It’s no secret that I am a huge fan of Roxane Gay, both her writing and the person. She writes brave, searing stories about loss, suffering, sex, violence, self-destruction, and more. Her stories are always visceral, powerful and deeply affecting. They stay. Haunt. Her work draws us in and will not allow us to look away from the horror and the beauty.

More than her writing, more than her role as co-editor extraordinaire at PANK, more than her widely published excellent and provocative reviews and commentary, Roxane Gay is a funny, smart, kind, caring, loyal, and loving individual. In short, she epitomizes one of her favorite words: FANCY.

– Ethel Rohan

Writing wise, where are you now? Where are you going?

I have no idea where I am or where I am going which must mean I am lost. Please find me. I have a short story collection being shopped around and fortunately, I don’t have to do anything but sit and wait which is quite nice yet nerve wracking. I’m working on too many things at once but I’m pretty excited about each of the projects. My priority is my novel so of course, that’s what I’m working on the least. Still, I have the first chapter and a bit more done, and that’s something.

What informs your creative process? How do you keep inspired?

I’m always inspired just by living each day. I don’t mean that in a tragic self-help way but I’ll hear a phrase or I’ll feel something for someone or a song will move me or I’ll see something hilarious and that gets me writing and then I punch out a story and wait for inspiration to strike me again. I keep inspired by continuing to live, and lately I’ve had an unexpected source of inspiration that (who?) has fueled a lot of stories I’m working on. I find life endlessly fascinating.

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The St. Catherine’s Community Center Rape Survivors Support Group meets every Tuesday from six until nine in the evening. It is a highlight every seven days, each session a series of bright moments to interrupt the tedium of the group’s quotidian suffering. They originally met on Thursdays but the members found they needed to meet earlier in the week to actually make it through the week. Three hours of group was rarely enough. Most members also saw the facilitator, a sedate older woman named Linda, two or three times a week outside of group. They sat in her office, decorated with warm hues and house plants, and spoke in thin voices, held warm mugs of tea with trembling hands and counted the seconds, minutes, hours until the next group session.

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