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The Writer's Studio First Anniversary Featuring William Brewer

Come celebrate the first anniversary of The Writer's Studio with Prosecco, cake and the electric poetry of William Brewer! Brewer burst onto the national poetry scene last year with his book I Know Your Kind, which explores/explodes the opioid epidemic in America through the lens of his West Virginia hometown.

The Writer's Studio is a reading series hosted by Dana Koster and Tri-Chromatic Gallery that explores not only the art of writing but the process, from inspiration to publication. Each reading focuses on one writer and begins with a short interview to locate the audience in the author's work and life.

Doors open at 7:00 for wine and snacks and mingling, after which the author will read for 20-30 minutes, with audience Q&A/book signing to take place at the end. The Writer's Studio is for non-writers, new writers and seasoned writers alike! Come be inspired by the art of writing and the incredible gallery space.

William Brewer is the author of I Know Your Kind (Milkweed Editions, 2017), winner of the National Poetry Series, and Oxyana, selected for the Poetry Society of America's 30 and Under Chapbook Fellowship. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Boston Review, The Iowa Review, Narrative (where it was awarded the 30 Below Prize), The Nation, New England Review, The New Yorker, and other journals. Currently a Stegner Fellow at Stanford University, he was born and raised in West Virginia.

“The poems in William Brewer’s powerful and profound debut give America’s worsening opioid epidemic ‘a local habitation and a name.’ That name is Oxyana, slang for Oceana, an impoverished coal town in the poet’s native West Virginia, where ‘death is a natural resource’ and the statewide fatality rate from prescription painkiller and heroin overdose has recently jumped to one every ten hours. Bristling with urgency but impeccably composed, harrowing but determinedly non-sensationalistic, I Know Your Kind acknowledges the socioeconomic factors contributing to this crisis, but its emphasis lies instead on the cycle of disillusion and loss that the crisis both begets and feeds on. ‘I know you know,’ Brewer writes in an address to a hooked trout, ‘I’m over waking up / pretending to be happy about waking up.’ Painfully cognizant even of their own interest in oblivion and a ‘sleep that forgets to breathe,’ these poems seek out understanding but refuse false hope; the currents that compel them are ancient, cold, and strong; and what saves them from despair is what will keep readers returning to them for a long time to come—namely, the sheer forcefulness and vitality of Brewer’s expression, which startles with its ‘thunderheads cracking their knuckles,’ its barn ‘rising from the green wheat / …like a rogue wave with a hankering to drown.’” - Timothy Donnelly