The Devil is Always Whispering

The Literary Kitchen’s Ariel Gore Talks to Narrow River, Wide Sky Author Jenny Forrester about Writing through What Haunts Us

 
On the Colorado Plateau between slot canyons and rattlesnakes, Jenny Forrester grew up with her mother and brother in a single-wide trailer proudly displaying an American flag…
The lyrical Western memoir she’s created from her memories has been called “an unsentimental portrait of small-town Colorado, a formative environment that both oppressed her and shaped her identity.” 
Jenny Forrester knows how to write about place.
Forward Reviews says, “Forrester doesn’t gloss over the difficult parts of her life, but rather tells stories of how that adversity formed a stronger individual.”
Jenny Forrester knows how not to gloss things over.
Many Literary Kitchen writers know Jenny as a student here, as the quiet force behind Portland’s Unchaste Readers Series—and we’ll soon know her as a teacher, too.
Jenny Forrester is breaking ground.
 
How long did it take you to write Narrow River, Wide Sky?
Twenty years to the final draft before publication.

 

Was there anything in taking that time that, in hindsight, feels particularly valuable?

The most valuable part really does seem to be all those years – I had to live and learn and it all took all that time. I wish it hadn’t.

 

The notion of what a memoir can be has changed so much in recent years—is still changing. What are your thoughts on memoir versus fiction in terms of your own creative expression and the stories you want to tell?

Fictionalizing is kind of what memory does. I mean, I’m not a neuroscientist or anything, but memory is a tricky thing. Even vision is tricky.

Stories are tricky, so if we say it’s all fiction, maybe we’re more honest, but I also know the patriarchy loves for us not to believe our memories, not to believe our stories.

I want to tell stories that matter, that could speak to power, that could tear down big men and bring up little women or show the truth that those men aren’t big and those women aren’t little and maybe gender is a fallacy, but patriarchy wants it not to be so it all seems to matter still. There needs to be a certain amount of fiction involved to topple them and bring ourselves and others up. So I trust memory, too. I trust that putting memory to the page matters. So mote it be.

 

As a small-town girl who has lived in the city for much of your life now, and as someone who grew up in conservative country but writes from a progressive, feminist perspective, what do you see as your unique insight into the multi-layered America we’re living in?

I love this question. I’m always thinking of myself as a small-town girl, as someone who’s been, and been among, the conservative mindset. It never feels like I’m safely progressive, fully feminist—the edge is always so close. I guess that’s unique—that I stand on the precipice and never really see things are changing for Them even though I’m part of a different We now. If that makes sense.

 

I mean, How did this Trump thing happen?

Maybe we don’t progress. We learn, we grow. To go back to the source of my understandings of things—the devil is always whispering and hissing. He never ceases to speak in that slithering way. He never rests.

 

One really interesting thing you do from a craft perspective in Narrow River, Wide Sky is the way that you move through time. Did you outline those movements and transitions or do you work more intuitively?

I can’t outline. That might be helpful, but I draw a lot—maps and circles and pies. I learned that from you. The pie thing. Moving through time is like this—sometimes we’re flying along having fun but the horrors are time-slowing.

I gave more words to the slow movements and fewer when I wanted to speed it up—like running. When you sprint, you take many more steps. When you want to cover distance, you stretch out those strides— fewer steps between mesas and mountains to close up the distance.

 

Kirkus calls the book, “A modest, thoughtful memoir that traces hard-won liberation from the past.” How important is liberation from the past? Do you think it’s possible?

I don’t know. Maybe we’re so much a part of the past and the steps we’ve already taken—we keep looking back to see what’s chasing us because it does seem something always is.

We can grow, we can change, we can move and all, but we live where our imprisonments happened or where the imprisoners live, if you will make allowances for that metaphor.

The places that trapped us, the places we left and we keep looking back like, seriously, did you SEE that? That’s how it is for me. Maybe other people can move on without looking back. I’m not them. I just know shapeshifting is temporary. Mostly, we maintain the forms we were born to.

 

So do you think you’re more or less haunted by the past for writing about it?

I used to believe there was some true answer, some redemptive piece of information I could find. Now, though. I do feel less haunted by the things I wrote about. But there are so many things I didn’t include so I am still working on those hauntings. I’m haunted by so much. I suppose we all are. I’m for facing ghosts. I’m for seeking solace. I’m for seeking freedom. I’ll continue.

 

Jenny Forrester’s debut memoir Narrow River, Wide Sky (Hawthorne Books, 2017) is available wherever books are sold. 

Fall workshops open for registration!

SEPTEMBER INTENSIVE: WRITING ABOUT REPUBLICANS

NEW CLASS WITH JENNY FORRESTER

September 9th to 23rd - Online Course

It’s a fairly universal experience to disagree with family members sometimes. But what if those disagreements are more like a epic gulfs of bafflement and horror? What if your family members are conservatives? What if they’re Republicans? What then?

Write the conservative members of your family into immortality by bringing your pen and paper to the Thanksgiving table. We’ll write scenes that have the immediacy of fiction steeped in the emotional depths of lived experience.

If you’ve dreamed of leaving a story for posterity to tell your whole truth long after you’re gone or if you’ve dreamed of publishing this story for the world, this class is for you. Maybe you feel compelled to write and see what comes of it—consider the possibilities later. Maybe your childhood home remains within your mind as a bright place or a painful place or a beautiful, long gone now place, but the conservativism or religious authoritarianism remains in your metaphors. Write it all. Maybe even find some peace with it.

Literary Memoir offers the opportunity for growth and expression that other types of writing don’t. It’s not just that we’re writing our life’s memories, it’s that we’re writing our resistance through artistic expression. It’s that we’re writing ourselves resilient. So, in this class we’ll talk about what makes memoir literary.

Cost for this class is $185

A $45 deposit saves your spot

 

Jenny Forrester is a longtime teacher and the author of Narrow River, Wide Sky, out now from Hawthorne Books.

 

LIT STAR TRAINING 

The Original Literary Kitchen Online Creative Writing Workshop

Taught by Ariel Gore 

September 23 – November 22

A new session of Lit Star Training – the 8-week-plus writing course taught by Ariel Gore – starts September 23rd. Writers in Lit Star Training spend at least a few hours each week on their writing and online critiques. You can log in any time of the day or night. Writers in the group are new and seasoned, wanting to work on memoir or fiction. The class works as well for those writing to weekly assignments and for people who are beginning or working on longer projects.

The class is $295. A $95 deposit saves your spot.

You can pay the deposit right here:

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IOWA CITY, IOWA: FUCK SHAME

September 27, 6 – 9 pm

Fuck Shame Writing Workshop with Ariel Gore & Shell Feijo

Iowa City

Ariel Gore will be reading at Prarie Lights Books in Iowa City the night before–come to town early . . . 

Come get cozy, write, share, and relax in a safe space with award winning author Ariel Gore, in town for her We Were Witches Book Tour, and Shell Feijo, local writer, teacher, and speaker.

We will gather in a home on the Eastside of Iowa City from 6-9 p.m. September 27th, the night after Ariel reads at Prairie Lights Books – make it a two night retreat!

Salt and chocolate, coffee, tea, and wine provided. Bring yourself and whatever you write with (journal, laptop, phone).

Register here! Space is limited.

$40

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SANTA FE, NEW MEXICO

Ariel Gore’s School for Wayward Writers Presents

THE WITCHFEST WRITING RETREAT - WORKSHOP FULL, EMAIL arielfiona@gmail.com to find out about public elements of the retreat!

October 5-9, 2017

Affordable Sliding Scale

Join Us For . . .

 

Narrative Resistance Writing Workshops with Ariel Gore: We’ll formally meet for two 2-hour workshops where we’ll generate new work, experiment with genre and structure, take writing we’ve already drafted or new writing through thought-provoking revision stations, and break ourselves out of any worn-out limits. Bring something you’ve been working on or just show up with your computer–or pen and paper.

Publishing Skillshare with Rad Dad publisher and Indie-press author Tomas Moniz: A conversation / skillsharing discussion on the pros and cons of DIY publishing versus indie press publishing, book tour experiences, and marketing. Come ready to share your thoughts as well.

Chef-prepared traditional New Mexican family dinner (Yes, there will be green chile apple pie.)

• Word & Image with Rebecca Fish Ewan Push the boundaries of form and genre with the founder of Plankton Press “where small is big enough” & author of the forthcoming graphic memoir By The Forces of Gravity.

ABQ Zine Fest — with optional space at the Wayward Writers exhibitor table — bring your zines and books!

Field trip to Meow Wolf’s House of Eternal Return.

We Were Witches book launch & Wayward Writers reading in Santa Fe and/or Albuquerque.

REGISTER NOW

SLIDING SCALE $45 – $175

Includes writing workshops, publishing skillshare, chef’s family dinner, and space at the Wayward Writer’s table at the ABQ Zine Fest. Pay whatever you like or whatever you can.

Just click “donate” and input the amount you’ll pay. Don’t be shy. All are welcome.

Ticket for Meow Wolf’s House of Eternal Return will be $10-$18 additional.

Accommodations & transportation not provided, but we’ll figure out carpools, etc., to everything.

Workshops & dinner will take place on Osage Avenue near Frenchy’s Park.

* Scheduling details subject to change. Full schedule will be posted in late July. Email arielfiona at gmail dot com with any questions.

Suggested excursions that may require advance booking:
Ten Thousand Waves (https://tenthousandwaves.com)
Talis Fortuna tattoo (talisfortuna.com)
Santa Fe School of Cooking (https://santafeschoolofcooking.com)
Ojo Caliente (one more hour north of Santa Fe—awesome excursion if you’re staying an extra day or two!)
Santa Fe, New Mexico is one hour northeast of Albuquerque and is served by the Albuquerque airport.

If you’re flying into Albuquerque, we recommend making a reservation on the Sandia Shuttle, renting a car, arranging with other participants to share a rental car, or catching the RailRunner train from Albuquerque to Santa Fe (train runs on a limited commuter schedule.)

We recommend planning to arrive in New Mexico by Thursday evening. Retreat activities begin on Friday and go through Monday morning.

Recommended lodging for those with a car—let’s take over this place. The housekeeper/handylady is a badass local artist: Suitable Digs

 

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BALTIMORE

Mismatched Socks: The Secrets to Writing and Publishing Whatever You Want

THE BALTIMORE WRITING & PUBLISHING WORKSHOP

With Ariel Gore & China Martens

October 20 – 22, 2017

Friday evening & Saturday afternoon:
Experimental Narrative Workshops led by Ariel Gore
We’ll meet two hours on Friday evening & three hours on Saturday to generate new work, experiment with merged genres and disruptive structure, take writing we’ve already drafted or new writing through thought-provoking revision stations, and break ourselves out of any worn-out limits. Bring something you’ve been working on or just show up with your computer–or pen and paper.
Sunday morning: Dream Publishing Workshop led by China Martens
On Sunday, we’ll meet for our final three hours to map out the steps to making your book/zine/chapbook/essay dream a published reality. We’ll explore the ins and outs of creating and publishing anthologies & other dream book projects. We’ll approach radical editing as an act of love, build our bios, demystify the book proposal & call for submissions processes, and make a plan to materialize the project you’ve been thinking of. 

China Martens is the author of The Future Generation (Atomic Books, 2007 and PM Press, 2017) and co-editor of the anthologies Don’t Leave Your Friends Behind (PM Press, 2012), and Revolutionary Mothering (PM Press, 2016).

Ariel Gore is the author of ten books including We Were Witches, a novel / surrealist memoir. Ariel will read from this new work at Atomic Books—just a block from where our workshop will be held on Falls Rd.–on Saturday night.

 

Space is super limited, so please sign up early. Tuition is $175.
A $55 deposit saves your spot:
 
Or pay the $175 now here:

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PERSONAL ESSAY INTENSIVE

ONLINE CLASS TAUGHT BY ARIEL GORE

November 25 – December 6

The personal essay is one of the most enduring and adaptable literary forms, allowing for experimentation and a dissolution of the traditional boundaries between memoir and journalism. Over the 12-day intensive we’ll write every day, survey the form, complete five new essays, explore the market, and polish at least one personal essay for publication.Workshop size is limited, so please sign up early. 
Full tuition is $185

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Ariel Gore is a LAMBDA Award-winning editor and the author of eight books of fiction and nonfiction. Her most recent title, The End of Eve, won a New Mexico-Arizona Book Award, a Rainbow Award, and was named one of the 10 best memoirs of the year by Library Journal. Her stories and essays have appeared in Psychology Today, Salon, Ms., Utne, The Sun, The San Francisco Chronicle, and elsewhere.

New Fall Class: Writing About Republicans with Jenny Forrester

SEPTEMBER INTENSIVE

September 9th to 23rd

Online Course Taught by Jenny Forrester

It’s a fairly universal experience to disagree with family members sometimes. But what if those disagreements are more like a epic gulfs of bafflement and horror? What if your family members are conservatives? What if they’re Republicans? What then?

Write the conservative members of your family into immortality by bringing your pen and paper to the Thanksgiving table. We’ll write scenes that have the immediacy of fiction steeped in the emotional depths of lived experience.

If you’ve dreamed of leaving a story for posterity to tell your whole truth long after you’re gone or if you’ve dreamed of publishing this story for the world, this class is for you. Maybe you feel compelled to write and see what comes of it—consider the possibilities later. Maybe your childhood home remains within your mind as a bright place or a painful place or a beautiful, long gone now place, but the conservativism or religious authoritarianism remains in your metaphors. Write it all. Maybe even find some peace with it.

Literary Memoir offers the opportunity for growth and expression that other types of writing don’t. It’s not just that we’re writing our life’s memories, it’s that we’re writing our resistance through artistic expression. It’s that we’re writing ourselves resilient. So, in this class we’ll talk about what makes memoir literary.

Cost for this class is $185

A $45 deposit saves your spot

 

Jenny Forrester is a longtime teacher and the author of Narrow River, Wide Sky, out now from Hawthorne Books.

 

Go Big or Go Home

“Sometimes the things that give us the most power and joy in our lives seem shameful, or the morally “right” answer is not the answer that makes the most sense to who we are, or how we see our lives.”

Jenny Forrester interviews Megan Kruse

Megan Kruse’s debut novel, Call Me Home, is just out from Hawthorne Books! We were lucky enough to get an interview with her during this busy book-launching time. Catch her on her epic book tour this spring.

What do you think you learned about your own philosophy of love when you were writing Call Me Home? Did the act of writing this story clarify your notions of human love?

For so much of the time that I wrote this novel I was adrift, trying to write, trying to live, not sure if I was succeeding at either. My characters were drifting in more overt ways, and I do think that guiding them through the mire and the dark helped me to start to define what is important to me, what it means to love each other and how to bridge the distance between ourselves.

I have always resisted dichotomies of good/bad, right/wrong, and I think that this novel was a chance for me to look closely at that. Sometimes the things that give us the most power and joy in our lives seem shameful, or the morally “right” answer is not the answer that makes the most sense to who we are, or how we see our lives. I think of my character Jackson, who is escorting in Portland, and that work gives him a brief feeling of power, of control that he hasn’t had in his life before, and affords him the things he needs. And the work hurts him, too, in some ways, but at this particularl moment in his life, he finds the net worth to be positive. Our choices aren’t always easy, but we have to come to terms with them. To love someone, I think, means to believe that they have made their choices for a reason, and to trust that your own experience doesn’t determine how someone else should live.

Beyond believing in each other’s choices, or at least acknowledging them as valid, I think that writing this novel was a reminder to me that we have to hold on to the people who make us want to consider ourselves. When you have found the people who keep you affixed to your life, the people holding the invisible tethers you can feel through the dark and across distance, it is your job to hold them close, to recognize the power of that connection, be thankful for it, and nurture it as best you can.

The landscape of this book is so integral to the storyline. I know some of the places in the book are places you have lived or known intimately. Did you return to those when you were writing? Do you have to be in a geographical place to write about it? Or do you write place from memory?

I spent the entirety of my twenties moving from place to place across the country. I had always thought that I would find the place I belonged–that it was out there somewhere, if I only looked hard enough. But I kept getting older and the people I loved were getting deeper and deeper into their own lives while I kept searching, and I finally began to realize that finding your place was only possible if you also stuck around.

I began writing this novel when I was living in Montana, and finished large parts of it in Texas, Nebraska, and Minnesota. Even as I was searching for the place I was meant to be, I was writing about the land I grew up on in Washington. As I wrote it, it was so vivid–steep banks, deep creeks that filled in winter, curtains of root and dirt and fallen trees that my brother and I knew as well as any suburban child must know his or her cul-de-sac. After I finished the first draft of the novel, I decided rather suddenly to move back to Washington state for the first time since I was seventeen. It’s only as I’m writing this now that I think those things had something to do with each other–that writing this story of home and belonging and recognizing how much that land is a part of me made me understand that my home was there all along. All of that writing was from memory, and that meant something; it made me realize the significance of that place.

That said, I’m still prone to restlessness and drifting. I blame it a little bit on poetry. I’ve always been haunted by the one-two punch of Elizabeth Bishop asking, “Should we have stayed at home and thought of here?/Where should we be today?” and Mary Oliver chiming in, “Tell me, what is it you plan to do/ with your one wild and precious life?”

Now that I’ve written about places I’ve lived and known intimately, I’ve decided I need to raise the bar–the novel I’m beginning to work on now is set in the Midwest in the years following World War II. I haven’t quite figured out how I will handle that process, since the setting of Call Me Home was written entirely from my experience of place and time. Go big or go home, I guess.

Do you have a particular audience or reader in mind for Call Me Home? What do you hope people came away from it feeling or wanting to do?

I dreamed of a lot of different readers as I was writing this novel. It began as the story of a young queer man trying to make his way without a clear path, trying to establish who he was by feeling with blind courage and hope. I hope that the audience for the novel begins to think about the relationship between place and identity–to consider that there are queer people making lives outside of urban centers, where the way is hazier, and where, despite so many gains, the world is still not a safe place.

I hope as well that people come away from the novel thinking about violence, and paying attention to its echoes around us. In the three years that I worked for a domestic violence intervention program, I began to see it everywhere–the way that an abuser can move into your path like a rock into a river and divert your life elsewhere. You can spend your life running from someone, or from the shadows they have cast on your life. I know that the experience of the family in my novel is only one story, but it is important to me to acknowledge that those stories surround us all the time.

Finishing things is difficult for some writers – what would be your advice for finishing?

I recently taught a class at Hugo House in Seattle called Seeing it Through: Finishing Your Novel. I went in to the course feeling like I didn’t have much right or enough knowledge to tell people how to go about completing a project, but over the course of those two days, I realized that I do have some strategies that I subscribe to, things that have worked for me.

Above all, writing this novel made me recognize that writing only really works if you understand it to be a long game. This wasn’t a very easy realization for me. I remember finishing the first draft of Call Me Home while I was on a residency in rural Minnesota in the spring of 2012, and sending it off to an agent. For the next week or two I marched purposefully around town, waiting for the call to come about how she wanted the book, and on top of that there was already an exorbitant offer or three. It didn’t come then; in fact, it was another few weeks before I heard back that it wasn’t a good fit.

It was a particularly lonely time in my life. That had something to do with being in an isolated place, but more to do with what I’d done to myself. I’d made myself believe that to become a writer was like watching your number come up in a lottery–that it would happen, and then the answers for everything else would fall into place. I thought my life would start when the book was published, and then someone would tell me how to live.

Instead, it was two years before the book sold. The things I began to work on during the early months of defeat have become my current projects, and my slow revision changed the novel remarkably. I think of that Alice Munro quote from The Moons of Jupiter: “They were all in their early thirties. An age at which it is sometimes hard to admit that what you are living is your life.” This a roundabout way to explain that I think the secret to finishing is recognizing that this is your writing life. You have to take away the timelines and the expectations–you’re doing it now, and you’ll be doing it tomorrow.

The other piece of advice I kept touting like a pundit in my recent course was to be greedy with your writing practice. This goes along with the idea that writing is a long game, with no clear endpoint. I believe in playing to your strengths and desires; write today what you want to write–as long as you write. I’m never going to be someone who writes each day from 6-7am, but maybe I feel like writing at 2 in the morning or maybe not today but tomorrow instead. Don’t let anyone fool you into how it’s supposed to be done. Be kind to yourself–that’s different from letting yourself off the hook.

You have an MFA. What advice would you give others about getting an MFA or not? If a writer does want to go the MFA route, how important is choosing the right program?

I know that there are hosts of opinions out there about the MFA–essential or useless? Homogenizing or inspiring? I think you should be clear to yourself about what you want to gain from a program, and where you’ll be coming out of it; those expectations should dictate if you enroll, or in what kind of program. I’d always been drawn to Montana and what I viewed as a Western voice–storytelling with a strong sense of place, of space. I tend to make decisions quickly and with great resolve, and the University of Montana was a wonderful spot for me–to be teaching and writing in a small town that felt analogous to the rural, tumble-down vistas I’d grown up in. I did struggle, as I think a lot of people do, with hoping that the path will become clear post-MFA; I was–and maybe still am–underemployed for a long time. I think that the choice to complete an MFA needs to be a conscious one. You can go and do it, and you can make it sustainable with teacherships, but don’t do it unless you can say to yourself honestly that this is a step along a path you’ll be on forever. The act of writing is what makes you a writer. I remember being nineteen, finishing up my first “novel,” a 250 page Jeanette Winterson lesbian fiction rip-off. I was so certain that I would turn a corner and suddenly be someone. It was exactly the same feeling I had in Minnesota, waiting for the agent to call about Call Me Home; it had taken me another ten years to really understand that it doesn’t work that way. It doesn’t matter what the milestone is–a first terrible novel, or an MFA; you work and work and then you get there, and it feels wonderful or anticlimactic, but regardless you keep going.

How much time do you spend on social media promoting your writing? How much do you think social media helps or hinders writers?

I used to be a super-weirdo about social media. I was really cagey about anyone knowing where I was or what I was doing, and I think I wanted to control peoples’ impressions of me. I remember demanding loudly of someone I was at dinner with, “Why on earth would you want to tag us here??” As time has gone on, I got over myself a little bit. I recognize, even if it’s still difficult, that you can’t control anyone’s opinions of you, beyond being certain to be a basically decent human. Once I let go of that, I started engaging more on social media. And here’s the thing–I cannot imagine going into this novel publication without that community. I have been tremendously lucky to have the support of so many incredible writers, friends and family, and the team at Hawthorne, who have been my greatest champions from day one. Social media is the forum where I can feel all of that support now, a place to reach otherwise nebulous, far-flung communities. Once I began to think of social media as a clearinghouse for sharing information and victories and questions about writing, my angst about the platform fell away.

This question made me think of the other day, when the news about Harper Lee’s second novel started circulating. I realize that there are still many questions about the publication which need resolution, but I bring this up purely as an example of the role of social media in my writing life now. I woke up and I heard the news, and because I am surrounded by writers and readers, my entire social media feed was on fire with it. I ran down to Georgetown in the weak winter sun to grab lunch with a friend and I was full with a rare joy for the whole world– a sense that we could all come together and be awed by something. I was grinning wildly at cars, thinking Harper Lee! As silly as it sounds, I know that feeling of connection is spectacular and rare, and if social media provides it, I can’t discount it.

Megan Kruse grew up in the rural Pacific Northwest. She studied creative writing at Oberlin College and earned her MFA at the University of Montana, writing about lonely places and our faulty, beautiful hearts. Her work has appeared widely in journals and anthologies, and she recently completed residencies at the Kimmel-Harding-Nelson Center for the Arts in Nebraska and the New York Mills Regional Cultural Center in Minnesota. Her debut novel, “Call Me Home,” releases from Hawthorne Books in March 2015, with an introduction by Elizabeth Gilbert. She currently lives in Seattle.

My Religion

New Prose by Jenny Forrester

I wanted to be good, and I wanted life to be fair.

Mom and I sat on the porch, and I told her how I thought things should be.

“You know how Joseph Smith created a whole new religion based on the idea that white people had been to this place before and that the Indians and white people had lived together before, long ago, but the white people all died out and left this great religion, etched into tablets and buried it all for the return of the white people to America.”

I reasoned that I could write a religion that allowed women to be equal to men.

I said, “Women could have multiple husbands.”

Mom said, “I don’t want even one husband.”

We laughed as the sun set over the chalk-colored hills and the great mesa in the distance and the mountains behind us became dark giants.

“What are you laughing about,” my brother wanted to know, his hair shuffled on his head, no t-shirt over his rib-ragged chest.

“Oh, nothing,” my mom said. She shushed me with her gaze.

This was one of those conversations that wasn’t for my brother Brian’s ears.

Later, mom said, “You can have children without being married.  If you get married because you’re pregnant, you’re making two mistakes instead of just one.” But she looked me in the eye and said, “You, of course, don’t have to worry about any of that yet.  Not until you’re much older.”

When I told her that there were girls in this town having sex already, she said, “Well, that couldn’t be true.”

And then she said, “If they are, they’ll ruin their reputations.”

I would have to learn how to navigate mixed messages.

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Jenny Forrester was the 2011 recipient of the Richard Hugo House New Works Competition award and has been published in a variety of places including Nailed Magazine, Penduline Press, Hip Mama Magazine, and Indiana Review. She and Ariel Gore co-edited the anthology The People’s Apocalypse. She’s the curator of Portland’s Unchaste Readers Series.