Angel T. Dionne is an associate professor
of English literature at the University of Moncton's Edmundston campus. She
holds a PhD in creative writing from the University of Pretoria and is the
founding editor of Vroom Lit Magazine. Her writing and art have been
featured in several experimental publications.
She is the author of a full-length collection of short fiction, Sardines
(ClarionLit, 2023) and two chapbooks, Inanimate Objects (Bottlecap
Press, 2022) and Mormyridae (LJMcD Communications, 2024). She is also
the co-editor of Rape Culture 101: Programming Change (Demeter Press,
2020). Her full-length poetry collection, Bird Ornaments, is forthcoming
with Broken Tribe Press in early 2025.
1 - How did your first book or chapbook change your life? How does your
most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?
My first book, a chapbook of what I call “strange” flash fiction titled Inanimate
Objects, gave me a big confidence boost. I remember getting the acceptance
email and thinking, “Hey, maybe my work is worth reading.” That validation
pushed me to send in my full-length story collection, Sardines and
eventually, my forthcoming collection of surrealist poetry. I feel less constrained
by self-doubt.
2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or
non-fiction?
I came to fiction first. I toyed with poetry here and there in my late
teens and early twenties, but fiction always felt like home. It wasn’t until I
became interested in the surrealist movement that I began to seriously consider
writing poetry. I love the freedom that surrealism offers. Before, I viewed
poetry as more constrained and “stuffier” than prose. I write fiction, of
course, but I have a much deeper appreciation for poetry than I did when I was
younger.
3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project? Does
your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts
appear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out of
copious notes?
I call my first drafts dumpster fires because that’s exactly what they
are – flaming messes. Over time, I’ve learned that this part of my writing
process. If I try to write a first drafts that’s too close to its final shape,
I become paralyzed by the idea of perfection. I usually write my poetry and
prose in a fit of wild inspiration, followed by a much slower and more
methodical editing process.
4 - Where does a poem or work of fiction usually begin for you? Are you
an author of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are
you working on a "book" from the very beginning?
I’m drawn to short forms. My first book, Sardines, is a collection of
short stories. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to stretch a story into a
full-length novel. I focus on what I call “cramped” stories – stories that take
place in limited settings, stories that have one or two characters at most,
etc. It’s difficult to stretch this style of writing into a novel that people
would want to read. It’s the same with poetry. I prefer shorter pieces. I
believe there’s real beauty in brevity.
5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are
you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
Would it be wrong to call them a necessary evil? Public readings sell
books. They give you a very important opportunity to meet people and network. The
best readings are those that take place in bars and little cafés because the
vibe tends to be more casual. I often try to advertise my readings as “open
mic.” After I do my reading and sign a few books, I open the floor to other
writers and musicians who want to come share. That takes the pressure off. I
struggle with readings because I’m extremely introverted.
6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds
of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think
the current questions are?
With Sardines, I used fiction to explore the concept of
unresolved, existential guilt. Martin Buber’s paper, “Guilt and Guilt Feeling,”
was a big inspiration for this collection. The characters in the stories
struggle with guilt in one form or another but are ultimately unable to resolve
it in a meaningful way. Bird Ornaments is a bit more difficult to define.
The poems the juxtaposition of unrelated elements to focus on the language of
the body and the dream-like that exists within the mundane.
7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger
culture? Do they even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should
be?
Five years ago, I might have given a different answer. Now with AI being
at our fingertips, I think the writer’s role is to be uniquely human. Sure, AI
can generate text and visual images, but can it truly create? True art and
writing necessitates lived experience and emotion. These forms of expression
are ultimately going to separate human from machine.
I once had my students use AI to generate poems about loss. Then, they
read a poem written by a former student of mine. All agreed that the AI poem
lacked that human experience of what it means to deal with loss. At best, it
was an empty husk of a poem. The role of a writer, and my role as I see it, is
to show others that creation is necessary and that it forms the foundation of
what it means to be human.
8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult
or essential (or both)?
I’m extremely fortunate to be working on Bird Ornaments with
William Lawrence from Broken Tribe Press. He’s the head editor and working with
him has been an absolute pleasure. He’s helped me refine my work without losing
its essence.
9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given
to you directly)?
A good first draft is a done first draft.
10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to
fiction)? What do you see as the appeal?
Since discovering surrealist writing, I’ve found it easier to move between
poetry to fiction rather. I’ve also started experimenting with surrealist
visual art, which nicely complements my writing. My fiction tends more towards
the literary, while my poetry is almost always surrealist or experimental. I
think my earlier attempts to limit myself to just “literary” writing might be
why I struggled with poetry in the past. I don’t have much to say about the
changing of seasons, but I can certainly tell you about flowers blooming from
an infected gout toe.
11 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even
have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?
I wish I had a routine! I tell my students to try and find one, but I
also tell them that some people work better without them. It’s funny because in
my daily life, I thrive on routine. When it comes to writing, I work in spurts
– weeks of nothing, then suddenly a burst of frenzied productivity.
12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for
lack of a better word) inspiration?
I don’t force it. I was once told that writing is a job. You don’t wait
for the muses to descend; you sit down, and you write no matter what. That
never worked for me personally. I’ve learned that trying to say something when
I really have nothing to say is counterproductive. I need to trust my own
process.
13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
Vick’s vapour rub brings me back to my childhood. I still use it when I’m
sick, of course, but sometimes I’ll use a little when I’m feeling anxious.
14 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are
there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science
or visual art?
Visual art has over the years been a huge influence on me as a writer.
I’m inspired by artists like Rene Magritte, Leonora Carrington, Unica Zürn, and
Felix Nussbaum. I also think there are some wonderful young artists to discover
on social media. Toby Ross, a young surrealist painter from the UK, has a knack
for creating work that feels like a fever dream.
15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or
simply your life outside of your work?
For fiction: Bernard Malamud, Anzia Yezierska, and the philosophy of
Martin Buber.
For poetry: the surrealists, especially Andre Breton.
I can’t forget my students, who are always willing to experiment with
their writing. They each have something to teach me.
16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
I’d love to learn the violin but unlike my grandfather and my brother,
I’m not musically gifted.
17 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be?
Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not
been a writer?
I’m a writer, but I’m also a professor, which has always been my dream
job. If I wasn’t a writer or professor, maybe I’d be a veterinarian. I imagine
it would be emotionally exhausting, though.
18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
My mother made me into a storyteller. I grew up in a challenging home environment,
and she would tell me bedtime stories to make sure I went to bed with a
positive mindset. She’d then have me make up my own stories. This helped
develop my creativity and love of storytelling at a young age.
She always hoped I’d become a writer but when I started my undergraduate
studies, I chose biology and pre-med. I ended up switching to literature and
writing. She was happy that I switched, which is sort of the opposite reaction
most parents would have.
19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
Rachel Yoder’s Nightbitch was a brilliant, disturbing read. I also
recently reread Bernard Malamud’s The
Fixer.
One film that I recently enjoyed was Hereditary. It’s an artfully done piece of horror cinema.
I discover something new, like a small (yet meaningful) word etched into the
wall behind a character’s bed, each time I watch it.
20 - What are you currently working on?
I’m working on another surrealist collection. It doesn’t have a title
yet, but it’s coming together in in small bursts. It’s likely going to be a
hybrid collection of surrealist poetry and prose vignettes.
12 or 20 (second series) questions;
