Amy Wright

PO Box 4487
Clarksville, TN 37044
Phone: 
(931) 221-7714

Author's Bio

Amy Wright is the author of two poetry books, one collaboration, and six chapbooks, including the prose collection Think I’ll Go Eat A Worm. Most recently her essays won first place in two contests, sponsored by London Magazine and Quarterly West. She has also received two Peter Taylor Fellowships to the Kenyon Review Writer’s Workshop, an Individual Artist Grant from the Tennessee Arts Commission, and a fellowship to Virginia Center for the Creative Arts. Her essays appear or are forthcoming in Brevity, Fourth Genre, Georgia Review, Ninth Letter, Waveform: Anthology of Women Essayists, and elsewhere.

Publications and Prizes

Books: 
Cracker Sonnets
(Brick Road Poetry Press, 2016)
, Creeks of the Upper South
(Unicorn Press, 2016)
, Everything in the Universe
(Iris Press, 2016)
Journals: 
Georgia Review
Chapbooks: 
Farm
(Finishing Line Press, 2010)
, Rhinestones in the Bed, or Cracker Crumbs
(Dancing Girl Press, 2014)
, The Garden Will Give You A Fat Lip
(Pavement Saw Press, 2012)
, There Are No New Ways to Kill A Man
(Apostrophe Books, 2009)
, Think I'll Go Eat a Worm
(Iris Press, 2019)
Prizes Won: 
First Place Essay London Magazine Essay Contest, First Place, Writers@Work Essay Competition hosted by Quarterly West, Tennessee Arts Commission Fellowship, to Peter Taylor Fellowships Kenyon Review Writers Workshop, Emerging Nonfiction Writer at the Southern Women Writers Conference

More Information

Listed as: 
Creative Nonfiction Writer, Poet
Gives readings: 
Yes
Travels for readings: 
Yes
Identifies as: 
Appalachian
Prefers to work with: 
Any
Fluent in: 
Spanish
Born in: 
Wytheville, VA
work_excerpt: 
Lifting a forkful of cricket mushroom risotto, I eyeball (precisely the right verb) these wide-eyed, if unseeing, creatures. Years of startling at insects condition me to react with alarm, but seeing them stilled, pacific, and out of context with surprise reconditions that automatic response. I examine a cricket’s lens the way I once looked at a buckeye fallen from the tree in front of my grandparents’ farmhouse. I look long, the way I paused in midstride on a running trail to hold a doe’s gaze. I study its ridged tegmen, or modified forewings, the way I examined the back of a bookshelf after my mother taught me to discern cherry wood from mahogany. In my mouth, the cricket breaks apart like a mushroom cap pearled with rice or an artichoke heart, a corn chip softened by salsa. But it is only akin to these things, being an experience unto itself. I fill with wonder such that I have not experienced since my tongue first encountered another. The mystery under scrutiny is part of this dish’s savor.
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Last updated: Mar 20, 2019