Who are you? You are a detective. What does it mean to speak of writing that is haunted by cinema? Of writing that is, say, Lynchian, or widescreen in its vision? Of writing that somehow captures or is inspired by the fleeting urgency of the screen image, in all its varieties? This month, as writer-in-residence,…

Writing about family (while they’re alive) can eat you up inside with guilt. It took me a long time to understand that loving someone well doesn’t mean stunting your work or your story. I try to write the truth. This essay originally appeared on The Rumpus in April of 2012. + It took my mother…

Below is a GChat conversation/interview conducted with Daniel José Older. I RePrinted his story “Victory Music”, and you can read that here. + Ashley Ford Okay, Daniel First of all, thanks for doing this for me Daniel José Older it is truly my pleasure Ashley Ford So, I’m RePrinting your story “Victory Music” which originally…

It’s odd what you can believe to be true about yourself, only to have one encounter change that for good. I used to believe that I didn’t care for stories that weren’t based in reality, or at least, a realistic version of imagined events. Then I read “Salsa Nocturna” by Daniel José Older. That’s how…

I wrote this essay in 2009 for a group blog I shared with five other women writers from college. It was first published in PANK 6 and it was the first time I wrote about my father. This is the essay that started the journey toward writing my book. Thank you for reading with me.…

First of all, thank you to Steve Himmer for the opportunity to serve as the November Writer-In-Residence for Necessary Fiction. The opportunity to share the work of writers I admire is greatly appreciated. At times, I’ve described myself as a literary fangirl. I’m certain that could be taken in a number of unintended ways, but…

It’s the final day of October and so ends my residency at Necessary Fiction. For the past 31 days I’ve posted essays by fiction writers exploring the Other Things We Do to keep ourselves whole as writers. What I learned is that the creative process is a tricky thing. We need to leave it to…

Michael Kimball hits a three-run homer over the right fielder’s head. (for Michael Bowen) As a kid, I loved watching baseball on television, listening to it on the radio, and playing it anywhere that resembled a field. I could get completely lost in the game. It started when I was little and would hit those…

In the summer at my Cape house, I often invite — probably more like coerce — house and dinner guests to paint a 3×5” or 4×6” canvas to add to my “gallery,” a long hallway of small paintings affixed to the wall with Velcro and a staple gun. We paint on the deck on spread-out…

So, I walk. I try to name each sun-bright thing, memorize crepe myrtle by the National Federation for the Blind building, loose shingles off the Formstone-clad rowhouse three doors’ from mine — off by heart, saved for rainy days — only the starling drift and wren call catch me away. Forget the pit-bull mixes and…

I learned how to knit when I was eight. Most beginners start with a scarf and knit their rows back and forth. My mother started me on double pointed needles, which means I learned to knit in the round first. I knit a poncho for my Barbie. In memory it took me two years to…

My mother hands me two brochures: one for ballet and one for gymnastics. I don’t speak English—I am still new to America—but I understand enough to know that I am to choose. I choose tutus. + Thirty years later, I find myself in a PhD program for creative writing. I ask myself frequently, “What am…