Travis Truax Q & A with Eastern Iowa Review
Chila: Your essay, "Fragments from the Plains," is comprised of five distinct but related sections. I too enjoy collage-type compilations. Tell me why you decided to put those five segments together.
Travis: I’ve had these segments floating around, in roughly the order they are now, most of this year—though some are from years ago. They’ve been scraps on my computer, or a page from a notebook. They’ve been parts of abandoned essays. They fell together as they are now based on sound, and luck, the place in which the event occurred, and the time. I wanted an essay that took a wide look at my experiences in the plains. These five segments seemed to do that. I had other fragments that I cut simply because they didn’t add to that idea. The title, “Fragments from the Plains,” ties the pieces together. If I wouldn’t have stumbled upon that title, then I don’t think I would have ever tried to send it out. As soon as I pinned that title over the essay, it finally felt done. Naming and dating each section helps the piece a lot too, I think.
Chila: True lyricism can be difficult to achieve. More often, we either over-play or under-play our hand with our attempts. In over-playing, we can force a density that muddles the ideas, and in under-playing we present what feels like another piece of generic nonfiction, a personal essay without the "pretties." I feel this essay, re-readable as it is, balances the extremes of attempted-lyricism nicely. What did you / do you do to achieve this?
Travis: You are right; it isn’t easy. It is a balance. It is hard to say where the line is between too much and not enough. Terry Tempest Williams does it beautifully. I don’t know how she gets away with it sometimes, but she always does. I could spend a day re-reading just one of her chapters, trying to understand her music, and still not figure it out. I read and write a lot of poetry, in addition to reading longer nonfiction pieces. The transitions and quick turns of poetry, the rhythms, seep in to my essays. In good ways and bad. After college, I had a reader of my work tell me they became “bogged down” in my “style,” meaning the lyricism. That was five years ago, and it has stuck with me. I think just being aware of the amount I use helps maintain a balance.
Chila: I think you're absolutely right. The balance has to be there, the give and take of lyricism mixed with plainspeak, wit, humor, etc., although I must admit that at times I love nothing more than a densely-worded and surprising essay, but it can surely get "heavy" fast. This is where voice and time and experience come in, I think. Next question: Who is Jennifer Denrow to you? Why did you mention her in this work?
Travis: I have never met Jennifer Denrow. And I only know a handful of her poems. All I know of her is what I discovered one night in Kansas several years ago. I came across her on the poets.org website. One of her poems floored me. One about the Oregon coast. The things she noticed struck me. There was something to it, something about being present and how being present for things like the ocean tide is enough. No need to try to understand where it has been or where it is going. I could relate to that at the time. Still do. I also found a bio of her that night saying she was in a master’s program in Denver, which I was envious of. Jealousy, I guess, led to the letter I wrote her. It was originally a poem, a narrow line down the left side of the page, which is why it reads so choppy now—now that it is ironed out, trying to be an essay.
Chila: How does a connection with your environment / landscape inform an essay like this? What do the "outdoors" mean to you?
Travis: Landscape informs nearly everything I write. But so does everything I read. What I read teaches me how to see certain landscapes. I once wrote a letter to the poet Campbell McGrath, thanking him for helping me see Miami, the place I was living at the time. His poems helped me understand southern Florida. I love the interplay in my imagination of what I read and where, in landscape, those stories take place. I seek out certain landscapes because of what I’ve read about them. Sometimes, it is the other way around. Walking along the Platte in Nebraska is definitely an “outdoor” activity, but staring out your living room window—spotting a robin, a cat, a rose bush—is a kind of outdoor activity too. I enjoy both. Connecting with the “outdoors” is simply connecting with something outside of yourself. I think the final section of my essay, where I mention a friend of mine in South Dakota, speaks to this connection.
Chila: These are aesthetically beautiful thoughts, Travis. Thank you. Next: 2016 is upon us. How will you achieve your writing goals, and give us a glimpse of what those goals might involve.
Travis: I can hardly believe how fast this year has gone by. I have lots of goals and ongoing projects to look forward to in 2016. I have a book-size idea I’ve been working on for a few years now, which I hope functions like this essay does. That’s how I see the book at least, fragmented and laid out in bits and pieces. Some of the pieces are longer, some shorter. Its aim has shifted so many times over the past couple years. Today, I simply want a collection of essays that give shape to the various places I have been. That’s a good enough goal for me. It will involve many frustrating nights and weekends, but the shining moments will keep me hard at it.
Chila: Your essay, "Fragments from the Plains," is comprised of five distinct but related sections. I too enjoy collage-type compilations. Tell me why you decided to put those five segments together.
Travis: I’ve had these segments floating around, in roughly the order they are now, most of this year—though some are from years ago. They’ve been scraps on my computer, or a page from a notebook. They’ve been parts of abandoned essays. They fell together as they are now based on sound, and luck, the place in which the event occurred, and the time. I wanted an essay that took a wide look at my experiences in the plains. These five segments seemed to do that. I had other fragments that I cut simply because they didn’t add to that idea. The title, “Fragments from the Plains,” ties the pieces together. If I wouldn’t have stumbled upon that title, then I don’t think I would have ever tried to send it out. As soon as I pinned that title over the essay, it finally felt done. Naming and dating each section helps the piece a lot too, I think.
Chila: True lyricism can be difficult to achieve. More often, we either over-play or under-play our hand with our attempts. In over-playing, we can force a density that muddles the ideas, and in under-playing we present what feels like another piece of generic nonfiction, a personal essay without the "pretties." I feel this essay, re-readable as it is, balances the extremes of attempted-lyricism nicely. What did you / do you do to achieve this?
Travis: You are right; it isn’t easy. It is a balance. It is hard to say where the line is between too much and not enough. Terry Tempest Williams does it beautifully. I don’t know how she gets away with it sometimes, but she always does. I could spend a day re-reading just one of her chapters, trying to understand her music, and still not figure it out. I read and write a lot of poetry, in addition to reading longer nonfiction pieces. The transitions and quick turns of poetry, the rhythms, seep in to my essays. In good ways and bad. After college, I had a reader of my work tell me they became “bogged down” in my “style,” meaning the lyricism. That was five years ago, and it has stuck with me. I think just being aware of the amount I use helps maintain a balance.
Chila: I think you're absolutely right. The balance has to be there, the give and take of lyricism mixed with plainspeak, wit, humor, etc., although I must admit that at times I love nothing more than a densely-worded and surprising essay, but it can surely get "heavy" fast. This is where voice and time and experience come in, I think. Next question: Who is Jennifer Denrow to you? Why did you mention her in this work?
Travis: I have never met Jennifer Denrow. And I only know a handful of her poems. All I know of her is what I discovered one night in Kansas several years ago. I came across her on the poets.org website. One of her poems floored me. One about the Oregon coast. The things she noticed struck me. There was something to it, something about being present and how being present for things like the ocean tide is enough. No need to try to understand where it has been or where it is going. I could relate to that at the time. Still do. I also found a bio of her that night saying she was in a master’s program in Denver, which I was envious of. Jealousy, I guess, led to the letter I wrote her. It was originally a poem, a narrow line down the left side of the page, which is why it reads so choppy now—now that it is ironed out, trying to be an essay.
Chila: How does a connection with your environment / landscape inform an essay like this? What do the "outdoors" mean to you?
Travis: Landscape informs nearly everything I write. But so does everything I read. What I read teaches me how to see certain landscapes. I once wrote a letter to the poet Campbell McGrath, thanking him for helping me see Miami, the place I was living at the time. His poems helped me understand southern Florida. I love the interplay in my imagination of what I read and where, in landscape, those stories take place. I seek out certain landscapes because of what I’ve read about them. Sometimes, it is the other way around. Walking along the Platte in Nebraska is definitely an “outdoor” activity, but staring out your living room window—spotting a robin, a cat, a rose bush—is a kind of outdoor activity too. I enjoy both. Connecting with the “outdoors” is simply connecting with something outside of yourself. I think the final section of my essay, where I mention a friend of mine in South Dakota, speaks to this connection.
Chila: These are aesthetically beautiful thoughts, Travis. Thank you. Next: 2016 is upon us. How will you achieve your writing goals, and give us a glimpse of what those goals might involve.
Travis: I can hardly believe how fast this year has gone by. I have lots of goals and ongoing projects to look forward to in 2016. I have a book-size idea I’ve been working on for a few years now, which I hope functions like this essay does. That’s how I see the book at least, fragmented and laid out in bits and pieces. Some of the pieces are longer, some shorter. Its aim has shifted so many times over the past couple years. Today, I simply want a collection of essays that give shape to the various places I have been. That’s a good enough goal for me. It will involve many frustrating nights and weekends, but the shining moments will keep me hard at it.
Much appreciation to Travis for these thoughts and his look at the American Plains in his essay. Wishes for many "shining moments" in the days ahead - we'll be following your progress! ~Chila
Travis Truax earned a bachelor’s degree in English from Southeastern Oklahoma State University in 2010. His work has appeared in Flyover Country, Marathon Literary Review, Flagler Review, and The Meadow. After college he spent several years working in various national parks in the West. He currently resides in Bozeman, Montana.
Travis Truax earned a bachelor’s degree in English from Southeastern Oklahoma State University in 2010. His work has appeared in Flyover Country, Marathon Literary Review, Flagler Review, and The Meadow. After college he spent several years working in various national parks in the West. He currently resides in Bozeman, Montana.