in conversation: bugging out with contest winner hana wisnuardi

I had the recent pleasure to interview Hana Wisnuardi, the winner of the tiny journal’s summer flash contest. If you haven’t had the chance to immerse yourself in Hana’s kaleidoscopic poems of insects wanting and being wanted, stop everything and read them here now.

Hana and I recently talked process, praying mantises, wikipedia, and slaughterhouses.

Caylee Weintraub: What was the inspiration behind your winning poetry entry To the Core?

Hana Wisnuardi: Before I even started writing these poems, I had the images of parasites, love darts, and orchid mantises on my mind. But after I started doing research on these things, I began to notice a theme. There was a sense of unification present, in how an ant is biologically conquered, how slugs engage in foreplay, how a fly is eaten. The images became clearer, and I saw actions and backgrounds. I saw something so passionate about the dark, edenic scene of parasites building gardens inside of ants, something so romantic about slugs dancing and shooting each other with arrows before mating, something so sensual about a fly falling in love with a praying mantis and returning to its birthplace while being consumed. All of these stories reminded me of picking honeysuckles and mutilating them for one drop of nectar when I was a kid—the violence of being wanted, the idea that to be loved is to be changed.

CW: You have such an amazing ability to really inhabit a nonhuman perspective. How do you think through the way you write about bugs and animals? Are there any particular techniques you find yourself using?

HW: It’s actually kind of funny how I develop a poem from an animal perspective. I am a chronic reader of Wikipedia pages, especially Wikipedia pages for bugs, so I’ll read about how, for example, the Ophiocordyceps unilateralis spores attach to ant exoskeletons. I’ll read about how the fungus manipulates the ant’s behavior to climb up the stem of a leaf and clamp on the vein at a very specific height and direction, in a very specific humidity and temperature. I’ll read about how the fungus kills the ant and uses its corpse as potting soil for its own fruiting body.

There’s a story in the process that feels fantastical and horrifying. When I find these stories, my main approach is just wanting people to have feelings about bugs and animals that they’ve never had before.

All of these stories reminded me of picking honeysuckles and mutilating them for one drop of nectar when I was a kid—the violence of being wanted, the idea that to be loved is to be changed.

CW: Why do you think you are drawn to writing about the nonhuman world?

HW: I think the best way I can describe it is the last part of my poem Hymenopus coronatus:

The fly lays her wings

to rest like a baby blanket in the embrace

of the prettiest creature ever sewed, returning,

in a way, to the deer carcass in which she was laid.

There is a story in every nonhuman civilization, from redwoods to fungal bodies to horseflies. Over the course of writing this poem, I started to see a fly’s wings as a birth gift, folded in death. I started to see the parallel of carnage, of how fly eggs are laid in carcasses and then become carcasses, from prey to prey.

The alien violence and love that we often prescribe to bugs is so timeless that there is incredible freedom in writing about it. Sometimes what I write about bugs is so connected to what it means to be a human, and sometimes what I write about bugs means almost nothing at all—up to the most instinctual interpretation.

CW: What is your favorite bug?

HW: I have a sentimental relationship with praying mantises, but I really love spiders. They’re not bugs technically, but they’re my favorite kind of arthropod.

Sometimes what I write about bugs is so connected to what it means to be a human, and sometimes what I write about bugs means almost nothing at all—up to the most instinctual interpretation.

CW: What projects are you working on currently?

HW: I’m currently working on two short stories: one about a poacher reflecting on his relationship with his daughter while hunting a pregnant tiger, and one about a mangrove banshee grieving over her dead daughter while attempting to rescue a sick human girl.

I also have some ideas bouncing around about a slaughterhouse worker, but we’ll see where they go.

CW: Who are some of your favorite writers right now?

HW: I don’t know about favorite writers, but pieces that I keep coming back to for inspiration recently are Barn 8 by Deb Olin Unferth, Radio Traffic by R.M Fradkin, One Way of Posing by Rose McLarney, and Peach Juice by Rose McLarney.

It might seem obvious, but beginning a story with one key figure allows for a much more organic process, getting to know a character or setting the old fashioned way and respecting their autonomy, rather than just predetermining plots.

CW: What's the best piece of writing advice you've received?

HW: John Dufresne said during his workshop at the Sanibel Writers Conference, “begin a story with a character, a place, or a theme, not an idea.”

It might seem obvious, but beginning a story with one key figure allows for a much more organic process, getting to know a character or setting the old fashioned way and respecting their autonomy, rather than just predetermining plots.

Congratulations to Hana and the other winners of our summer contest. You can read the winning works here.

Hana Wisnuardi is a writer from Dallas, Texas. Her creative work has been published or is forthcoming in Literary Veganism and Terrain.org. She has a cat named Squid, a Giant Microbe collection, and a yearning to go tidepooling. You can reach her at hana.wisnuardi@gmail.com.

Caylee Weintraub is the founder and editor-in-chief of the tiny journal. She is a PhD student at the University of Florida. Her fiction has appeared in Narrative Magazine, Terrain, Wild Roof Journal, and elsewhere. She has received scholarships to the Kenyon Review Writers’ Workshop, the Bread Loaf Writers’ Workshop, and the Yale Writers’ Workshop.