Advice for Social Activist Writers and Readers, Inspired by the work of Adriana Paramo

(1) A literary work of social activism is nothing if not a series of ethical decisions made by the author, one that invites a return volley of decisions from the reader: what is important, whose story needs telling, do I recognize the importance of this issue, et cetera, ad nauseam.

(2) Always be mindful, but never forget to take the step that comes after contemplation; reflection is the best of starts, but a true work of social activism inspires action — recognition is where it starts, but movement is the ultimate goal, a realization in reaction.

(3) Finally: if your decision-making process and/or your understanding of the world has changed since reading a book, you must take a moment, a breather, and recognize that you have just read a good book.  Do not hide it; pass that information along.

Adriana Paramo’s talk was provoking, to say the least; more on this talent in the world of social activist writing can be found at her website, here.


From and On ‘Paper Dreams,’ edited by Travis Kurowski (2013)

“1922–Hemingway publishes his first story, ‘A Divine Gesture,’ in the New Orleans literary magazine The Double Dealer. Throughout the following decade Hemingway continues an active, though often contentious, relationship with literary magazines….” (393)

I have a dislike-hate relationship with Ernest Hemingway in addition to any and all other authors who would reduce the already-bland sentence “John sat down to dinner with his wife” to “He ate with her.”  Knowing Hemingway’s disposition, the sentence might more accurately read as “He ate.”   And again, knowing Hemingway, we’d see that two-syllable sentence many times over the course of the novel in which it appeared, the contents of a soup given greater play than interpersonal relationships and/or internal musings.  The current school of fiction-writing dictates that terseness is next to godliness; I have seen far too many Hemingwannabes in my time.  This is why I, perhaps erroneously, value the second paragraph of HP Lovecraft’s “Celephais” as one of the most beautiful and truthful pieces of English fiction.  I search for and fail to find those “fountains that sing in the sun” among the pages written by the so-called father of modern fiction.  I have a growing disbelief in the value of the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction and the Nobel Prize in Literature.  And as an editor of my own inconsequential shit-stain of a collegiate literary magazine, part of me takes a fair amount of pleasure in knowing that my turn-of-the-century forefathers gave Hemingway something of a “contentious” time.

For the ill-fated ones among us who hold value in adjectives: Lovecraft’s “Celephais.”

For those who would rather read of pasta-consumption: The Hemingway Cookbook.

From “To Popularise Literature in the States” by Algernon de Vivier Tassin (1916)

“From a very early date editors had been keenly conscious of the need for variety. The New England Magazine, 1758, price eight pence a number of sixty pages, gave in an advertisement this description of its contents:


Old-fashioned writing and Select Essays,

Queer Notions, Useful Hints, Extracts from Plays;

Relations Wonderful and Psalm and Song,

Good Sense, Wit, Humour, Morals, all ding dong;

Poems and Speeches, Politicks, and News,

What Some will like and others Some refuse;

Births, Deaths, and Dreams, and Apparitions, Too;

With some Thing suited to each different Geu (gout?)

To Humour Him, and Her, and Me, and You.”

Here’s hoping that this is a set of guidelines for future posts.

For further reading on the value of creative mish-mash and seemingly structureless variety, take a glance in this direction.