Welcome to the 5 Questions Series. Each week, I’ll ask five questions of some of my favorite authors, editors, publishers, and other industry professionals. This week, I’m talking with Vironika Wilde.
Thank you for talking to me this week. First of all, the introvert in me is absolutely intrigued (and slightly terrified) by the fact that you do custom typewriter poetry for strangers on the spot! How did that come about and can you tell me a little more about it?
I was on Instagram one day looking at typewriter poetry and this company called Ars Poetica came up. I saw some photos and reels of bright-eyed poets typing tiny pieces of art for people they’d never met before. Something felt right about it. I DMed the page right away. I should mention that my partner and I had just finished watching the anime Violet Evergarden (where the main character uses a typewriter to help people craft life-changing letters). Whatever the reason, something felt right about the connection. Ars Poetica seemed to share my feelings because within a few weeks, I had my first typewriter and a spot on their roster.
The first gig I had with them was answering custom poem requests online. I remember scrolling through this long Excel spreadsheet with all kinds of queries and stories. Most people were asking for love poems. Some were asking for healing poems for their inner children. Some people’s requests were paragraphs long. Some were only a few words. Some were emotional and full of poetic language. Some were chronological lists of relationship events. I learned so much about the artform by which requests inspired my poetic ideas and which ones didn’t.
I’ve come a long way from that first gig, but I still keep those essential lessons in mind. Where there’s a typewriter poet, there’s usually a lineup. I need to be deep, and I need to be quick about it. What keeps my poems rolling is honesty, details, and curiosity. I love vulnerability. I love people’s intimate details about their lives and relationships. I thrive on cherished memories, inside jokes, shared songs, anything that makes me feel the uniqueness of the person or people I’m capturing. And most importantly, I do best when I forget about myself: when I become a conduit for others’ unspoken words. It’s a privilege to be trusted so deeply, and it’s indescribably joyful to watch people clutching their chests in rapture when they read what I’ve written for them.
You mentioned when we talked that you’ve recently had a child? How does that inform your creativity?
Yes! I gave birth about seven months ago. I’m sure this has been said too often, but I’ve come to realize that making a human being is the ultimate creative act. The whole journey from conception to delivery to parenthood has been surreal. It’s like watching an award-winning mystery unravelling in front of me each day. There’s always something new going on, and I’m constantly being challenged to recreate myself to match what my child needs from me. This has made me more physically, emotionally, and mentally healthy. Contrary to all the cigarette-smoking, liquor-guzzling, tortured lone wolf writer stereotypes, creativity also responds well to self-care and solid human attachments.
Day to day, my life as a parent is performance art. It’s easier to be myself around my son. I sing to him out loud on the street without feeling ashamed or lowering my volume when people walk by. I make up all kinds of silly song lyrics. My partner is a beatboxer, so he and I serenade the baby a lot. It might seem frivolous, but it’s refreshing. When you’re a full-time artist, creativity can get so serious, so productive, so money-oriented. It’s inspiring to just goof around and play. I have the opportunity to create new versions of myself and to take bigger risks each day.
Most of all, having a child has made me braver. Delivery had something to do with this. Imagine a 13.5 hour labour with no epidural. I’d never known that kind of pain. It ended with forceps and a baby who had the cord wrapped around him three times. I’d never known that kind of fear. Now, the baby is not only okay but seems to be more resilient because of it all, and so am I. I’d never known that kind of relief. A lot of things in life are easier after childbirth. If I can do that, I can do anything.
I talk to a lot of writers who worry about the realness of putting their lives on the page when it comes to creative non-fiction. How do you balance your need to share your truth with the real consequences of telling your stories?
This is the million-dollar question, and it’s one I am still learning to answer. My poetry is honest, and I’ve been told by family members, friends, and strangers that this intimidates them. One way I’ve tried to protect the people close to me is writing poetry under a pseudonym, but let’s face it: my government name isn’t very difficult to find. It’s always a risk. Some people don’t want to be too close to me because of how I write. Beyond my personal relationships, what I’ve shared has had consequences on my reputation. For example, I wrote about how I used to be a pathological liar. Some people will never trust me because of who I used to be.
In order to heal, I have to tell the truth about my experiences. That’s the only way I can remove the weight of unsaid words off my chest, and it’s the only way I end up getting emails and messages that say “I needed this so badly” and “I don’t know how you’re in my head like that” and “I didn’t kill myself last night because of you.” The more I’ve gotten that kind of feedback, the more grounded I’ve become in raw, honest, authentic art. The truth is so rare and so necessary. I’d rather be judged by some for being an open book than admired by others for having a pretty, photoshopped cover.
You’re a poet, performer, fiction writer, non-fiction writer. How do you cross so many genres and are there any things you take from one that cross over?
For most of my life, when I have felt moved by some kind of art, I’ve felt drawn to create something in that discipline. Besides the different types of writing I’ve done, I’ve also experimented with dance, theater, painting, drawing, collage, sculpting, beatboxing, and singing. Some of these, I’ve only done for brief stints. Others, I still engage with almost daily. Some will play a bigger role in my creative identity as the years pass. I love testing the limits of my creative potential. I’ve often been surprised by what I’m capable of without practice and in absolute awe of the doors that open when I add commitment and consistency to the mix. I believe any skill can be learned and that all we need is the passion to follow through on our dreams.
I have to give a hat tip to my parents for this one. They taught me that I could excel at anything I chose. Of course, they hoped I would use this knowledge to pursue some “real” career that incorporated my love of math rather than dwelling in the arts, but hey, that’s something essential about parenthood. We can give our kids some tools, but we can’t control how they’ll use them.
The creative process is a bit like parenting my creations. I can see my personality in everything I write. The crossover is my heart. I put into my work as much as I have to give, but I also have to let each piece of art breathe for itself. So, all my creations end up being different, but only because I’m giving them all similar treatment. The magic ingredient is my undivided attention.
What are you working on now?
I have many projects that are 75-80% finished. It’s an old perfectionist trick to bring things close to completion but delay completing them. Parenthood doesn’t make this any easier. These days, I’m working on setting realistic goals and achieving them. There are many facets of being an artist that are unromantic, and this is one of them. So, I could tell you I’m working on some fiction as well as a poetry manuscript. I could also tell you that I’m looking at recording a second spoken word album as well as finally releasing some music into the world. But realistically, what I’m working on most is establishing a long-term way to create meaningful, honest work while being the best mom I can be.
Bonus question: Have you ever taken a picture of a weird bird
I spent years laughing at this photo. The night before I sent these questions back to you, this part said, “I didn’t take this photo. I don’t know who did, but they obviously understand something key about my sense of humour.” In rereading this part, I felt something was off. Every artist should get their credit, right? This photo that brought me so much joy has a photographer, and I should find that person. So, I did Google Reverse Image search to no avail. I searched through the photo details. Just before giving up, I had a flicker of a memory. The next day, I asked my mother if she was the one who took it. Of course. All these years, I’ve been saying my mom has a special eye for photography, and I’d forgotten about this: my favourite photo by her. These two very weird birds by someone who understands something key about my sense of humour.
Last question, I promise. Where can people find you on the web?
My book Love & Gaslight
My PWYC poetry course
My website
Finnian Burnett 