Most “literary” writers maintain a bio that serves as a sound bite summary of who they are in terms of their publications and awards. Here’s mine. And after it, a “personal statement” that says a little more.
Kirk Wilson’s books include the story collection Out of Season, the poetry collection Songbox, the poetry chapbook The Early Word, and Unsolved, a nonfiction crime study published in six editions in the US and UK. Kirk’s fiction, nonfiction, and poetry are widely published in literary journals and anthologies. His awards include an National Endowment for the Arts Fellowship, the Elixir Press Fiction Award, the Trio House Press Trio Award, Editor’s Awards and other prizes in all three genres, and two Pushcart nominations. Kirk’s past lives include adventures in film, journalism, and advertising. He is married to the nonfiction writer Donna Johnson, author of the memoir Holy Ghost Girl.
“Personal Statement”
Tragically for our country, the National Endowment for the Arts is now being dismantled by an aspiring tinhorn dictatorship. In the days when the NEA actually did what it was created to do, I was among those fortunate enough to receive one of its Creative Writing Fellowships, in recognition of an essay/memoir called “A Brief and Necessary Madness.” Here is the “Personal Statement” I was required to submit.
As long as I have thought of myself in terms of the work I do, that work has been writing. As a child I wondered at the mystery of things and tried to describe it. In college I published poems and edited a literary magazine. Then came a long career—journalism, film, advertising—in which I wrote for money. I knew the real work wasn’t getting done, but I still loved putting the sentences together. And I loved reading. In spare hours I studied how the sentences were made by those who had done the work and were still doing it. The mystery I recognized in childhood never left me. With the end of my business career on the horizon, I hoarded time at night, on weekends, in-between things, trying to get at it. I made submissions and published my efforts in journals and anthologies among peers younger than my children. I did all the things those young writers do—mimicked the voices of authors I admire, stumbled and returned to the keyboard, and stumbled again. I never dreamed of seeing my name on anyone’s best seller list. All I wanted was to see improvement in my craft, and maybe, if fate smiled, to earn a modest place at the table with those who do the work. Then one morning I received a call from Amy Stolls, telling me about the fellowship. I had forgotten that I applied the year before. The afterglow of that moment has lasted. In retirement, the money that came through Amy’s call is meaningful. But it is the message I heard in the call that I carry to my daily work. The message is that I may yet earn that place at the table, if I keep at it—a place somewhere down at the end near the establishment’s back door, but still.
Go here for the rest of the NEA announcement, including an excerpt from “A Brief and Necessary Madness.”