CHECKING IN WITH TYLER BARTON

by Lettie Carrick

Checking In is an interview series where we talk with previous contributors and learn about their writing life since they published with us.

Looking back, what do you think of Whorl, the fiction piece you submitted to Subnivean back in our second volume? Do you remember anything in particular about the writing process?

I remember wanting to write about an oddly powerful salon I attended at a friend's home located a far drive into the country. This was back in PA, before the pandemic. Food was served, drinks were shared, and then whoever wanted to share something could stand by the fireplace and have a few minutes of attention. The elaborate piece described in the story does not quite match what happened in that room, but there were performances close to it. I felt dumb reading poems when I saw others were doing something more akin to conceptual art, and it really spoke to me. The gathering was very inter-generational, which made for a potent mix of energy and inspiration. 

I also put into this story a marriage plotline, which mirrors my own life in no way save for the fact my wife and I did get "Quaker Married," which is something I think you can only do in PA (thanks Quakers) where you don't need a judge to sign your marriage license, you just have to obtain the form from the courthouse (and for some reason answer questions like "What does your mom do for a living?") and then your friends can just sign the form, you mail it in, and you're married. We had a blast surprising our friends (ex-housemates) with the task of signing at a rooftop bar in Lancaster on a Monday night. 

Where were you at back in 2021? How has your life changed since?

I began 2021 in Pennsylvania, wanting nothing so much as the COVID vaccine. In the summer, we moved to Saranac Lake so I could begin working at Adirondack Center for Writing. In the fall, my first full-length collection of short stories came out. I spent nearly 4 years in the Adirondacks before moving to Rochester to buy a house. I spent most of the time living in the Adirondacks exploring the woods and writing about how hard it was to not only buy a house, but to find and keep an apartment. My experience of housing insecurity in the Adirondacks really made me a political person. I'd attended protests and voted since I was college, but I didn't see the world through a lens of class until Erin experienced first-hand the privilege of even having a place to rent. I got very involved in voicing political concerns publicly there, because the town was small and tight knit enough for each person's voice to really matter. I started writing poetry about housing during that period, and I haven't really gone back to fiction much since. 

Obviously, you’ve worked in a wide variety of writing spaces, leading workshops and programs for younger and older audiences, among a wide collection from other walks of life - have these experiences changed how you approach writing?

The best decision I made in grad school was to volunteer to lead writing workshops for elderly adults in an assisted living facility. Writing with people who are new to writing, who do not see the point in trying to say something beautifully, who simply say what they mean in as clear a way as possible in order to make sure their stories are recorded and remembered correctly and in their true voice—that is an education in purpose. I learned craft in my classes, but I learned purpose there. I also saw the most clear examples of writing bringing people together, whether it was something one of the elders wrote to a loved one (maybe addressing something long unsaid, repairing a relationship, or simply recording a memory), or something they wrote that made them more known to their neighbors and friends, or something that helped their caretakers understand them better—it was special. I've continued to do that work since, in long-term care homes, and in prisons. Working with kids is fun, but working with elders gives me heart. 

Potentially I’m misremembering, but you’re from, or at least lived for some time in rural PA, along with the Adirondacks and now a more urban city environment, how have you noticed that the writer spaces change, where do you find the most enrichment?

I lived very rural growing up, without any writing community or sense that anyone could be a writer. When I got to college, I discovered what a literary journal was when I learned that our school's had gone defunct. With the help of some friends, we restarted it. This connected me to the Lancaster PA writing community, which was maybe the most at home I've ever felt. But no matter where I've moved to, I have discovered vibrant and rewarding communities of writers: in Mankato, MN; in Saranac Lake, NY; and now in Rochester, NY, where I direct programming at a 45-year old literary institution. There are so many literary things happening in Rochester, it's hard to keep up. I've only been here a year, but I'm starting to find my people. 

You spent several years working with teenagers through the Adirondack Center for Writing - of course, your teenage centric work would be what I’m most familiar with, I was one of those nagging teens - I’m curious to know if you have any feelings about Subnivean, and the concept of the student-run litmag - do you notice trends among younger audiences in terms of what we tend to gravitate towards?

I didn't realize Subnivean was student-run, actually. I generally support that, so long as students aren't being taken advantage of. I loved working on a lit mag in grad school, and I helped run the campus lit mag at my undergrad (but submissions were only for students and alums). Anyway, I remember getting excellent edits from Soma Mei Sheng Frazier (and possibly other editors on the magazine) which is what proves to me a publication is quality. If someone accepts a short story and offers no edits whatsoever, that's always a red flag. Good editing is becoming more rare. And I'm so unfocused and long-winded and precious as a writer, I require a good editor. 

You’ve recently, it seems, been seeing a lot of success in magazine/journal publishing, you’re obviously also the author of some more long form published works. Where are you focusing your energy now?

For better or worse, I've written more letters to the editors of my local news outlets than I have poems or stories lately. 

Fear No Lit is your independent lit org, along with Erin, what drove you to start this organization - where do you see it going in the future, and is the mission the same as when you started it a decade ago?

Fear No Lit always adapts with wherever Erin and I are in our lives. I mean that in terms of location, but also how much time and energy we have. We both work full time in the literary arts, so it's tricky. Fear No Lit was on hiatus for most of my time in the Adirondacks. It was a pretty small town to try to have a second literary organization trying to plan events and garner audience. Now that we're in the Rochester area, we've decided to bring it back in a limited capacity. We're hosting our first public, in-person reading since before the pandemic on August 21 at Hamlin Beach State Park in Hamlin, NY, featuring T Kira Madden, Danny Caine, and Angelique Stevens; it's called Beach Read. 

Fear No Lit began because Erin and I kept identifying fairly glaring gaps in the local literary communities we were in, and we decided to create an informal organization that aimed to fill them. Whether that's by putting together events that don't feel excruciating and stodgy, or whether it's working with artists who don't look and sound like all the artists we see being platformed. We've also done some cool conceptual works like the Hidden Museum, and philanthropic works like redistributing unused notebooks to schools. 

Clearly, activism, allyship, and equity are close to your heart, how do these values affect your work in both institution spaces and in the creative space?

This is a really good question and I struggle with it every day. I want both my work (day-job) and my work (art) to speak truth to the political moment we're in, whether that's fighting book banning, amplifying voices the ruling class wants to silence, or stopping wars. However, I know that simply speaking is not enough, and also that my favorite art does more than simply deliver a political message (it also opens up into wonder and beauty), so sometimes making art becomes very difficult for me. Both my desire and responsibility right now is to champion work by artists I admire and who successfully craft truth and beauty—I try to make that work reach a larger audience, always hoping to break through to people who don't see books or writing or literature as something that's for them. That's why I've done a lot of interviewing, reviewing, and programming around other writers in the last few years. I just want to be an active and useful part of the literary ecosystem, but I don't want to ignore what's happening in the world while doing it. My dream is to carry out a long-term project with similar impact and political positioning as the Worker Writers School. 

What are you reading now? Recommendations?

Acts of Resistance: The Power of Art to Create a Better World by Amber Massie-Blomfield 

One Day Everyone Will Have Always Been Against This by Omar El Akkad 

Whidbey by T Kira Madden 

The Iridescents by Emrys Donaldson 

...Again by Mark Nowak