Kwoya Fagin Maples

Yesterday I had a reading at the University of North Alabama.  Suffice it to say, the subject matter of my book is difficult. Mend tells the story of the birth of gynecology and the role black slave women played in that process. The collection is made up of persona poems, and the women’s stories are told in their voices. There are four sections of the book.  (more…)

I still remember the first time I read my own work in front of a group of people. I was 21. It was at an open-mic at the University of Alabama called “Common Ground.” The poem I was reading was about domestic violence. (more…)

I’m a writer, creative writing instructor, wife and mother of three young children. Currently, every weekday there are 17 tasks that have to be accomplished for my family life alone. (more…)

When I tell people I’m a writer, they usually respond with some version of, “I’ve been trying to write a book…” and then this trails off into infinity. But then I ask, “What’s it about?” And I’m genuinely interested.  I want to see everyone write the book they’ve been wanting to write. I thoroughly enjoy discussing manuscripts and drafts with writers. It’s something I geek out over. I especially like having these conversations with people who don’t yet call themselves writers. (more…)

There was a time you actually called yourself a “real writer.” You took every opportunity to write. You were desperate, at any time of day or night to get to your notebook. Maybe you slept with it next to your bed so you could write your dreams and thoughts immediately. You were an active lover of the written word and your nose was always in a book—if you weren’t writing. (more…)

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