"'Further Down the Page': An Interview with Shareen K. Murayama" by Alexis Ash

“It’s kind of like crack,” Shareen K. Murayama says humorously of her recent successes in the publishing world. Our conversation takes place over two separate time zones, as Murayama lives in Hawai’i, and I am based in Los Angeles. After reading her work, I was surprised to discover that she is relatively new to the submissions game, only really starting to send pieces out in the summer of 2020, at the urging of her friend Jose Hernandez Diaz, whom she met on Twitter. More on that later.
I came across Murayama’s work in the fall of 2020, while working on Issue Six of MORIA, when the entire editorial team fell in love with her piece of microfiction, Arrhythmia. Lines like, “I’m crumpling a tinge of blue, like showcase lights in front of Nordstrom’s Rack, worrying about oxygen”, and, “they husband-stitched my fingertips,” made a big splash with all the editors, especially me. The piece was published in that issue and, much to everyone's delight, was nominated and awarded a spot in the Best Microfiction Anthology for 2021. When I heard that Murayama would be reading as part of the First Press Reading Series this February, and that there would be an opportunity to interview her, I jumped on it. I simply had to know more about this marvelously cinematic writer.
The beautiful thing about interviews is that you go in with a list of questions you would like to have answered and come out the other end with a variety of responses you didn’t even know you needed. In addition to talking to me about her career and influences, Murayama also enlightened me on the role her heritage plays in her writing, what it is that drives her creativity, and the wonderful world of literary Twitter.
Murayama’s path to become a professional writer, like many others in her field, began when she was quite young, but, for many years, writing was simply a deeply-loved hobby. “It was one of those things where you just write as a kid, but you don’t know that you’re writing poetry. You’re reading it and trying to study it at school. The teacher gives you a book, and you're like, oh, I think I can relate to this. I see myself in this person.” It wasn’t until she went back to school for her MFA nearly twenty years after getting her initial degree that her writing took on a professional presence within her life. “It’s an investment in yourself,” she states about the decision. “I thought, I’ve spent all this money on myself to validate my writing, maybe I should write more. Maybe I should submit some things out there and see if people can relate or if it inspires them to write also.” Though I can’t speak for Murayama’s sister and mom, who by her account “didn’t get it,” the team here at MORIA could not be happier with her decision. We have even accepted two more of her pieces—poems this time—"Brainwashing the Heart into Long-Term Memory" and "The Prompt" for the upcoming Issue Seven.
Even though the quantity of Murayama’s pieces have increased since receiving her MFA, her process has very much remained the same, drawing from her everyday life and the people surrounding her. “So for me it usually starts with a conversation that someone said that’s lingering in my head. Or an image that I saw that I just can’t get out of my head, and so it has to come out. It doesn’t always tie into some extended metaphor about life or anything like that . . . it’s just something that I’ve been thinking about and processing.”
As artists, we all have those legends we look up to. The celebrities, the greats, the masters. In most cases this is how we first come to be inspired by our mediums, and decide to pursue them ourselves. These legends and masters are also responsible for connecting us to other artists in our fields. As time goes on, more and more connections are made, more artists are elevated into master status, and they in turn serve as inspiration to the new generation, eventually resulting in a vastly expansive community. Murayama shared with me how she came to find herself within that network: “When I was at OSU one of the things we had to do was a T.C. Tolbert exercise that had us look at the generational trees [of poets]. Say you like Aimee Nezhukumatathil, Diana Keren Lee, Jihyun Yun, Taneum Bambrick,” she says while pulling books from her personal collection, “and then what you do is you take a look at their history and who inspired them. Then you have to look at those people’s poems, and look for who inspired them” . . . and so on. “There’s this multi-generational tree that you start to look at and a lot of the time we come down to the big writers, Merwin, Frank [O’Hara] etc. We all have those in common . . . we have this generational poetry family that you could be a little branch off of.”
In addition to creative heritage, ethnic heritage also comes into play. Something interesting I noticed while doing my pre-interview research was that in all of Murayama’s bios, she states that she is a Japanese-American writer. As someone who is very proud of my own heritage, I was curious to know what kind of role heritage played in her work. “The first time I self-identified as an Asian-American writer was when I applied to the National Endowment for the Arts. I got to study Asian films in New York for about a month. The instructor had identified herself as Asian-American, and I thought, oh that’s me too! I guess if she can say it, I can say it. It never dawned on me that it was important until I actually started thinking about where I’m living. I live in Hawaii, but I’m fourth generation [Japanese]. I’m not Hawaiian by blood or ethnicity, but it got me thinking about how I’m half Okinawan, and, in my family, there is a rift [regarding] how the Japanese look down on the Okinawans. You start doing a little bit more to find out about your culture. The Okinawans were barred from using their language when Japan took over. You start thinking about the loss of indigenous languages while living on an island that you’re not indigenous to. It’s a really uncomfortable feeling. So, for me as a writer just starting to identify with those conflicts within, I feel as though people might see it and know that it’s okay to identify with that. And, also, just because I identify with that doesn’t mean that all my pieces are going to be centered on my ethnic culture and values.”
Murayama’s sense of community is something to be admired and it reaches far beyond her homeland. Not only has she become a commendable community member through her own work, but she is also continuously growing the writing community through her role as a teacher. As her journey to writing began in school, she continues that tradition, even if it can be a little hard to watch sometimes. “I read [poetry submissions] for Adroit [Poetry Journal], and there is a check box that says, “are you a high-school student?”and, when those come in, I think, yay! Students submitting to journals! . . . but then you’re blown away, and you just think, I should quit. I should just quit right now because the world needs to make more space for this writer who’s in high-school because they are going to rule the poetry world.” Once we both compose ourselves after a good minute of laughter, she adds, “Maybe they’ll fall in love or get their hearts broken. Maybe they’ll have a family and be busy raising kids and wiping snotty noses and taking them to football practice and all those things. They’ll get sidetracked from writing poetry, and then I’ll have space for me to put some things out.”
Cue another bout of laughter.
Remember when I said there would be more on the subject of Twitter later? Well, it’s later. Though Murayama has been writing professionally for several years, Twitter is a recent addition to her toolkit, and not necessarily one I expected. The social platform is responsible for putting her in touch with the aforementioned Jose Hernandez Diaz, who, according to Murayama, was the one who insisted that she submit her work to literary journals such as MORIA. Murayama also uses the platform to continue her development as a writer by subscribing to newsletters, blogs, and all the “free stuff” she can get her hands on. As a student, I completely understand where she is coming from.
As our time together came to a close, Murayama shared with me her advice for those who find themselves wanting to write. “The good stuff happens further down the page,” she says. “It’s just like warming up the car. Sometimes you’ve gotta get through a few lines before you really start to hit your stride.”

Alexis aSh

Alexis Ash is the Program Manager for Issue Seven of MORIA. She is also a Fashion Marketing Major at the Woodbury School of Business, as well as a principal dancer with the California Contemporary Ballet. New to the literary community, Ash is reveling in the tidal wave of inspiration she finds from the written word and has begun to challenge herself to write her own poems. When she isn’t working towards her degree, you can find her in the studio, choreographing new pieces, experimenting with alternate movement styles, and doing her part to bring up the next generation of movement artists.

Headshot credit: Cecilia Ash

Murayama photo credit: Shareen K. Murayama