Posts Tagged ‘Kirsten Imani Kasai’
Poetry, Photography and Art: online reading and Q&A with Kirsten Imani Kasai and Pretty Owl Poetry
Posted on: October 24, 2014
- In: writing
- 3 Comments
I had a great time reading a few poems and chatting with the lovely folks over at Pretty Owl Poetry about art, words, process and creativity last night. My poem “thirst” appeared in their third issue along with a photograph that I took in Romania (cover). Thanks to Kelly, Rose and Gordon!
The My Writing Process blog tour
Posted on: June 10, 2014
- In: writing
- 3 Comments
Welcome to the My Writing Process blog tour!
Terena Scott, the fabulous author and publisher/founder of independent press Medusa’s Muse, invited me to participate.
Q & A with Kirsten Imani Kasai
1) What am I working on?
Right now I’m wrapping up the first draft of my fourth novel, The Book of Blood Magic. It’s a deconstructed Gothic horror novel novel about a time-traveling succubus and a Creole plantation in 1850s New Orleans. Lydia, a present-day architectural historian, discovers journals and letters from Isidore and Emilie Saint-Ange, owners of Belle Rive, the only Creole plantation in 1850s New Orleans. Through the medium of a dream realm and mysterious house, Lydia and Isidore become entangled in a supernatural shared psychosis.
The novel’s triple narratives explore: The onset of psychosis and mental health treatment as viewed through contemporary and 19th century lenses—BOBM contrasts modern care with the burgeoning revolution in psychiatric care and asylum reformations; Slavery, the abolitionist movement, caste and class systems as experienced by mixed race (mulatto/Creole) French and American citizens in the 21st and 19th centuries; The juxtaposition of religious Spiritualism, Vodou and the advent of rationalism (preceding Darwin’s Evolution of Species).
2) How does my work differ from others of its genre?
My writing is lyrical, poetic and dense. I’ve heard it described as “ornate.” I am just as concerned with the musicality of the writing, its imagery, sensations and textural impressions as the standard structures of dialog, plot, pacing etc. I like to write stories that leave “what happened?” open to interpretation, like a puzzle you can return to and solve in new ways each time. I believe fiction should be challenging, emotionally stimulating and intellectually nourishing. Additionally, it’s very female-focused, exploring the realities of women’s complex physiologies, the interplays of internal and external experiences, how the layers of our lives are impacted by and, conversely, affect the world around us. Sexuality is a topic I’m forever examining and dissecting: sometimes, that makes readers uncomfortable, but the topics that discomfort us tend to be the ones we most need to explore and evaluate for their roles in our own lives.
3) Why do I write what I do?
Hmm, see above! I’m drawn to the dark side, the seamy underbelly, the disturbing, creepy, weird and unusual. Humanity and life in this world is endlessly fascinating.
4) How does my writing process work?
I’ve learned to wait until an idea has completed its gestation phase and demands attention. Then I start work, writing just to get the feel of the idea and let the voice of the story express itself, for they are always distinct and unique from the other stories/poems I’ve written, and follow the trail to see where it leads. More of a discovery writer than a plotter/planner, I like to open myself to the process, almost as if channeling it. Sometimes I think of myself as a radio. I need to tune in to the right frequency to hear the broadcast, then I basically take dictation, and go back later with an editorial eye to technically shape and refine it. Sounds a little “out there” but it works. Storytelling is a collaborative effort between me and the characters who need to speak–I act as an interpreter of dreams and the hidden world. With the Book of Blood Magic, there’s more work on my part to piece together the story as its presented to me. It requires a lot of research to make certain I’m getting the details right so that they feel as real as waking life.
Next week, June 16, 2014, Page a Day guest blogger James Rhodes and Michelle Augello-Page will answer these questions. Be sure to visit the sites below to read more insight into the writing process.
James Rhodes is the author of The Hettford Witch Hunt series. He grew up in a small sheltered village on the Wirral where there was very little to do except read and write stories. After drinking his way through university he moved to live with his wife in Baltimore City. He has taught at university level, worked as a day labourer and spent a happy time working as a gardener. He currently lives in a small sheltered village on the Wirral with his wife and three children. He would much rather you read his books than paid for them. Read his interview at pageadaywriters.wordpress.com.
Michelle Augello-Page writes poetry, erotica, and dark fiction. Her work has appeared in art galleries, online and print publications, anthologies, and audio and e-book formats. Michelle’s collection of dark and erotic stories, Into the Woods, was published by Oneiros Books in 2014. She is also the editor of Siren, an online zine for artists of all genres who create new, edgy, and experimental work. Read her interview at michelleaugellopage.wordpress.com.
“Poe and his enduring literary legacy assure me that there will always be a market for our sort of gloom and doom. A century and a half later, his stories still resonate with readers. For Poe expresses what is most essential and inescapable, peaks of joy, deep pools of regret and the desperation with which we cling to the known world—whether fearing or welcoming our inevitable end.” Check out my new essay on Annotation Nation.
Oi! Get yer sick & twisted, right here!
Announcing the launch of an exciting new literary venture from authors Kirsten Imani Kasai and Jesse Caverly (aka Excelsior Smith).
“We are not afraid.”
Body Parts is a new, online literary magazine that publishes speculative fiction, fantasy and horror. Each quarterly issue focuses on a theme, which can be interpreted in a multitude of ways and expressed through the creation of bold, fearless writing.
Issue no. 1–METEMPSYCHOSIS–debuts October 2013. We are currently accepting submissions, now through August 31.
Details at www.bodypartsmagazine.com.
It’s always a thrill to see one of your projects “make it” into print, and just as exciting when a book is published in the latest, cutting-edge medium. My newest novel Private Pleasures is now available from Sizzler Editions.
The erotic master of RHAPSODY IN SNAKESKIN is back with another cutting-edge erotic masterpiece: PRIVATE PLEASURES! Plunge into a gritty underworld populated by hallucinatory dancers, deceitful lovers, and back-stabbing best friends. Joely is a peep show dancer plagued by revenge fantasies about her clients. She’s desperate to feel normal and win the heart of her handsome neighbor. But when she meets Twilight, a dancer with a penchant for brutality, Joely’s facade begins to crack, revealing a lust she never suspected. As two jealous lovers vie for Joely’s attention, she must confront her shadow self, a black leather virago with a taste for blood. Can Joely possibly survive her own darker self?
An astonishing sensual adventure, PRIVATE PLEASURES is a compelling exploration of the sex industry’s effects on the women whose labor sustain it.
Impersonating D.B.
Posted on: July 30, 2012
- In: writing
- 2 Comments
Last year I switched cell phone carriers and was invited to pick a new number. I chose from a list that 
popped up on the clerk’s computer screen. The one I selected seemed perfectly nice; having no real preference for any particular numerals or numeric combinations, I simply selected one that seemed easy to recall. Apparently, I got a number that belonged to an enlisted man whom, I gather, has gone AWOL or is otherwise on the lam. Since taking over D.B.’s number, I’ve fielded his booty calls/hook up texts, shared several holiday greetings with strangers, broken up with (perhaps) one of his booty calls, rejected collection agents and informed his military superiors that he/I would not be showing up for training exercises at the Marine Corps base.
It’s one thing to put off a collection agent, but another altogether to tell D.B.’s far away friends that he’s blown them off. One guy and I had a fairly fun series of Thanksgiving texts. A spurned pal at Christmas reacted much less favorably. His texts were littered with profanity. Apologizing to D.B.’s friends/family members for his rogue behavior left me feeling as sorry for the rejection as if I’d issued it myself. “I don’t know where he is. Sorry he didn’t give you his new number. Have a nice life.”
For a while, I was tempted to start answering these calls/texts in guise of D.B., just for giggles. One of my friends wanted me to text an address D.B.’s booty call just to see if she showed. I began to have a fantasy of the sort of havoc one could wreak in another’s life, and wondered often about D.B. Was he dead? Shirking the law/military or avoiding child support payments or the IRS? Why had he abandoned his friends? Did he ever show up for any of those “Be on base at 0600” calls? I Googled him and searched Facebook, but his name is a common one and I didn’t find any reasonable leads.
My ruminations on taking over D.B.’s life brought to mind stories of famous impostors and swapped identities, from the Prince and the Pauper (enjoy this much more entertaining Monkees version) the woman who allowed her cleaning lady to stand in for her on telly and eventually found herself living in the attic (Going Loco by Lynne Truss), to the perverse emotional swindle recounted in Armistead Maupin’s The Night Listener. I worried briefly about people who might call my old number and what the new owner would tell my creditors (a few) and booty calls (admittedly, none).
There are fascinating real-life tales of impostors such as Princess Caraboo or Martin Guerre, though I am not destined to be among them. Eventually, calls for D.B. ceased. Which is all well and good, but lately I’ve been receiving calls for P.C…
My new e-book is available for DL! Chock-full of sexy/scary short fiction and poetry, it’s a bargain at just $5.99. Buy now!
Good sex, like a good scare, can be hard to come by, and sometimes they go hand-in-hand. Just think of that lover who was just a bit too edgy and scared you a bit, but oh what lovemaking because of it! Sex can enlighten and enliven us as surely as it can ruin and humiliate us. It can open and close doors in our souls (“Erela”).
It can be our absolute undoing but in those vertiginous moments of falling apart, we often find a greater freedom, if only for a moment. She Alone Can Move Me”, “Flowergirl”, “I’m Yours”, “One Perfect Kiss”, “Poorer Sister”, “Rhapsody in Snakeskin”, “Turned Out”, “Celebrity Machine”, and many others.
LISTEN to an audio play of “Rhapsody in Snakeskin”
Kirsten Imani Kasai writes: “Pleasure is an art form executed in the medium of the skin. Pleasure is about sensory exploration. Touch, taste, scent. A look. A caress. A faintly wafting breeze of perfume. It’s about preserving memories (the sound of her voice in your head, the bubbling excitement that builds when kisses deepen, her heat as she writhes beneath you), but it’s also subjective. Eroticism is willing objectification and boundary expansion. Through surrender of self–whether physical or emotional–we become truly magical. True pleasure is the death of reason, a stripping away of all the scaffolding that shores up our crumbling facade. We are forced to confront the unsanctioned appetites of our imaginations. In the private world of lovers, we can delve into forbidden roles, submerse ourselves in themes of power play, absorption, loss of self, transmogrification, union, the dissolution of personal limits and the passionate commingling of souls.”
Drowning by the wolf moon’s light
Posted on: January 9, 2012
Tonight’s full moon is the wolf moon. The last full moon I honored was the blood moon. Blood and wolves, they go together like Scotch and ice, hugs and kisses or meat and bone. (Read a great post about the wolf moon.)
Tonight I would open my throat to that moon and let it take my voice. I would lie down under the stars and beg the wolves to take me—make an offering of myself. Tonight I feel that I could peel off my skin and expose the hidden beast within, run wild through dark woods and summon dark magicks.
The other night (like so many) I couldn’t sleep. Lay awake, staring into the dark and thinking, understanding again what is meant by a dark night of the soul. Since the wolf moon’s last appearance, my soul has waxed and waned a hundred times over, been eaten down to crumbs and scales, reborn and devoured again.
2011 was my year of drowning. A collision smashed my craft and toppled me into the sea. I’m not a good swimmer. Have always relied on floaties, safety lines and keeping my toes in the sand. I floundered, grabbing for anything to pull me up and out, to save me.
Metaphorically I died. An ocean of tears closed over my head. I lost the will and the desire to breathe. Suffocation hurts, but I welcomed the pain and flickered in and out of consciousness. Hallucinating. Dreaming strange and beautiful dreams, dazzled by the visions and the lights. I waltzed with ghosts in slow, hypnotic spirals, dancing to the memory of music no longer playing. I surrendered to death because there was no choice but to endure the descent and lose sight of everything familiar. But my abyss was not the wasteland of dread I feared. Wonderful, magical creatures appeared to offer me air. They took my hands and guided me ever deeper into the darkness and the small, histrionic monsters I encountered there were not very powerful. Their dramatic displays of teeth and claws were just for show. I burst them like bubbles. I learned to swim and found that I could hold my breath for a very long time. I have inhabited every corner of grief and survived. “Death” was not what I expected.
The clenched fist inside my chest opens. My ribs part like gates to release showers of stars. Weightless, I return to the surface. At last, I can breathe deeply for the first time in many months. I have arrived. It’s not where I thought I’d end up but it’s so much better.
January is named for the Roman god Janus. This two-faced god, who looks to the past and the future, is the guardian of transitions, beginnings and endings. Here again, we cross another threshold. On this January night of the wolf moon, we move through the doorway into a new year.
Did you sink last year or learn to swim? Tell me, will you offer yourself to the wolves tonight?
Fiction is my refuge
Posted on: October 19, 2011
Some things are extruded, rather than composed. I suppose blog posts should be more thoughtful, but this is all I can manage these days, friends,—to sweep my thoughts into a pile and push them under your rug.
Fiction is my refuge
my flight/wings/home
—a paper wasp nest bound up about me—
tucked under bridge joints/rumbling highways
mud-daubed by cliff swallows
darkly sheltering
Fiction is the fount and spring
healing sulfur waters—caustic/spoiled
which burn going down/coming up
It is balm/salve/butter on my wounds
the scab-peeling tongue
licking and licking
to get to the raw
It is the leech/lamprey/worm
maggot words squirm
writhe in sores
teethe on decay
gulping/regurgitating dead dreams
all that is futile and infertile
Fiction’s the blessing,
the holy dip in rushing rivers
the magic sprinkle from strangers’ hands
the portal, the gate, the door
A pit. A pendulum.
Unspoken, unread
pinned by sharp serifs and stems
held captive by white space
bittersweet promise
longing for the blank page
–Kirsten Imani Kasai
This morning I finished reading Ann Patchett’s novel Truth and Beauty, a memoir about her friendship with Lucy Grealy. It’s a lovely, tragic story and I would have “closed” the book on my e-reader and enjoyed its lingering aftertaste much more had I not felt so uncomfortable. Dare I say, dirty?
How could she do it? I wonder. How could Ann betray Lucy’s confidences, expose her friend’s suffering to strangers in such a lovingly brutal way? How could she remember all of those conversations and moments, when time condenses and distorts memory into something almost unrecognizable from the original events? Was she taking notes all along? Did she realize early on in the tumultuous friendship “This will make a great story.” Because unless Ann took dictation and captured Lucy’s words verbatim, she was fictionalizing.
It made me squirmy, this literary exposé. I am always so careful to avoid writing about anyone I know—friends, family, acquaintances. I have had people search for signs of themselves in my writing and been relieved when they didn’t find them. I try to be cautious with reality. When my personal life seeps into my fiction (as it invariably does with any writer) I am careful to use only my own emotions surrounding an experience. I mangle and mash the unstable flux of “feelings” into new shapes and découpage them onto paper dolls and cut-out scenery. I will not give anyone away.
For a moment, I regretted purchasing the book, as if in doing so I had colluded in an act of aggression or witnessed an assault and stood by, doing nothing. But the discomfort is mine—not Ann’s, probably not Lucy’s—for I’m aware that everything we feel and say about someone else is just a mirror image. Our praise and protestations are our breath upon the glass, giving us a glimpse of something that prefers to remain unseen.
Kirsten Imani Kasai
“Anger always comes from frustrated expectations” Elliott Larson
Have you ever experienced a tremendous sense of disappointment when something hasn’t lived up to your expectations? Have you ever been pleasantly surprised when your low expectations were surpassed, wonderfully? Expectation is to blame/thank. Which sensation would you rather court?
“Our desires always disappoint us; for though we meet with something that gives us satisfaction, yet it never thoroughly answers our expectation.” Elbert Hubbard
I’m rarely disappointed and I’m often pleasantly surprised. Similarly, I often balance between these feelings, which makes it easy to let go of experiences and ideas which might otherwise be troubling, or leave me bitter about an unfavorable outcome. I think many unfavorable book reviews (or music/product/movie reviews) stem from unmet expectations. How can an artistic experience, a relationship, a job, a child or a situation fully evolve when confined by your preconceived notions of what, how or who it should be? Expectation is the glass slipper on the stepsister’s foot. It pinches and binds. It prevents us from finding what really fits. It hampers our awareness by focusing our attention on our discomfort. It’s hard to enjoy a journey when you have a pebble in your shoe. Soon, you can’t think about anything but this trivial pain. Looking back, you may only recall your annoyance, and not the beauty around you.
“The best things in life are unexpected – because there were no expectations.” Eli Khamarov
Have you had a day that simply unfolded itself around you, offering manifold delights and marvelous little bursts of luck? It’s likely that it was a day when you had no plans, or perhaps your plans were thwarted and you simply surrendered to the flow. Those magical moments of discovery happen because we are wide open. We see the waterfall, the birds, the swaying trees, the fluttering yellow moths and the soothing drift of clouds because we are not distracted by a pebble in our shoe.
“I am open to the guidance of synchronicity, and do not let expectations hinder my path.” Dalai Lama
Look back at recent experiences about which you feel strongly. There’s probably anger there, disappointment, frustration. Were your expectations dashed? Did someone let you down? Events did not proceed as planned and arrive at the fictional outcome created in your brain? Did a highly reviewed book or film leave you thinking “Meh, what’s all the fuss about?” Release expectation. Take in each moment, each word, each note, without evaluating it. Let it wash through you and let it go. Choose to be pleasantly surprised.
Read an article about expectation and cultivating a Zen mindset.
The launching of ships and books
Posted on: November 6, 2010
Slowly, slowly, she tars the vessel’s boards and pack the hull with goods for her journey. She hangs stiff, white sails, polishes the brass, winds new coils of hemp rope and bottles lime juice for the long days away from land. She dashes a bottle of wine against the new ship’s prow, boards its sanded deck and pulls up the gangway. The anchor chain rattles as it curls around the spindle, and the sails catch the wind. Home, familiar, beloved and dull, recedes behind her. She plays sextant and steers by the stars. Vastly shifting and blue-black with light and shadowy depths, the ocean roils beneath. She is underway.
The manuscript is turned in, the editorial letter read and revisions made. The new novel is fretted over and blessed, its pages shuffled, its words and the patterns of its text examined for flaws one final time. Tied with ribbon and tucked into a waterproof envelope, it travels from west coast to east. The author drinks some wine or a margarita with lime and paces and mutters. She stares at the stars. “This time,” she wishes. “This time.” A book cover arrives; a link pops up online. The days dwindle down and at last, at the mid-crossing, she can sense a change in currents and the soaring arrival of gulls suggests that the new country will soon be reached.
Kirsten Imani Kasai
Tempted by E-Readers
Posted on: August 28, 2010
- In: writing
- 8 Comments
I’ve been mulling over the idea of ereaders for several months, weighing pros and cons and coming up about 50-50, until today. Book buying isn’t usually an issue for me. I’ve always been fairly content to buy used paperbacks from secondhand stores, library stores and trade stacks of books with my literary friends. Lately, however, my system isn’t working. I don’t see my friends often enough (I’m talking to YOU, dear B-1) to swap books quickly enough to match my appetite. Haven’t borrowed a library book in years since realizing that I’m simply not grown-up enough to return them on time. The fines were a killer. There aren’t any good used bookstores nearby–plight of the motherlovin’ suburbs–and I am rarely able to get to the library store during the three hours it’s staffed by genial senior volunteers.
I was staunchly pro-print. Books are tactile. You can dog ear the pages and write in the margins. If you drop a novel in the bathtub, you simply let it dry out and continue reading its rippled leaves. Finish a book on a trip and you can leave it behind in the plane’s seat pocket for another traveler to discover. Best of all, books are desert island-proof–no batteries required.
Conversion has been a slow process. My right hand got tired holding up “The Girl Who Played with Fire.” It was no easy feat to iron my hair while reading it, the book balanced on the sink’s edge, a giant clippy holding it open. I finished the book and was hungry for the last novel in the series, but alas, it’s only in hardback. I considered ordering a used copy online, but would have to wait a week to get the book. The ebook was also significantly cheaper than the print copy, but I wasn’t yet swayed.
Anyway, it came to a head today. I went to Borders, determined to find a good book but scanned the shelves in vain. No Caitlin Kiernan or Jeffrey Ford. I searched for several other authors names and couldn’t find their work. Emma Donaghue and Sarah Waters were in trade paperback only. I settled on Mike Carey’s Vicious Circle.
If I had an ereader, I could have practically any book I wanted within minutes. Oh joy! Not to mention that writers get better royalties for ebook sales, a strong selling point. My books take up a lot of space–the big dust-magnet stack beside the bed, the boxes in the garage, the teetering piles on the bookshelves. People with Kindles say they love them, and there is that new 3G wireless version…but the Kobo has nice ‘handfeel’, the Nook has a big touch-screen (buttons seem annoying) and seems like a great value, as does the Sony reader (except for the ‘flash’ when turning pages). So tell me, if I’m going to take the plunge, which model is best? If you have an ereader, which one and what you love about it (and what’s not so great)? If you’re on the fence about it, check out the links below.
Tech Tarts: Choosing an EReader
Borders EReader comparison chart
Kirsten Imani Kasai
The Page a Day Writers Group is a diverse collection of wonderful writers based in San Diego, CA. We've been meeting monthly since 2004. Our primary function is in-depth writing critique, marketing and brainstorming, but there's usually some wine, chocolate and ribaldry involved too. We write fantasy, humor, literary fiction, nonfiction, romance, thrillers and YA. Join us on our journeys to publication and the wonderland beyond!
The Page a Day Writers Group 