Semicolon: A Collection of Thoughts and Other Snippets
Interview by Francesca Mazzella
Shannon Damuth is a junior at Northeastern University. Her favorite form of writing is poetry, and her poem Parallel Love was a recipient of the Gold Key Scholastic Writing Award. At the end of seventh grade, Shannon’s class nominated her as “Most likely to write a book,” and she is excited to live up to this superlative with her 2022 book Semicolon and her 2023 book Question Mark! We thank her for allowing us ask her a couple of questions.
https://www.theshannondamuthbookstore.com/
Let’s start with the title, “Semicolon”, I believe it refers back to the movement dedicated to offering hope to those who are struggling with mental health, suicide, self-injury, and addiction. The symbol is a way to challenge the stigma posed on mental health and encourage conversations that inform and contextualize different struggles. As readers of the book, how did you wish for it to be interpreted?
This is exactly how I wished the title to be interpreted. In writing, the semicolon is a pause. It tells the reader, «Hey wait, I’ve got more to say». Even if someone wasn’t familiar with the deeper meaning behind the punctuation mark, its purpose in writing is very clear. I was stopped, briefly, and now I am going again.
I chose Semicolon as the title of the book for its associations with the mental health movement, so readers could make that quick connection and begin to understand where I was coming from. I wanted to use the power the one word has to explain my struggles without having to put more words to it than necessary. Mental health is always a difficult topic to discuss with others but my hope was that by using the semicolon to identify with a frequent battle, my story would be put into context for readers before they even open the cover.
In your introduction, you write that the act of «re-/reading old poems and stories has opened (your) eyes to how long you’ve been struggling», and it made me think of how often, artists, writers, etc. disregard their previous work as invaluable because it has not yet reached the form they wish it to have. Even if the contents are there, it is never good enough. What has it meant to publish pieces you’ve written at 14, and how has your relationship with your past self changed because of it?
Publishing pieces I wrote at 14 has taught me a lot about self-confidence especially in terms of writing. I think a lot of writers struggle with thinking their work isn’t good enough. In my case, my previous work when I was 14-17 years old shows progress with both my writing but also with my identity. The two are very intertwined. It wouldn’t be the same book if I had left those pieces out just because they weren’t at the level of writing I was doing at 18 when I published. It also wouldn’t have been the same book if I had edited them to add more verbose language or different stylistic choices to change the tone to be more mature. A certain immaturity could be understood from the early pieces and that was important for me to maintain. That was the story I was attempting to tell. Growth is shown, not told.
I’m kinder to my past self now that I’ve published “her” work. The early entries were never written thinking I’d have an audience for them. They were pieces typed out of spite for my situation on a google doc filed away in a folder titled «writing». Before I even considered publishing a book, I’d often look back at them, seconds away from hitting delete, appalled at how childish my complaining was. But, through compiling the writing into a story about identity, 14 year-old me made a little bit more sense. Her writing added something so valuable to the book and I’m so appreciative that I saved those google docs to have a reminder of how far I’ve come, both in my sense of self and my writing.
In your piece “Flying” you express early symptoms of struggling not just with one’s identity, but the complex emotions that come with growing. I quote «The mind has no problem conjuring up thoughts and feelings based upon things so little you could hardly tell there was something there». - I wonder how you make sense of understanding yourself through and outside writing, and what were the first signs that made you realize all of this was happening (within/outside)?
I think the most I’ve ever understood myself was through writing. When I take the time to sit down and write, especially when I journal just for myself, that’s when I make realizations that I don’t have time to make otherwise. Poetry helps to put creative words to my feelings, but journaling has always been raw. A less dressed-up version of my poetry. Outside of writing, I’m always on the go. I love staying busy and don’t have time to uncover important things about myself. That’s how I know I need to make time for slowing down. It’s then that I start to understand myself and the world. Because I do my best writing about negative emotions, I guess I first started to realize all this was happening when my writing pace started to pick up. I would write here and there in middle school and the first few years of high school, but vaguely. Even flying wasn’t specific, discussing “thoughts and feelings” that didn’t have names. My later work wasn’t generalized like this. I began to write more often about particular situations and feelings, which came with more writing skills but also more emotions. This switch in specificity and speed is what made me realize that I was struggling.
You also speak on topics of love and identity, as often intertwined, at the root of the struggles with relationships, friendships, and oneself. You also mention society, as this entity that although not a person, «commands us just like one». How differently did you approach differences and social structures when you were a child compared to now? How do you feel that has impacted the perception you had/have of yourself? And how has it made you perceive others and their experiences?
As a child I thought all differences were bad. So, my perception of myself was that I was somehow wrong and my perception of everyone else is that they had everything figured out. I thought the experiences that a lot of my friends were having were the right ones to have. Comparisons have and still do haunt a lot of my ideas of myself and others. Taking control of my own story through writing was extraordinarily validating of my experiences and feelings, especially through the positive feedback and similar stories I received. Through writing is how I approach my differences — by not hiding from them. This has built up my courage and given me the ability to see myself in a whole new, and better, light.
In many of your pieces you dive into the very complex and fragile relationship one has with love (especially queer love), and how in the midst of societal expectations and norms, one could get lost, or feel trapped. In your artistic journey, how has this shaped the way you see love and affection? And in what ways has the belief that one must hide the love one feels characterized your experience as a writer and young student at University, if at all?
Up until a certain point of my life I had seen love and affection in a way that I thought I was “supposed to”. In a roundabout way that’s what different was about, although I was too afraid to make my writing explicitly about my sexuality then. I felt trapped because I wasn’t seeing myself in the media that I consumed and I tried to fit into heteronormative thinking. Through the growth of my writing and my acceptance of my identity, my views of love and affection have taken on more personalized meanings, not just what I thought was expected of me. I lost the fear I had in the beginning and started to write about my sexuality to add to the narrative I didn’t see growing up. I owe the beginning of my writing to this belief that I must hide a part of myself. I had no outlet for the frustration until I found writing, so my experience as a writer was shaped tremendously by my idea of societal expectations. Now, a lot of my writing has switched focus to my mental health instead of my identity because I am no longer burdened by how I thought I was supposed to love.
I’ve found that each piece in the book gradually evolves stylistically and thematically - you find yourself more and more, and the relationship you have with writing itself seems therapeutic more than communicative. How do you make sense, or how do you view your evolution as a writer? And when did you decide it was the right time to publish these exact pieces? - I would also find it very interesting to know how the publishing process was for you, and if there have been any challenges, obstacles, or doubts throughout it.
I view my evolution as a writer as a neverending rollercoaster. There have been so many ups and downs in the journey I’ve begun to lose count. That really slow ascent to the top of a ride followed immediately by a vertical drop almost perfectly describes the cycle of growth and writer’s block. I took a poetry workshop class last year in which I was producing my absolute best work because I was surrounded by extraordinary writers and a phenomenal professor. And then, once the semester ended, I didn’t write poetry for six months. Writing, like any creative endeavor, is something you cultivate through practice. So, even though I often face self-criticism and writer’s block lasting for months, I’ve only ever gotten better. And it’s immensely beneficial to look back during the rollercoaster’s vertical drops to give me the strength to begin the ascent again.
I decided it was the right time to publish these pieces sometime in my senior year of high school. I don’t recall the specific day or situation that compelled me to put the collection together, but it was after I wrote a few pieces I performed out loud for my peers that received a lot of positive feedback (my mini memoir and a speech for a Women’s History Month assembly not included in the book). Through others’ reactions I felt for the first time that my writing was something I wanted to share. It was then that I began compiling, looking through my google drive and notes app for snippets I had written years prior.
The publishing process was difficult until I got the hang of it. Initially, it was all research. I figured I didn’t have the reach or energy to pursue publication with an agent or press, and my goal with publishing was not to get it to as many people as possible but to get it out to my community. Self-publishing was the best option for this, something I had no prior experience with. I had no idea where to begin and lacked the confidence in myself that was needed to take it all on alone. I constantly worried that it wasn’t going to be “worth it”, that people weren’t going to care enough and that I would spend this time devoted to a project that would ultimately fail. But my excitement outweighed these concerns and thus, this book came to life. It was a slow process, finding an editor and cover designer, purchasing ISBNs and copyright, and registering the book on Barnes and Noble and Google Books. I didn’t know anyone in the publishing industry and had to consult unreliable google for all of my questions. By some incredible fortune, most everything went off without a hitch, and about six months after the initial idea I had my first printed copy in my hands.
In tornadoes, you write «my coming out will not be limited by this singular feat, instead reinforced by a lifetime of challenging discussions for which my previous experiences are preparation.». Could you give us a glimpse into what kind of conversation this book, or just sharing your writing, has sparked, and in what ways have they been positive or negative?
I am so grateful that my book has been received so graciously. I received so many kind, beautiful messages from friends, parents, and teachers. I was so surprised by the number of people who read the book, assuming it would have a pretty small reach. Even now almost two years later, when people find out I published, I am met with the most positive reactions. Receiving no negative responses helped my self-confidence and propelled the publishing of my second book!
I had only come out about a year prior to the book’s release date, so while I didn’t technically come out with the book, it still felt like I had. People who didn’t happen to go to my school or follow me actively on social media wouldn’t know my sexuality, and publishing put it into the public sphere. As a main theme of the book, it was now a huge part of me, where it hadn’t been before. As I said before, this was accepted and welcomed by my readers, and I cannot thank them enough for the support and amazing conversations I had with people I wouldn’t have otherwise.
In save me you refer back to a sense of sadness that came from feeling the “weight of the world” on your shoulders, which I would argue, was a poem that perfectly captures young disillusionment with reality and the promises we are made when we are little. How has your relationship changed, and how do you understand it within the greater context of society, with hope, and the responsibility of living? How have people close to you responded to your expression of feeling tortured, and in need to escape somewhere quieter (perhaps an idea of Heaven)? What has vulnerability looked like for you and the people around you?
It’s funny you should ask this because I gave my parents a pre-release copy of the book with the stipulation that they would not discuss it with me. I think, for me, them reading it was enough. I didn’t want their worry to crowd out the positive feedback I needed from them as the final push to publish. And to a large extent, the readers of my book understood this same thing, that I didn’t want their main response after reading to be reaching out with concern. In my second book, I write about this in a poem titled pity. The point of publishing was to voice feelings that I know are a lot more common than most people realize and to place them in the context of my own life. I didn’t receive any specific responses to the feelings surfacing in save me but I did get many messages of gratitude for contributing to the narrative of mental health and sexuality. These reminded me why I published in the first place.
It’s always been easier to write my feelings down than to speak about them, which I can imagine is true for most writers. This still carries with it a certain degree of vulnerability. I discuss vulnerability in my mini memoir and I really thought about what it meant to me when writing this speech for a class. Writing is being vulnerable, publishing is being vulnerable. It’s the acknowledgement of feelings and the sharing of them. Having difficult conversations with yourself, admitting weakness, allowing others to see that. Speaking about hardship, even through written words, is what my vulnerability looks like. And I hope it allows others to be vulnerable with and around me too.
About my relationship with disillusionment, I can say it’s gotten better as I’ve gotten older. As children we expect to be saved, for reality to make sense, for promises to be fulfilled. We have grandiose plans to fix the world while also believing that it’s a pretty great place to be in regardless. We have so much hope. As we grow up reality becomes a lot clearer. We are given information others think we can handle even if we cannot. The world introduces its real self to us. It’s jarring when it happens all at once, like it did for me. I suddenly could not manage the emotions of a heartbreak, of being 18, of this quick succession of transitions as I became an adult. But no longer was I disillusioned. Disappointed, yes, but I could see everything clearly in front of me for the first time. And that itself is beautiful, once you figure out how to grow up.
LibertyClub Thanks Shannon for her time and wishes her the best of luck on her future endeavors.
Lascia un commento