I started as a TA for Dr. Dykstra. I remember Dykstra mentioning she had an idea for a new book and that she needed a researcher. So, for the next two years, I worked with her. 

Lundy: I worked with the history department already and one day I got a surprise email asking if I wanted to do some research for Dykstra and if I’d like to go to Paris. It was a great experience outside the classroom to work in archives and see what that process looked like in the real world. 

O’Connor: I was sitting in Lubbers one day with my feet up and maybe not looking super professional. Dykstra walked in and I put myself together. We ended up talking and I told her, if she ever needed a TA, I’d be it. Well, later, I wanted to do research in Boston so I asked Dykstra. She said ‘How about Paris?’ 

Jones: I was also working as a TA and had a class with Aine. We got to go to Paris and ended up doing a lot of transcription work–especially on the Waterston diaries. 

What were some of the projects you worked on?

Lundy: For the most part, I was looking for day-to-day life. What was the weather like? What did her family do? What classes did she take? Really, it was lovely to dig into her letters, postcards, etc. It gave an image of her as a person and it wasn’t something I typically thought of in the context of archival research. It was getting to know about Isabella and her early years—a piece of her that was less well-known than the museum. 

Jones: Aine and I worked on transcribing the Helen Waterston diaries. Her handwriting was okay and she’d sprinkle in a bit of French which was fun. In her writing around age 16/17, Isabella was such a talented writer and it was a beautiful picture of the teenagers together in Paris. Helen described Isabelle as having a passion for ‘jollification.’ We dug into the weather, into Jack Gardner’s financial records… It was fun when the requests came in because we never knew quite what they were for. 

Burkhardt: Sometimes it was very hard (and fun) to transcribe Isabella’s letters–sometimes her writing was very slanted. I didn’t go to Paris, but I was able to go to Boston and visit the museum. I spent a day at Harvard at the Houghton Library, transcribing Henry James and TS Elliot. So much of studying English was reading something that someone had already discovered and this was going directly to the source for the first time. 

O’Connor: Outside of transcribing, we cheerleaded the book. It’s hard as the writer because it feels like you’re isolated and it was so lovely to step into the process. 

Dykstra: I’d bounce ideas off of them. You don’t write books alone–not even close–and I was so fortunate to have people cheering me on. 

How did you stay motivated when the research got hard?

Lundy: Research is time-consuming and iterative. Sometimes, you need to take a break and come back later—give yourself that grace. When you’re in a research trip situation, you’re often there because the resources are there. Yes, being in the library is important but the cultural experience of the place–walking the streets–is equally as important. You’d get a sense of being a non-native person and speaker. Back in the US, it’s important to set a schedule and have dedicated research time to work on the project. You needed to figure out what to prioritize and what to come back later. 

O’Connor: In Helen’s diary, we had so many red question marks, things we couldn’t read that left gaps in the story. No research happens alone and it was important to be able to work together. 

Jones: We’re naturally curious people and had a desire to know more. You’d find a word you didn’t know but, if you kept reading, it might show up again and this time you’d be able to read it. In the research process, failure is inevitable but it’s a time to learn, even to change course. It’s an opportunity to pivot. Working in Paris, Aine and I worked about 5 to 10 hours per week. While there was a timeline, it was also pretty flexible. Working together, one person could talk and one could type, then we could pause when we got stuck. 

The documents you worked to transcribe were written in cursive. How important is it to understand cursive when researching?

Lundy: So much of the historical record is written in cursive. Part of the repetitive iterative process was learning those handwritings—the quirks of each person. Correspondence remains incredibly fascinating because the actual handwriting tells you so much about the person.

O’Connor: Yes, transcriptions are important, but you need to know cursive to get to the actual materials. There’s something life-changing about physically holding those sources.

What inspired you (Dykstra) to write the book and how did you get the team on board?

I asked them because I could tell they were interested. They were good students and I knew that. Plus, they were working on Isabella’s teenage years—the same age they were which lent a unique perspective. It’s important to have different generations working together. 

It took me 18 months to decide to write her story in the first place. She had so many friends, an enormously important art and historical story, and she also lived for a long time. It was a true story and people are very attached to the museum. You don’t take something like that lightly. 

But there were also so many themes of her life that I felt I had something to say about. Her spirituality but also her relationship between heartbreak and beauty and light. She just had this intense curiosity—even at the end of her life when she was paralyzed by a stroke. 

She was a remarkable woman and I wanted to live with that character. 

In the writing process, how did you (Dykstra) manage the narrative story and the dense historical information that provided its context?

You need the stream–the social context–but you need to follow the fish. Your character should be apparent on every page. The reader needs to feel close to her, to see her alive on the page. Biography is a story—everything else can go in the endnotes. Follow the senses to convey her world. That allows the reader to see through the sentences as well. And it takes practice. 

“If I had one piece of advice, it would be to build one good day. Figure out what you need to do and build that day. That’s how books are written. “
Natalie Dykstra 

“Arms Flung Open in the Pursuit of Beauty”

Written by Anna Stowe, Hope College Creative Writing Major and Student Managing Editor for the English Department

On September 11, Winants Auditorium was filled with members of the Holland Community, students, professors, and friends, all gathered to discover the life of Isabella Stewart Gardner. Light filtered through the stained glass windows as the room rumbled with chatter. A few minutes before 6 pm, Dr. Stephen Maiullo, the Dean of Arts and Humanities, opened this year’s Community Summit on Arts and Humanities, a two-day event celebrating the work faculty and students are doing in and outside of the classroom.

After a brief introduction, author Dana Vanderlugt took the stage, introducing her friend and mentor Dr. Natalie Dykstra. An emerita professor and senior research professor at Hope College, Dykstra influenced several students who later joined her in the research process for Chasing Beauty: The Life of Isabella Stewart Gardner (published March 2024). Praising Dykstra’s research, teaching, and writing process, Vanderlugt stated that “the hallmark of scholarship is a passion for teaching–opening doors and windows for others.” With her shoulder-length gray hair, a colorful scarf tied around her neck, and glasses perched on her nose, Dykstra paints a picture of a brave, curious, wise woman. In Vanderlugt’s words, “She is a keen listener and adept at bringing light and grace into hard things… In the book, Isabella chases beauty, but that’s also what’s done in the writing.”

At last, Dr. Natalie Dykstra took the stage, opening her presentation with a long list of acknowledgements. Although a surprising introduction, Dykstra’s words highlight the fact that research and writing are not done alone. Despite being a fundamentally solitary act, the actual process takes a village. 

Isabella Stewart Gardner in 1888

And then we met Isabella, a New York girl. Dykstra’s passion for Isabelle–or Belle, as she called her–was clear as her eyes lit up and her hands came alive with movement. Passing over much of Isabella’s early life, Dykstra emphasized Isabella’s move to Paris at age 16 where she entered a convent school. Here, Isabella met Julia Gardner and Helen Waterston, whose diaries provided a previously undiscovered connection. It was Helen who first called Isabella a New York girl in an entry dated Dec 8, 1856. In 1860, Julia’s brother, Jack, would become Belle’s husband. Dykstra also mentioned the core of Isabella’s motivation: to create a palace and fill it with beautiful things. 

The young couple soon faced tragedy. Isabella’s only child died before reaching his second birthday. Facing the death of her son, Isabella’s grief derailed her. Despite this sorrow, however, Isabella and Jack began to travel the world–visiting Europe, Africa, and Asia. During their travels, Belle filled 28 journals with descriptions, drawings, and anecdotes as if she could put the world on a page. 

Interestingly, Isabella began collecting artwork early on–photos reveal the correlation between the Gardner’s home and the eventual museum galleries of Fenway Court. Unfortunately, tragedy struck once more in 1898. Jack Gardner’s death once again marked Isabella’s house of beautiful things with grief. Once again, Isabella found a new purpose–this time by creating Fenway Court, modeled after a Venetian palazzo turned inside out. A testament to her determination, Isabella is recorded as having overseen the project herself, accompanied by her lunch pail. 

Today, Fenway Court is known as the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum. Its halls are filled with a collection of paintings, sculptures, tapestries, furniture, manuscripts, rare books, and more. Displayed carefully, the museum is more than a collection of objects–it is Isabella’s way of bringing the world to America. 

Dutch Room
Raphael Room
Museum Courtyard

Such a clear recounting of Isabella’s life may rest on a page conveniently, but crafting her story was not without difficulty. Dykstra emphasized this point, explaining that there was very little documentation of Isabella’s early years, but a vast quantity of writings surrounding her later life. In Dykstra’s words, “While I wrote, there was the feeling of weaving her story from gossamer threads, but it was all important. Early accounts of Isabella didn’t seem to match the soulfulness of her creation, its sweep, its seeming spiritual claim… That’s when I realized you had Isabella when you had the museum.” Before she died in 1924, Isabella stipulated in her will that the museum could not be changed–it had to remain exactly as she created it. 

Despite facing immense loss, Isabella Stewart Gardner never stopped chasing beauty.  Even in the cover image of Dykstra’s book, Isabella’s arms are flung open to the world and to experience; “It was as if she said, ‘Come out all of you, this is too beautiful to miss.’ She chased beauty throughout the heartbreak of her early life.”

Following Dykstra’s introduction of Isabella, Vanderlugt joined her on the stage, settling into chairs facing each other for the interview portion of the event. 

What gave you the bravery to write it and drove you to tell the story?

People have such strong feelings about the museum and such strong attachments to it–deep experiences. Belle was in her 60s when the museum opened and lived another 20 years. There had to be a better story than what had been said up to that point. At the same time, if she had told us what it meant, everything would have turned back to her. Then I realized she didn’t want to insert herself between the visitor and the art. She wanted individuals to chase beauty themselves. She deserved a story that brought her alive. And there was the spiritual side–something I felt I had something to say about. Most people focus on the collection itself–which does make sense, but it’s almost like she got overshadowed by her own accomplishment. And then there’s the theft–13 pieces were stolen and it’s an ongoing investigation. That overshadowed the museum too. It created a double shadow. 

How did the experience of writing compare to the experience of teaching? How do they intersect? 

When I was writing well, I was teaching better. When I was teaching well, I was writing better. It was a synergy–they fed off each other. I mean, it is about audience and storytelling and surprise but in the classroom it’s such a human thing. You never know quite what’s going to happen and you end up going to a new place together–both in the classroom and in writing. I love the element of surprise–it’s life, both on the page and in the classroom. 

You talked about the grief, the tragedy, and the joy. What brought you joy in the process of writing but also now?

While writing, I was very much at my desk. It took five years to get this done. When you’re really in it, it’s not lonely because these people come alive–so alive that it’s almost too many people in my head. At the same time, sometimes it’s not going well and that’s really hard. There’s also the readers–I get emails in the middle of the night saying ‘I just had to tell you…’ and I remember what the writing is for. I was also scared that I would fundamentally change the perception of the museum itself–but, thankfully, that didn’t happen. So yes, it’s just so nice to have readers. 

The museum remains the same every single time–Isabella stipulated that. Is that part of the power of the museum or does that detract? What is the effect of that?

Well, she stipulates that nothing can be moved in her will. She hired the best architectural photographer and attached those photos to the will so that they literally couldn’t be changed unless you went to court and fought. She didn’t want to just bring the painting back but she wanted to bring the experience of seeing the paint where it was. She knew how to display these objects to their greatest effect. It was a struggle to figure out what paintings and installations to talk about and how those could be used to tell the story. Now though, it draws you closer to Isabella. It gives intent–it’s like a scrapbook. And once you have intent, you have a through-line, you have a storyline. 

Throughout this event, Dykstra emphasized her reading, research, and writing process. She showed letters, travel journals, images of the gallery, even photos of Isabella. These served to flesh out Isabella’s character, give her flesh and blood. Reviews for Chasing Beauty are accurate: “…in the dazzling Chasing Beauty, Dykstra found a way into Gardner’s life through diligent research that uncovered traces of the woman in the worlds she inhabited. Evocative and absorbing….” —Washington Independent Book Review

Anna Gazmarian, Hope ’14, releases memoir about mental health and Evangelical faith

Anna Gazmarian’s memoir, entitled Devout: A Memoir of Doubt, is the exploration of the complex interplay between faith and science, particularly in the context of mental health. Growing up in Winston Salem, North Carolina, within an Evangelical family, she was ingrained with a religious framework that offered limited understanding and resources for dealing with mental health issues. This story is about the struggle with her mental health diagnosis and navigating the challenging waters of seeking medical treatment while feeling at-odds with the teachings of her faith.

Gazmarian delves deep into the heart of her personal conflicts, the initial resistance to seek outside help due to fear of stigmatization within her community, and the internal battle between the faith of her upbringing and the scientific approach to mental health. Her memoir is filled with moments of vulnerability, courage, and profound insights as she embarks on a path to understanding and acceptance. Her story is a powerful reminder of the importance of embracing both science and spirituality in the journey towards health and wholeness, encouraging a dialogue that respects and incorporates the benefits of both worlds in the healing process.

New York Times Review

“She Trusted God and Science. They Both Failed Her“
By Carlene Bauer
March 12, 2024

In “Devout,” Anna Gazmarian writes of being given a Christmas present she found impossible to keep: a pendant necklace holding a tiny seed. It was a reference to the passage in Matthew where Jesus tells his apostles that faith the size of a mustard seed can move mountains.

Gazmarian, struggling with bipolar disorder and an accompanying affliction of doubt, threw the necklace into the trash. It didn’t matter that it had been a gift from her well-meaning mother — what it symbolized was of no use to her. “I wanted a faith as large as a deeply rooted oak tree,” she writes, “the kind where you had to lean back to see the highest branches in the sky.” 

The evangelical Christianity Gazmarian had been raised in, which had taught her to see depression as a symptom of spiritual weakness — possibly even the work of the Devil — could not help her realize this vision, and in “Devout” she tells of how she eventually found healing for both mind and soul. 

In this, her first book, she does not condemn what wounds her. “I’ve been breaking down and rebuilding my concept of faith, searching for a faith that can exist alongside doubt, a faith that is built on trust rather than fear,” she writes in the preface. “A faith with room for prayer and lament.” “Devout” is both of these, “offered in the hope of restoration.”

The memoir begins shortly after Gazmarian, having started college in her native North Carolina, receives a diagnosis of bipolar II disorder. She takes this as yet another sign that her faith is at fault — despite having done all the things that millennial evangelicals were told to do. She’d worn a purity ring, listened to the sanctioned bands and stayed away from the supposedly occult- glorifying Harry Potter books. 

But obedience does not stop her mind from turning against itself. Her daily prayer journals contain lists of all the ways she hopes to die. The next years contain five different psychiatrists’ offices, eight different mood stabilizers and two kinds of A.D.H.D. medication. Throughout, she tries desperately to hang onto her faith. 

Pastors are patronizing, and her friends are no better. She’s prayed over, told to pray more herself, quoted to from Scripture and referred to a book titled “Praying for Your Future Husband: Preparing Your Heart for His.” 

That all of this does not lead to a complete renunciation of her faith might be hard to fathom — even for those who mourn the loss of their own. It’s especially hard when the author reveals that, before the diagnosis, her pastor had removed her from a leadership team because he worried she’d be a distraction to the boy appointed church intern. 

But Gazmarian isn’t failed only by a Christianity that, when it’s not teaching her that men and their sexual purity matter more than any woman ever will, teaches her to be skeptical of science. She’s also failed, again and again, by science itself. 

This is perhaps the most heartbreaking aspect of the story: watching a young woman desperate to be well hand over her hope to a medical-industrial complex that shows itself to be no more deserving of her credulity than the evangelicalism that broke her spirit. 

Nearly every drug she’s prescribed leaves her reeling from side effects, and nearly every psychiatrist she sees seems to be just as clueless and unsympathetic as the Christians who surround her. Until, that is, a compassionate doctor suggests she try ketamine. That, a liberating poetry class, marriage and motherhood all converge to bring her stability and even joy.

This is perhaps the real story she’s telling. It’s tempting to say that you don’t need to be religious and suffering from a mood disorder to relate to such a narrative — you just need to be American and suffering from one. 

That said, those raised in a restrictive religious tradition themselves may well relate to “Devout.” But while Gazmarian’s writing is marked by an elegant clarity that suggests a close communion with Scripture’s commanding simplicity, there’s not much insight offered into what makes faith worth holding onto — especially when it’s so often weaponized. 

Some who have read widely to heal a religiously traumatized self or an unquiet mind could wish that the author engaged with the long history of Christian thinkers who have grappled with despair. This recovering evangelical (Gen X edition) kept fervently hoping that someone was going to show up and prescribe Gazmarian some Kierkegaard. 

The most receptive readers, ultimately, might be those who believe relatability is the primary gift authors owe their audience. And if such readers feel seen by this book and thus saved from the stigma they, like Gazmarian, might have carried like a cross, that’s no small accomplishment. 

Bauer, Carlene 2024, ‘She Trusted God and Science. They Both Failed Her.’, New York Times, 12 March 2024, accessed April 2024

Additional Reviews

“Gazmarian’s dazzling debut memoir delivers a potent examination of the intersection between faith and mental health.” –Publishers Weekly, starred review

“Gazmarian discovers that hope and lament can coexist; her perseverance
deepens her faith, and she concludes on an optimistic note with a beautiful letter to her daughter.” -Booklist“

“Anna Gazmarian’s Devout is a soulful, candid, deeply curious account of doubt as an inevitable part of faith. It finds grace in the most specific and surprising places: conversations about poetry in the back of a dim donut shop; thousand-year-old olive trees; coloring beside a devoted partner in the evenings; a toddler’s tenderness. This moving memoir is always attuned to the possibilities of community and spiritual sustenance, even as it refuses to efface the struggles at its core–believing that this struggle, too, can be a thing of beauty.” -LESLIE JAMISON, author of The Recovering

“This book is a work of reclamation. With unwavering courage and honesty, Anna Gazmarian investigates the overlapping complexities of religious faith, mental illness, and the often dangerous gospels around healing in both spiritual and secular realms. More than a story of lost and found faith, Devout is a clear-eyed account of what happens when the ceiling caves in and the foundation crumbles, and we have to do the painful yet powerful work of rebuilding on new ground.” –SULEIKA JAOUAD, author of Between Two Kingdoms

“In Devout, Anna Gazmarian reexamines the Bible and her Evangelical upbringing through the lens of bipolar disease to uncover both the violations and gifts of the religious tradition from which she emerged. A smart and searching account of one woman’s journey away from inherited shame and into the light of love.” -RACHEL YODER, author of Nightbitch

“Unlike what she was offered, Anna paints a picture of a life of faith that includes the complexity of humanness. She shows us that despite what rigid, exclusionary, and inaccurate narratives of mental health we are so offered in the church, that a life of faith and communion with God happens not in spite of outside of them, but in the middle of the diagnosis, the doctors appointments, the medication, the brave conversations to ask for help, and the risk to keep trying even when we’re scared. We need more stories like Anna’s to be told.” -DR. HILLARY McBRIDE, author of The Wisdom Of Your Body

Why World Literature Matters: A Faculty Feature by Professor Liddell

Hi there! My name is Graham Liddell, and I am finishing up my first year as a Visiting Assistant Professor in the English department here at Hope College. In addition to teaching college writing, I teach courses in world literature.

Just what is world literature? It can be difficult to define without wading into decades-old debates. For our purposes, I’ll say that world literature is typically understood to mean works written by authors hailing from outside the United States, Canada, the British Isles, New Zealand, and Australia—and usually from outside the Western world more broadly.

These literary works are translated into English after first being published in other languages. (However, “global anglophone literature”—e.g. novels originally written in English by authors from former British colonies—is sometimes included under the umbrella of world literature as well.)

The two world lit courses I offered this year focused on unauthorized migration and Arab diaspora experiences. In the first course, we read narratives about clandestine border-crossing journeys and struggles with asylum application procedures. In the second, we met characters searching for lost identities in complicated family histories of immigration. In both courses, we explored challenging topics, such as border policies, religious coexistence in the Arab world, Orientalism (condescending Western attitudes toward Eastern cultures), and the history of the forced displacement of Palestinians. 

My goal as a professor is for students to find ways to relate to the characters in our course readings and also to connect the literary works to current events—the kinds of international developments that students may hear about on the news, or, more likely, see politically charged posts about on TikTok or Instagram. 

Some students may be hesitant to discuss these issues, and it’s easy to understand why. Undocumented migration and violence in the Middle East can seem like intimidating subject matter. After all, aren’t these problems so complicated that even “the experts” can’t figure them out? If so, how can a mere college student be expected to understand them? Not to mention that the online debates on these topics sometimes get so heated that chiming in can feel truly daunting, if not risky.

So before I explain why world literature is an effective way to approach such issues, perhaps I should make the case for why it is worthwhile for students at Hope College to invest the time and energy in learning about them in the first place.

The global and the local

Sometimes it seems that “current events” only happen to other people — people “over there,” and not to those of us going about our daily lives in Holland, Michigan. Yet in the reality of our globalized world, we are not only affected by these phenomena, but we might also contribute to bringing them about, even if only in subtle ways and without intending it.

Case in point: public opinion on the US’s approach to Mideast war and unauthorized migration could determine the upcoming presidential election. Administrations and campaigns must establish a degree of support for—or at least passive tolerance of—their policies, or they risk losing power. Public opinion and civic engagement thus have important roles in shaping policies on these matters, which, in turn, have palpable impacts on real people’s lives. Certain policy decisions could mean the difference between acceptance and deportation for a Latin American asylum seeker, or even between life and death for a Palestinian civilian weathering Israel’s ongoing military campaign in the Gaza Strip.  

If we think about it, the issues of Mideast violence and unauthorized migration aren’t simply “issues.” They are the real experiences of human beings who are either in our midst or just one or two degrees of separation away. People who harvest our fruits and vegetables and prepare our meals, or who drive our buses and Ubers. People our churches may serve or raise funds for. People like the hundreds of Syrian and Afghan refugees who have been resettled in West Michigan over the past few years. Or the Palestinian Americans living in southeast Michigan and Chicago, some of whose family members were recently killed in Gaza.

Where does world literature come in?

In my view, the most important benefit of world literature is that it provides a window into experiences that are not one’s own, and it demonstrates that these experiences are invariably more complex than what stereotypes or dominant narratives would suggest. 

In my course on unauthorized migration literature, students read Signs Preceding the End of the World, a novel by Mexican author Yuri Herrera that tells a very different kind of border-crossing story than what students might expect. The main character, Makina, does not cross into the United States to seek a better life for herself, but rather to find her brother and bring him back to Mexico, as if to save him. 

In Herrera’s wonderfully allegorical prose, the Northern domain of “the anglos” is depicted not as a land of opportunity, but as a wasteland in which border crossers’ bodies and souls are at risk of being irrevocably lost to labor exploitation and forced assimilation. Herrera likens the personal transformation that happens to some migrants after they’ve left home to a kind of death—a passage into the underworld.

Alongside Herrera, students read selections from anthropologist Jason De León’s book The Land of Open Graves: Living and Dying on the Migrant Trail, through which they learn about the history of US border policies and the migrants who subvert them. My hope is that students make connections between the experiences of the fictional character Makina and those of the real-life migrants De León writes about—some of whom literally die on the “migrant trail.” These connections may trigger a newfound awareness about the stakes of ongoing political debates over undocumented migration.

Clandestine migration is a process that sometimes involves the literal destruction of one’s identity papers, and it typically requires migrants to conceal their presence at least some of the time. The fear is that this secrecy will result in erasure—the disappearance of migrants’ identities along with their IDs. How, then, might the lives of undocumented people be documented, their stories heard and valued? I argue that literature is one important solution to this problem: fictional works about unauthorized migrants can speak in ways that migrants themselves are often prevented from speaking in real life.

Not ‘humanization,’ but engagement

One important caveat: I caution against the idea that world literature “humanizes” the characters it depicts for its English-language audiences. In the language of humanization, there is the subtle, absurd suggestion that it is Western readers’ recognition of non-Western characters—and by extension their real-world counterparts—that makes them human.

For me, the goal of world literature is less about recognition than about possibilities for engagement in response to reading it. Such engagement can take various forms. It might look like making an active effort to learn more about a given topic of international significance—perhaps by watching documentaries or reading other books. It might involve connecting with a community organization or taking part in advocacy initiatives. Or it might mean learning the language that a certain work of world literature was originally written in.

My own engagement often takes the form of translation in an endeavor to make works of contemporary Arabic literature accessible to broader audiences. In graduate school, I had the opportunity to edit an edition of the literary translation journal Absinthe. The issue, which can be read online here, is entitled Orphaned of Light and features recent migration-related short stories, essays, passages from novels, and poetry translated from Arabic to English. And in recent months, I have been translating short stories by the Palestinian author Yoursi Alghoul, who lives in Gaza.

One of these forthcoming short stories, “A Life Dipped in Blood,” was written and is set during the ongoing war. The piece invites readers into the inner lives of Palestinians who are currently undergoing the horrors of bombardment and blockade. Alghoul’s work is a stunning example of world literature’s ability to facilitate visceral encounters between people who are separated by impassable borders—in ways that headlines and social media posts never could.

On Writing, Fishing, and Failing: Alumni Spotlight with Taylor Rebhan (’14)

What do you do now? And we’d love to hear a bit about how you got there as well.

My day job is writing advertising, marketing, and brand copy as a Senior Writer at REI Co-op. By moonlight, I write creative non-fiction with the hope of publishing a book of humorist essays.

I graduated from Hope with an English Major, Creative Writing Emphasis, and a Communications Minor. After graduation, I found a paid internship program for college graduates at a Detroit-based advertising agency. I applied to be a writer, but it was the social media team who hired me. My boss later told me, “I looked at your resume and saw something called the Mellon Scholars. I thought, ‘I don’t know what that is, but it sounds like we can trust her with the password to the Cadillac Twitter account.’” 

How did your Hope English education shape you?

How didn’t it! I think about it often. Three aspects continue to rise to the top.

Faculty: Drs. Pablo Peschiera and Natalie Dykstra changed my life. I was blessed not only to be their student but also to have apprenticeships, so to speak, as a Teaching Assistant and through research projects and jobs on campus. The ability to have such deep ties and access to their wisdom was incredibly formative.

Method: Whether it was practicing our critique technique in Ceramics with the late, great Billy Mayer or having a heated discussion about whether we can truly know ourselves in Stephen Maiullo’s classical lit class, how to have open, honest, and respectful dialogue is the bedrock of a Hope education. It’s a skill that has paid true dividends over the course of my life in all aspects, from career to personal life.

Values: The faith-centered education at Hope gives you the tools to seek, develop, and nurture your personal values. It is vital to move through the world with an anchor. Hope helps you form yours. It asks, what do you hold dear? What do you consider to be moral, just, ethical? What would you do if you were faced with a challenge to your deepest beliefs? We wrestle with these questions our entire lives. Hope is a unique place in that it fosters curiosity, courage, and compassion as you seek the answers. That sticks with you long after graduation day.

What advice would you give to current English majors or students considering an English major?

Don’t be afraid of AI. Learn it. Use it. Think of the ways we can make sure we don’t abuse it. It might be intimidating to major in something the world says will be obsolete. Don’t let it scare you away. We need you now more than ever.

AI will never replace the beautiful, 100% certified organic neural network in that noggin of yours.

Favorite book read recently or in college?

These days I always have one book on hand and one book in-ear. “On-hand” is a physical book I grab when I have a minute to sit down and get lost. Right now that’s George Saunders’ A Swim in a Pond in the Rain. I love to read books about writing. I love Russian lit. It’s a win-win.

“In-ear” is an audiobook I listen to when I’m walking the dogs, rucking, running errands, or cooking. I’m on an insatiable Andy Weir kick right now. I started with Project Hail Mary, and I can’t stop. 

What’s the worst advice you’ve been given?

At some point, the idea was put in my head that you must be good at something for it to be worth doing. And that’s rotten advice. I’m glad I discovered it’s not true.

First, no one starts off good at anything. Failure is a necessary predecessor to success. But even then, being good at something isn’t the point. It’s the doing at all.

Last summer, I started fishing as a hobby. There’s a lot of stabbing myself with hooks and getting line caught in trees and knots breaking at the worst possible moment. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I’m not crushing any state-record monster bass, just embracing looking foolish in the pursuit of happiness. 

It’s humbling and wonderful to enjoy something and not be good at it. Claw away at that song on the banjo. Take as long as you need to run that mile. Reel in that average-sized fish. You don’t have to be good at something for it to be good for you.

If you could start a nonprofit, who would it help?

My dream is to retire young and run a nonprofit that trains and places service dogs with American veterans at no cost to them or their families.

What’s something that has surprised you since graduation?

How many people don’t know how to write clearly, even graduates from copywriting programs at state university advertising schools. It is a precious and valuable skill.