by Andrea Dupree
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The lovely and limber Wendy Wunder[/caption]
I remember her saying with her name, she could either be a writer or a superhero. This was in the mid-nineties--we were both recent college grads wandering around the Bay Area. We'd each seen an ad in the back of the indie weekly that said, I think, "Writing Circles for Women." We met there, in a woman's living room in Alameda, and became instant friends. Or at least that's how I remember it. Shortly afterwards, I left for Boston, she stayed in Berkeley, and then when she finally moved to Boston, I moved to Denver. It's so unfair.
Starting a couple years ago, Wendy began publishing these hilariously funny, harrowing novels. Well, one is already out and the other is on its way. Before that, she got stories in some of those great places like Gettysburg Review. When I went through Boston a couple years ago on my way to a residency, she drove me to New Hampshire personally, and even made sure I liked my studio and residence before she left. When she drove away, I was sad, but I was also clutching the ARC of her first book: The Probability of Miracles. As the New York Times Book Review even said, it was a funny, entertaining read, but also damn smart and full of heart--just like her.
A couple years later, I'm still in Denver, she's still in Boston, and her second novel, The Museum of Intangible Things, is about to come out. I begged her to come teach at Lit Fest 2014, and she is! Check out Writing-Class-Asana, Lighten Up: Humor in Serious Fiction, and Emotional Rollercoaster: Plotting the Young Adult Novel. (I don't mean this as an advertisement--but you'll want to know about those classes. Swearsies.)
She submitted to my incessant questioning with the great poise I've come to expect from her.
AD: Remember California? Our writers’ circle?
WW: I do remember it. I’ve been trying for 24 hours to think of a funny thing to say about it, but I can’t, because it wasn’t funny. We were serious. Right? Ready to get down to business and take our writing seriously. For the first time. It was a little like church. And I think it was the inspiration for Lighthouse in a way…?
AD: There was some funniness. And tragedy. Some tragi-comedy. I’ll never forget you writing that growing up, you weren’t allowed to buy grapes. I guess that’s sad. But on a lighter note, didn’t you have these really hip friends who had like a trolley car in their loft in San Francisco?
Yes, the Writers’ Circle gave us the idea, after all those years teaching adjunct, to try something kind of… unconventional. Now it seems really conventional to start a literary center, but that was the late 90s. I thought, if those nice women in Alameda could do it, why not? We’ll build a church, too. I was just sad that we ended up leaving Boston right as you were coming for grad school. You were nice to buy our futon. I wonder if that contributed, in some ways, to your success? The grad school and the futon?
WW: Mostly the futon. Lol. No. And the Grad school of course. So funny that you remember that about the grapes. They were expensive during the Cesar Chavez thing, so my mom didn’t buy them. I wish it were a boycott in support of the migrant workers, but I’m pretty sure it was just the price. We didn’t have a lot of grapes. It’s okay. I remember some nice plums.
When you moved away from CA, I had some friends move in and we bought a ski lift chair at Urban Ore and hung it from the rafters along with a chandelier with a fish in it. And a lightbright Mondrian. We were trying too hard to be hip. We were Pre-Hipsters. And then I came to Boston and bought your futon. California was dreamy though. Like living on a jasmine scented cloud.
AD: I remember you saying that, that California seemed fake, like the stuff of dreams. I couldn’t argue. There was all the beauty and enlightened people and it didn’t seem like there was very much wind.
I still feel a little guilt about the grapes, because they were abundant in my childhood. At least as far as I can remember. We had powdered milk but grapes galore. It’s complicated. We were poor hedonists.
That’s right—you had a ski lift chair! Much hipper than a trolley car. And more practical. I remember you gave me corded tights, a warm hat, and a sweater when I was moving to Boston. I was terrified. But then I didn’t do squat for you when you finally came back east. I tried to give you a really old laptop. I think it ran DOS. And you snuck a hundred dollar bill into my pocket or something devious. I'm just revving up to my question.
Did you know when you were in grad school that (1) you could write, and finish, a novel, and (2) that you would write, and finish, a SECOND novel? I bow down to you.
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Wendy's first novel, and I think the UK edition. Notice all the nice blurbs.[/caption]
WW: Thoughts...
--I hate wind. And you’re right there wasn’t a lot of wind in CA, except maybe on Point Reyes or something. But that place is magical, so it is excused of its windiness.
--Everyone re-read Salinger’s “Uncle Wiggly in Connecticut” which ends:
“'You remember our freshman year, and I had that brown-and-yellow dress I bought in Boise, and Miriam Ball told me nobody wore those kind of dresses in New York, and I cried all night?’ Eloise shook Mary Jane’s arm. ‘I was a nice girl,’ she pleaded, ‘wasn’t I?’”
I need to get back to being nice and giving people corded tights and warm hats. Not that I’m not nice. I’m just distracted. Not as nice as I used to be. That Salinger. He knew everything.
--Re (1) You never really know if you’re going to make the writing thing happen. It takes a lot of luck in addition to all the other things. But there was one moment in grad school when the eminent Steve Almond told me “You are 85% there!” And I thought, well, 15% is not insurmountable. I can do it.
--Re (2) …well, when you get a publishing contract, they kind of request a second novel, so you have to write it. Which is a different experience than writing the first novel. But not better or worse. And these are YA novels. Which are shorter. So the finish line is easier to get to.
--I bow down to you… Did you know when you were in grad school that you would be the FOUNDER of something so meaningful to so many people, in addition to being a kick ass mom and the writer of stories that appear in PLOUGHSHARES???? I just heard the news!! CONGRATULATIONS, dear friend!!!!
AD: We may have invented, at my instigation, the windlessness. I just had a flash of memory of being in second or third grade, walking to Emerson Elementary in Berkeley, and being pummeled by rain and wind. The inverted umbrella kind of wind. But it felt windless, didn't it? Maybe it was us, not the place.
Oh, darlin', you’re still nice. Do I need to remind you that during AWP in Boston, you took your own and my kids out on the town? That was the only reason my kids didn't think Boston was made up entirely of the underground passageways connected to the Prudential mall. Also, you hijacked my interview of you to congratulate me (thank you!), which is pretty magnanimous and very typical of you and probably has karmic repercussions (cf., your notion of “luck”).
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Museum of Intangible Things, coming out in a few days. I pre-ordered.[/caption]
YA novels or not, I’m a huge fan. Yes, I would say that even if you weren’t a funny, brilliant, heartbreaking writer, but I wouldn’t say it with such conviction. You’ve always been a natural. Speaking of natural, how does Yoga play into all of this? (I swear, this will be my last question.) It always seemed kind of unfair that you were both tall and flexible. It seems like flexibility should belong to those of us closer to the ground.
WW: Ahh but those of you closer to the ground have more stability. And live longer. True fact.
The yoga and the writing are both practices without end.
Patthabi Jois, the founder of Ashtanga yoga, said,“Yoga is 99% practice and 1% theory,” and “Practice, and all is coming.” The same can be said of writing. What matters is that you keep showing up. To your mat or to your desk. That is the only end. If you show up, things will happen. The most obvious things are “Wow, I couldn’t do that pose yesterday, but now I can…” But you’ll also begin noticing coincidences, finding your path. You’ll begin to know your heart. All the parts of your heart (the good and the bad) and you’ll begin to accept all of it-- without judging-- and Be. Writing and yoga can do that for people.
It’s all so temporary, though, which is frustrating. Like I’ll feel at peace after savasana or after writing, and then come home and get in a wee argument with my tween. And I’ll be like… “why couldn’t I have been more yoga about that? I was just on my mat twenty minutes ago.” So I’m still working on bringing my yoga off the mat. Finding more joy. Losing my fear. Another thing Pattabhi Jois said was: “Yoga is not easy!” The same can be said for writing. But if it were easy it would not be worth doing.
AD: That's a great line to stop on! Come on out to meet Wendy in June, and check out her books before that!
