venerdì 20 marzo 2015

Interview with Laura Fortin

Hi Laura,

I'm very pleased that you agreed to be interviewed.
Firstly, I would like to ask you how your passion for writing arose. At what age did you start writing with a certain awareness of what you were doing? What and why did you write?

I started writing when I was 14. I attended several competitions and some I won. At that time, I wrote to express my feelings, but I had no awareness of the power of the word. I went on writing for years, but I believe I developed such an awareness in 2012 when I opened my definitive blog.

Aside from natural improvement, have you noticed a development in your style and aims over the years? Has there ever been an occasion when you read something you had written and said to yourself: “This is it, I did it. Now I only have to keep writing like this”?

Over time my style has changed much. Slowly I refused classical poetry and began to focus on mental images. When I am able to capture one of these images, I think I’ve got the result.

Whilst a lot of poems deal with the portrait of a single moment, short stories tend to depict a particular event. It seems to me that your writings are halfway between the two genres as they represent a series of moments connected by unpredictable and startling associations. How would you define your writings? (https://laurafortin.wordpress.com/) Prose poems? Poetic short stories?

Mental polaroid pictures, definitely.

Would you like to tell us more about your writing process? How does it usually happen?

It’s not something habitual. I am used to surround myself with beauty as I am an artist in the way I live. I study art, I watch art movies, I listen to quality music. All of these inputs are necessary to translate simple feelings into images. Through my poetry I try to use art to represent a human state of mind.

How often do you write and how long does it take you to polish a writing? When do you know that it's “finished” and ready to be published?

It’s immediate. I start, I write, and it’s done. No work of filing.

Lastly, I would like to ask you to share one of your writings with us.
 
I HAPPEN

These are separate lanes, flavorless liquids, brittle cold. Screw together to survive, marry an anticipation and have children, crippled. This is a clean space, it has no hair, no odor. It's an aimless memory, without pride, a whole. My heart throbs like the accent of a language that doesn't own me. Quit saying to grow mark, washing away to become presence. Hunger is in my bed, young whore, she doesn't know she's departing. I oversee empty rooms, no rest. I happen.

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