I live and work in Portland, Oregon: a city that
is increasingly described in publications and
posters and bad pop songs as a modern liberal
utopia of bike riding and green living. After
careful consideration, I can't help but
agree...but I wouldn't object to a little less
rain and gray.
After receiving an MFA in nonfiction writing, I
proceeded to spend large chunks of the years that
followed working and reworking a memoir, 300 Feet
Tall, and a fiction book called Psychopomp. In
2007 I finally openly outed myself as a hopeless
perfectionist, destined to spin wheels and
rearrange sentences until my books were burned
down to a single word each - unless I did a self
intervention. I resolved to stop obsessing over
finished books and start writing new ones. Since
then, I've been hard at work on a new novel
(working in collaboration with writer Thomas
Rauscher) called Hive.
Historically, I admire writers who operate with a
willingness to take chances: to genre-blur and
bend, to rework old forms, and to conjure the most
unruly segment of the subconscious and feed it fat
with frosted cookies. I like the ugly, the artful,
and the intentional. I like Thomas Pynchon,
Charlotte Delbo, Anne Carson, Jeanette Winterson,
and that guy who wrote Middlesex.
I've been a fan of graphic novels since a history
teacher observed my obsession with all things
World War II and encouraged me to pick up a copy
of Art Spiegelman's Maus. I instantly observed
what could be done through adding images to prose
- and how each subcategory of the great big ART
could interact with delicious alchemy. Since then,
I've tried to make my own words as visual,
musical, and marbled as possible.
I've also long thought that perhaps the future of
printed, published words is soundbites and
segments. Our attention-deficit society seems to
call for tapas restaurants, Google news-blurbs,
and commercial soundbites. Rather than run
screaming from this trend like a music executive
shrieking over the advent of the MP3, it seems
prudent to embrace it - and comic books have been
doing this for years, offering chapters of great,
complicated stories that are later collected in
tombs we now like to call graphic novels. After
examining my own nonfiction, I saw that each
portion functioned as both part of something
greater, and an autonomous segment. It seems only
natural to offer my words in such forms.
If logic isn't enough to propel, I have my dreams
nagging, nagging, nagging me. In one dream,
merchants set up stands on street corners, and my
dream-self wondered why I couldn't get physically
behind my writerly wares. I woke up, and knew that
instead of just sending submissions and waiting
for rejection or acceptance letters, I had sit
behind my work. Really, MadKat Press gives me
everything: an instant product, and fulfillment of
my desire to merge visual appreciation with verbal
appreciation, lending aesthetic appeal to
carefully plotted prose.
What I believe all artists share (and writers are
artists) is a conscious desire to communicate - to
transmit a message to the masses in a way that
allows the selected seed to linger and germinate
in the observing mind. Releasing 300 Feet Tall in
segments is my way of blowing on the dandelion.
is increasingly described in publications and
posters and bad pop songs as a modern liberal
utopia of bike riding and green living. After
careful consideration, I can't help but
agree...but I wouldn't object to a little less
rain and gray.
After receiving an MFA in nonfiction writing, I
proceeded to spend large chunks of the years that
followed working and reworking a memoir, 300 Feet
Tall, and a fiction book called Psychopomp. In
2007 I finally openly outed myself as a hopeless
perfectionist, destined to spin wheels and
rearrange sentences until my books were burned
down to a single word each - unless I did a self
intervention. I resolved to stop obsessing over
finished books and start writing new ones. Since
then, I've been hard at work on a new novel
(working in collaboration with writer Thomas
Rauscher) called Hive.
Historically, I admire writers who operate with a
willingness to take chances: to genre-blur and
bend, to rework old forms, and to conjure the most
unruly segment of the subconscious and feed it fat
with frosted cookies. I like the ugly, the artful,
and the intentional. I like Thomas Pynchon,
Charlotte Delbo, Anne Carson, Jeanette Winterson,
and that guy who wrote Middlesex.
I've been a fan of graphic novels since a history
teacher observed my obsession with all things
World War II and encouraged me to pick up a copy
of Art Spiegelman's Maus. I instantly observed
what could be done through adding images to prose
- and how each subcategory of the great big ART
could interact with delicious alchemy. Since then,
I've tried to make my own words as visual,
musical, and marbled as possible.
I've also long thought that perhaps the future of
printed, published words is soundbites and
segments. Our attention-deficit society seems to
call for tapas restaurants, Google news-blurbs,
and commercial soundbites. Rather than run
screaming from this trend like a music executive
shrieking over the advent of the MP3, it seems
prudent to embrace it - and comic books have been
doing this for years, offering chapters of great,
complicated stories that are later collected in
tombs we now like to call graphic novels. After
examining my own nonfiction, I saw that each
portion functioned as both part of something
greater, and an autonomous segment. It seems only
natural to offer my words in such forms.
If logic isn't enough to propel, I have my dreams
nagging, nagging, nagging me. In one dream,
merchants set up stands on street corners, and my
dream-self wondered why I couldn't get physically
behind my writerly wares. I woke up, and knew that
instead of just sending submissions and waiting
for rejection or acceptance letters, I had sit
behind my work. Really, MadKat Press gives me
everything: an instant product, and fulfillment of
my desire to merge visual appreciation with verbal
appreciation, lending aesthetic appeal to
carefully plotted prose.
What I believe all artists share (and writers are
artists) is a conscious desire to communicate - to
transmit a message to the masses in a way that
allows the selected seed to linger and germinate
in the observing mind. Releasing 300 Feet Tall in
segments is my way of blowing on the dandelion.
Artist Statement:
Amanda Sledz
Nonfiction and
Fiction Writer
Amanda Sledz
Nonfiction and
Fiction Writer
Amanda Sledz was nominated for a
2009 Pushcart Prize for her
personal essay, "One Goddess". A
segment of Psychopomp is soon to
be published in the 2008
Voicecatcher Anthology. She very
recently (as in August 1) joined
Portland Fiction Project.
2009 Pushcart Prize for her
personal essay, "One Goddess". A
segment of Psychopomp is soon to
be published in the 2008
Voicecatcher Anthology. She very
recently (as in August 1) joined
Portland Fiction Project.
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Artist Statements |
Photos by Kathryn Seyerle, 2008. Kathryn's statement is coming soon!
Amanda's myspace page
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Amanda's LinkedIn Profile
Amanda is Internet Clutter!
Contact!
Amanda's Facebook Page
Amanda's LinkedIn Profile
Amanda is Internet Clutter!
Contact!
Amanda is also a huge fan of
the Octopus Tree. Learn more
about it here.
the Octopus Tree. Learn more
about it here.