DJ Hills

Oyster River Pages: We often think of ourselves as writing or making art, but the process often changes or makes us as well. How do you feel like your writing or art makes you?

DJ Hills: I consider myself first and foremost a playwright so more often than not, I’m lucky enough be making art alongside a group of amazing, talented storytellers. The process of creating, then, becomes even more fulfilling than the final product. Collaborative artmaking asks me to go beyond my limited perspective and think about myself and my writing in a wider context, which, in turn, opens up space for growth, empathy, and understanding. 

ORP: Do you believe that hope is a luxury, a responsibility, a danger, or something else? Why?

DJH: I love the idea of hope as a responsibility. I have a poem called “Super Worm Moon” that is largely about climate disaster and one of the last lines is “it’s no good being apocalyptic.” I stole that from an old professor of mine, Dr. Danny Kimball, who taught us that one of the worst things we can do in respect to climate change is just give up.

 If hope is a responsibility, though, it’s certainly a shared one. We can’t expect folks to be hopeful all the time, especially given the constant barrage of hate and pain we’re exposed to on a regular basis. We have to share the weight—be hopeful when others cannot—and turn that hope into action.

ORP: If you could choose one writer or artist, living or dead, as a best friend or mentor, who would it be? Why?

DJH: Ugh, so many. I love making new friends.

Zelda Fitzgerald comes to mind. I know she and her crew have a certain rep, but we have a shared passion for dance, and I think Save Me the Waltz contains some truly beautiful writing.

Also, Ocean Vuong. I talked to him briefly at a reading once and he had such a kind soul. Plus, his Instagram makes my heart happy—follow him!

ORP: What do you think is the most essential advice that most writers and artists ignore?

DJH: I don’t know that most folks ignore this, but you hear it all the time: consume, consume, consume. Especially as a young artist, I don’t think I consumed enough art—or rather I wasn’t taught how to consume it. Take note of what you love and what you hate, try to understand what those folks are doing, and think about reflecting it (or not) in your own practice. If you exercise your brain enough this way, it becomes habitual.

But, like, sometimes you really just want to, like, watch Riverdale and not think about tone consistency or character arcs and that’s okay, too.

ORP: Years from now, when historians look back on the art and writing of the early 21st century, how do you think they will articulate the zeitgeist?

DJH: In a series of howls.

DJ Hills is a queer writer and theatre artist from the Appalachian Mountains. DJ's writing appears or is forthcoming in 'Appalachian Heritage,' 'Lunch,' 'Arkansas Review,' and elsewhere, and their plays have been produced in and around the Baltimore-D.C. metro area. Find them online at www.dj-hills.com and hear them read their poetry here.