Anastacia Renée, is Writer-in-Residence at Hugo House, a home for writers in Seattle. She is a full time queer super-shero of color moonlighting as a writer, performance artist and creative writing workshop facilitator. She has received poetry fellowships from Cave Canem, Hedgebrook, VONA, Edge (Artist Trust) and Jack Straw, as well as a writing residency from Ragdale. Her theatrical mixed-media project, 9 Ounces: A One Woman Show has debuted at The Project Room, Hugo House, The Twilight Gallery and Gay City. 9 Ounces is a multivalent social justice play unapologetically downward dogging its way through class, race, culture, oppression, depression, survival and epiphany. Anastacia Renee is the Author of 26, (Dancing Girl Press), 2016 James W. Ray Distinguished Writers Award nominee and a 2016 Pushcart nominee. Recently Anastacia Renee has been expanding her creative repertoire into the field of visual art, and has exhibited installations surrounding the body as a polarized place of both the private and political. Lately she’s been obsessed with the body’s memory and infatuated by myths, fables & imaginary truths.
Anastacia Reneé’s Black Radish title Forget It is available through SPD.
Advance Praise for Forget It
AnastaciaRenée’s somber, shrewd and sensually detailed romp through a field of landmines definitively shatters both the predictability of genre and the limits of lyric. These fierce vignettes, crafted to confront, are too restless and urgent to behave while considering their impact. Instead, they meld into a story we can’t turn away from, one that—if you need to slap it with a name—could be called poetry. But Forget It (which is all but impossible to forget) isn’t simply poetry. What it is is simply inevitable.
—Patricia Smith, author of Gotta Go, Gotta Flo with photographer Michael Abramson
This book feels like an entirely new invention. I don’t even want to call it a book. I want to call it a thick-paint impressionist new word-reality, a documentation of whatever blush invented the first word. “…you picture yourself as a child seeing the color green for the first time.” Anastacia Renée does just that, reinvents her reader as this child. This book is, to me, the color green for the first time. About this book, I feel something like what I imagine onlookers must have felt when they first witnessed the Wright brothers thrust air under wing to leave the ground.
—Tara Hardy, author of My, My, My, My, My, Write Bloody Publishing
The City (3)
the city is not a beacon of hope on thursdays but of light in the darkness on most days. the light is not because of the light of seattle. the light is because we are huddled up smoking. we are excited to huddle up and smoke and we have spurts of amnesia about our new diets, about things crushing us, about the loss of poets or kittens or virginity. the city is restless even though she is tired and we feel her anxious hands holding us up, holding us down, holding us.