SQN - Sine Qua Non - Issue 1 - Journal - Page 18
Theory & Craft Introduction
he 昀椀rst time I wrote to create something was when I was eleven. I wrote a poem about
the death of my little brother a few years earlier. Looking back on that poem now, I
realize how many emotions I had—how many emotions I had been observing and absorbing at
such a young age. I was too young to understand what grief meant, how long it would last, what
it was doing inside my mind and body. The loudness of my confusion about all these emotions
developed a silence in me. I kept my questions to myself for fear that I would trigger sadness in
others. But writing the poem allowed me to speak in a way that didn’t require the adults in my
life to explain this deep sadness. It didn’t necessitate their own excavation of emotions in order
to clarify and validate mine. Me and the page—me on the page—had our own conversations and
understandings and answers. So, from a young age, writing for me has always been personal.
As I grew up, as a Black girl in Texas, I internalized silence as a form of protection. My art
became a safe way to interrogate personal and social concerns through my characters. But I rarely
saw myself in media; television shows, commercially successful plays, and movies infrequently
showcased the nuanced experiences of my life. And as a Black studies and Black Aesthetics
scholar, I now realize this silence—this absence—is due in part to a lack of understanding and
recognition of craft and theories that are culturally speci昀椀c and/or not widely taught. However,
most of the brilliant writers I know write from a personal and sacred space, a space that is
identity centered. They write to reject silence and embrace the many possibilities of self. And
the intersections of their personhood and experiences make their work all the richer and more
poignant.
When Raúl asked me to be a part of the inaugural issue of the Sine Qua Non, he told me that
he wanted the journal to put the author back in literature. The author is “that without which”
literature would not exist. This was the 昀椀rst time in a while I had heard someone say this. I
had been in literary criticism classes that paid far more attention to close reading and accused
me of caring far too much about authorial intent and context. So, Raúl’s invitation was a way
to excuse myself from the conversation of exclusive close reading of text and engage with the
people who made the art I loved so much. It was an invitation to not only appreciate their work
but also to appreciate the deeply personal and culturally informed processes through which they
created it. For the inaugural issue, I attended conferences and listened to how writers talked about
creation. I reached out to friends I knew had had revelations about their creative processes. I read
submissions by writers working out on the page how they work things out on the page.
The chosen selections for the Craft and Theory section seem personally speci昀椀c but generally
accessible. They present new ways of creating and analyzing that consider more than just “good
story basics.” What interested me most was the writer and reader in relation to the text. John
Farrell’s “Saying/Making/Doing: What Authors Are Up To” contests beliefs that the author
should not be considered in literary criticism, arguing for a new appreciation of the creator’s intent
and execution when creating literary works. He proposes the slogan “Saying/Making/Doing”
as a framework to understand and use authorial intent and communication with an intended
audience. Laura Martin’s “Chappell Roan and Me: The Project of Constructing a Dimensional
Persona” considers authenticity of persona when writing about self in creative non昀椀ction. They
o昀昀er insight from their own experience writing di昀케cult, messy, and personal stories that are
both real and narratively engaging. Prakash Kona’s “Close Readings of the Interpersonal Kind”
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