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September 24, 2021 By Claire Guyton

Writer’s Notebook: “The Shut-In”

Writer’s Notebook: “The Shut-In”

Published March 2021, Issue #7

white run down bungalow with overflowing garbage cans in front

For a while I thought Maine might avoid the Delta-variant-driven spike in Covid cases. These past couple of weeks I’ve accepted that last year’s postponed Thanksgiving visit from my sister and her husband will be postponed once again. In a fit of disappointment over this, I asked my husband how many introverts like us might morph into shut-ins because of this pandemic. That term—“shut-in”—isn’t one I’ve heard or used much. It came to mind, I’m sure, because of Erica Kent’s piece we published this past March. And I’m so pleased it did, because it led me away from my frustration and brought me back to her good work.

I asked Erica about her inspiration for the piece:

“The Shut-In” is based on a true story. My parents moved into the shut-in’s home “sight unseen” in the summer of ’68, about nine months before I was born. As my dad was pretty acerbic, it proved easy to imagine his comments as he and my mom went from room to room unearthing treasures of their starter home. The story became part of our family folklore, or what was our family until my parents got divorced in 1983. A couple of years ago, when I set about writing the piece, I mined my mother for details. I wanted to call my dad too, but as he had recently died, I made do with what I envisioned he would’ve remembered. I tried to stay faithful to my parent’s personal history, as well as the character of the shut-in. In a few places I gave myself creative license, and, as such, technically the piece is fiction. My favorite part, the ball of hair, is true. It was the starting point.

When Covid hit and the country went into lockdown, the implications of the piece expanded. A revised story might very well include playing with time, creating more of a back and forth examination of what it means to be tucked away from daily life. But for now, after many drafts, I am satisfied with the scope of this version.

As usual, our search for companion pieces led us to images and articles we didn’t end up using that have nevertheless stayed with us. I love this photo-treatment of the anxiety behind agoraphobia, for example. And Cheryl suggested this video of Joan Cusack as Sheila, who suffers from agoraphobia, in the television series Shameless. I haven’t watched a single episode (yes, Cheryl, I will get to it) but was moved to tears by this video and still think about a couple of the scenes.

Thank you again, Erica, for your fantastic work, and for the timely reminder that art is refuge.

–Claire Guyton

Filed Under: Writer's Notebook

September 1, 2021 By Claire Guyton

Writer’s Notebook: “A Thing of Beauty”

Writer’s Notebook: “A Thing of Beauty”

Published December 2020, Issue #4

As we launch our second season with Issue #10, I’m still reflecting on the work our authors let us showcase in season one. The piece I’ve been coming back to lately, because it speaks to the way I’m feeling as I re-enter Waterwheel Review, is Nancy Jorgensen’s “A Thing of Beauty.” It feels like a meditation, I said in our editors’ notes. I like its wandering shape.

Photo by author.

I reached out to Nancy last week to ask about her inspiration for “A Thing of Beauty.”

Almost every day, I hike through a county park. It’s only a five-minute walk from my house, with hiking paths, mountain bike trails and a swimming hole. I explore the forests, look for new blooms, and listen to the frogs or birds or squirrels. One of those walks inspired the first part of my essay. Then, I used collage form to build on this theme of finding beauty. Starting with a personal experience, I expanded out to my grandparents and their love of beautiful things, and then further out to a place close to me, but removed from my immediate life. As I wrote the three sections, I kept finding connections: that my grandparents lived in the same time period as Alfred Lunt and Lynn Fontanne; that beauty is important, especially in challenging times; that a powerful legacy can affect future generations; that a search for beauty is universal whether young or old, rich or poor, famous or ordinary. When Waterwheel Review asked for visual art as a companion piece, my daughter suggested her friend’s nature-inspired prints. So, there are more connections, with beauty that spans words and images, and creativity that spans generations.

abstract of flowers in vase with pinks, oranges, red and yellows
Flowers by Maggie Lach.

Searching out, considering, and selecting companion pieces is such an important part of our process, and connects us deeply to each publication. We looked at a handful of images, videos, and poems as we readied “A Thing of Beauty” for publication. In the end, we used one of the nature-inspired prints Nancy mentions above, Maggie Lach’s Flowers, and although we strongly considered this video about Ten Chimneys—I was particularly high on it—we settled on this one instead, as a celebration of Nancy’s final line.

Once again, many thanks to Nancy Jorgensen for sharing her terrific work with us.

—Claire Guyton

Filed Under: Writer's Notebook

August 31, 2021 By Claire Guyton

From the Editors | Issue #10

September 2021

From the Editors

What gives light must endure burning. —Viktor Frankl

We open our second season of Waterwheel Review with three beautifully quiet pieces… that burn. No, that’s not quite right. They do something more satisfying—they settle deeply into what is burning off. Burning out. In Heather McClelland’s “Prognosis Blue,” color and shape disappear into unfiltered light; in Phebe Jewell’s “Surfacing,” the need to escape dissipates into fog over water; in “canyon market,” Rex Wilder writes into what is, finally, truly ripe. These pieces remind us of all the ways we burn. How much we can’t help wanting more color, more space, more time. It’s a new year for Waterwheel Review—nine issues of MORE. We’ll be showcasing every joyous piece of writing that comes our way.

—Claire, Suzanne, Cheryl


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Filed Under: From the Editors

March 1, 2021 By Claire Guyton

Editor’s Note | Issue #7

March 2021

Editor’s Note

claire guyton headshot

John Prine was one of my favorite writers. When he died of Covid, I took a day off to mourn him. As always, I found refuge in his lyrics. 

His songs are full of stories that somehow marry goofiness, poignancy, and deep sadness. Despite appreciation for his work, my husband can listen to Prine only in short spurts or he will sink into melancholy. I’m so surprised by this, because it’s the sadness that I appreciate most. Writing that captures our worries and griefs comforts me. No, much more. It buoys me. I rise.

All genuine hardship and loss boil down to the same elemental pain, and no one gets through this life unscathed. How lucky we are to see the proof—in prose, verse, music, painting—that we are not alone with our dark thoughts, this trembling uncertainty, that moment of boiling rage. I am channeled, and so I am heartened and then fortified. Now I’m ready to give it all another go.

As our March issue goes live, I am channeled by Erica Kent’s “The Shut-In,” a piece starring a version of myself I work hard not to be, and I know I am far from alone in that, as the pandemic has shown so many of us. In Danielle Joffe’s “Reduction,” I am heartened by a kind of courage I’ve had to summon myself, as have all the women I know. And “My New York Accent” by Anne Myles fortifies the “I am who I am” confidence we’re all building and rebuilding. 

I cried at my last John Prine concert. When he hit the stage, strumming and singing, his age knocked me back, and I knew that he would die before I could see him again. As he performed a rough and speedy version of “Your Flag Decal Won’t Get You Into Heaven Anymore,” I put my face in my hands and wept. Then I wiped my tears and sank into him and his music, savoring every syllable, every note. Every sad smile.

Claire Guyton

Filed Under: From the Editors

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