Naomi Stenberg
ORP: What does success as a writer or artist mean to you?
Naomi Stenberg: I have to admit I would love to have more fans. But mostly I write to comfort, to be of service, and to entertain. If a reader reads a poem of mine or story and thinks, Me too, then I've succeeded.
ORP: Does writing or creating energize or exhaust you? What aspects of your artistic process would you consider the most challenging or rewarding?
NS: It depends. If the poem or story is about a light topic, I feel lifted up, ready to tackle anything. If it is raw and confessional, as some of my work is, I can feel kind of hollowed out when I finish it. But it's a good kind of hollowed out. Healing even.
ORP: What books have you read many times?
NS: I have read Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel about five times. The fact that she is a poet shines out in all her work. Her lyricism is so evident and her stories so well and beautifully crafted. Station Eleven's dystopian universe is, unfortunately, a book for our times. I have read Rook by Daniel O'Malley many times. This book just delights me. I highly relate to the protagonist, who is a gifted misfit. O'Malley's language is fresh, rollicky, poignant at times, and incredibly funny.
ORP: What is the most valuable piece of advice you’ve been given about writing or creating? What advice would you give to another writer or artist?
NS: Andrea Gibson, when they were alive, wrote a small piece on their sub stack about falling in love with your own work before you send it out anywhere or speak it out loud to an audience. I believe that's vitally important. If you love your own work and are your own best champion, when you do submit, the rejections, which are inevitable, sting less. Because obviously that particular editor is wrong and just doesn't see your work with the deep abiding affection with which you see it. The cool thing is some editors will see it that way—and do.
ORP: What do you hope readers (or your audience) will take away from your creative work?
NS: Hope principally. A sense of being less alone—maybe because I've written something that they've secretly thought for a long time and never found words to.
