Claire Hopple: On Working With Small Presses, "the self-centered saturation of our culture," and Her New Chapbook: ‘It’s Hard to Say’
Some things are just hard to say. I love you. I’m sorry. I miss you. They’re only words though, so why do they harbor so much power, and why is it that sometimes talking to a stranger is easier than talking to a person you’ve known forever? These questions feel central to Claire Hopple’s newest chapbook, ‘It’s Hard to Say’ (word west press).
Written as letters from a single narrator to 9 different people, It’s Hard to Say is an intimate portrait of a person trying to connect. The narrator writes to friends, strangers, and the people in-between, describing the small, daily activities that define a life — committing an “offense” at work, collecting lost objects for an ongoing project, turning a closet into a makeshift sensory deprivation tank. The letters themselves resist conveying a singular message to their recipients and moments of emotional clarity like, “I often feel closest to you when I’m alone and especially distant from you when we’re together,” are ensconced by tangential memories and observations that veer into the bizarre — “The fastest recorded escape from a straight jacket while underwater is 22.86 seconds,” a waitress letting it slip that she wants to kill her neighbor’s dog, etc. What is most impressive about It’s Hard to Say, is that Hopple has matched the book’s somber tone of loneliness with quirky ramblings of mundanity and philosophy that provide just the right amount of levity.
I spoke with the author via email about the benefits of brevity, publishing with small presses, and her chapbook It’s Hard to Say.
Shelby Hinte: Congrats again on your forthcoming book, It's Hard to Say. It's written entirely in letters addressed to people of varying closeness with the narrator (a coworker, a close friend, a total stranger, etc.). Can you share a little bit about the initial inception of this collection and how it grew into a book?
Claire Hopple: Before I started writing It's Hard to Say, I was reading a good bit of confessional, auto-fiction novels. While this book is far from auto-fiction, I'd like to think the sentiments and genuine emotions of the style are present. Adult relationships look different: different than you thought they would growing up, different today than in generations past, different than your expectations, etc. These letters are meant to emphasize that difference.
SH: One of my favorite parts of your collection is that most of the letters/chapters don't state their intention directly. They often oscillate between what feels like an attempt to make amends and a desire to voice resentment. For me, this is where the tension of the collection existed — in the nuanced revealing of intent through the narrator's voice and stream-of-conscious associations between people, places, and things. How do you find a balance between restraint in storytelling and naming something directly?
CH: I try to write directly when I think it will help people feel less alone or when clarity is necessary to the context. Everywhere else requires restraint, especially when you're trying to be as concise as possible. I think short books accommodate the collective attention span.
SH: I'm so intrigued by this term "collective attention span." Can you talk a little bit more about what you mean by this and how you think it impacts/is impacted by readers?
CH: We've been trained for entertainment, multitasking, video frames in constant movement, productivity, feeds updated every half-second, etc. I must read regularly to stay calm and even I feel suffocated by giant tomes. So there's an extent to which books must keep up with our rewired, limited brains. But more than that, slim books just feel right.
SH: I'm always interested in the relationship between form and content. Considering these chapters are all written as letters, how do you think form/structure affect narrative?
CH: In this case, I chose the epistolary form to deepen the text's personal connections and confessional nature. I have this theory that narrative follows culture. Like second person was really big several years ago. And to me, the reason for that was the consumer-driven copy of advertising and the self-centered saturation of our culture. But also people recognizing that and mocking it, wanting to evolve from that and look outward to serve others. So using the first person to address the second person through letters was forcing the hand of relationship to reveal our isolation, and to show our desire to evolve out of that state.
SH: Do you have any favorite stories/books/etc. that are written in unique forms that have inspired your own writing?
CH: Great examples of unique forms: AM/PM by Amelia Gray and Anagrams by Lorrie Moore.
SH: I like that you bring up the relationship between art and culture. I feel like this is part of an ongoing question about whether art or culture comes first. Why do you think narrative follows culture and not the other way around?
CH: I think it's definitely both. They follow each other. And both directions are fascinating.
SH: In Chapter 2 (Sophia), your narrator writes, "We aren’t close anymore. You know I have a bad habit of not thinking about important people and then when I do see them I’m instantly crushed by all the missing I was supposed to be doing the whole time." This sentiment really captures the tone of longing and loneliness found in It's Hard to Say. That it is written as a letter feels even more meaningful. While reading your chapbook, I often found myself thinking about how the receiver of these letters might react to holding a physical object containing another person's emotions (I think this felt especially present in my mind because of all the isolation brought on by the pandemic). What (if any) impact do you think the pandemic had on you constructing this book?
CH: Looking back at my inbox, it appears that I finished up this manuscript in May of 2020, which means almost all of it was written prior to the pandemic (apparently, ha). Time is a moving target for everyone at this point, but I honestly wouldn't have remembered anyway. This reminds me of what I've found myself saying over the entire thing: besides serious illness and death from the virus, all the problems that we're experiencing right now existed before. COVID exacerbated our preexisting isolation and predilection for turning political viewpoints into social media sermons. It gave us a good excuse to back out of that event. It's a Twilight Zone episode where we're upset that we can't flake out on plans anymore because the plans have already been canceled. Sometimes we prefer attention over real connection. Enter the quick hits of the internet.
SH: You mentioned auto-fiction and also "the self-centered saturation of our culture," and I think there seems to be a growing consciousness that all stories are a culmination of "truth" and "fictions." Whether a story is disguised as history/fact or fiction, it is also revealing something about the writer. On some levels, auto-fiction is just more explicit about these connections. On the other hand, auto-fiction can come off as self-centered and narcissistic. How do you feel about auto-fiction and its popularity?
CH: That's so true. I like to analyze each work individually. There's some auto-fiction that's been done really well and there's some that's taken the concept a bit too far for my taste. This distinction does seem to come up a lot though and it may be a response from authors who are weary of answering how much of their fiction is true, who knows.
SH: It's Hard to Say, is published by a small press, as are your previous books. You also have a lot of writing published with smaller literary journals. What do you find attractive about working with small presses?
CH: Passionate folks run small presses. They don't do it for the money because they can't even if they wanted to. It's trite but with indie presses and journals, art comes first rather than consumer data.
I like to go with a different press for each book regardless of my experience with previous publishers. I want to see what's out there and how each one handles projects. Overall, I can't complain about the experience. Then again, I can't compare it to a different experience either so I don't really know what I might be missing.
SH: You have a pretty impressive publication list — how do you make time to write? Do you have a routine you follow?
CH: You are too kind! I don't really have time to write. I fight for that time. I read a lot of books and jot down ideas, then those notes slowly become something over a month or two or three. I've tried to quit writing before just for the sheer practicality of it, but it never sticks.
SH: What writing advice has had the biggest impact on your practice?
CH: Avoiding all writing advice has probably been the best advice. Everybody's different. It does seem like there are people who are motivated by accountability and those who are motivated by convenience. Maybe figuring that out is a good place to start. And I agree with the age-old point that you must be a reader first and a writer second. That part should be easy.
Claire Hopple is the author of four books. Her fiction has appeared in Hobart, Vol. 1 Brooklyn, New World Writing, and others. More at clairehopple.com.
About the Interviewer
Shelby Hinte is a writer and educator living in the Bay Area. Her writing has appeared or is forthcoming in SmokeLong Quarterly, Hobart, Maudlin House, Entropy, Witness Magazine, and elsewhere. You can read more of her work at www.shelbyhinte.com or follow her @shelbyhinte
