Brandi Spering

Brandi Spering has a BFA in Creative Writing from Pratt Institute. Her forthcoming book, This I Can Tell You, will be released by Perennial Press, winter 2021. Spering’s work can be also be found in Perennial Press' anthology, 'Super/Natural: Art and Fiction for the Future,' as well as Stardust Magazine, The Odyssey Online, and the Boston Calendar, etc. Spering resides in Philadelphia where she writes, sews and paints.

This I Can Tell You walks in through the front door and looks under the sofa. It measures the length of the wall, taps to find the beams. It removes the hammer and the nails from the toolbox, places them in a line to find the difference. This is a poetic narrative that examines structures within a home. It navigates Spering’s muffled timeline due to the fragility of memory as a result of trauma and the secrecy maintained within a family, like a well-groomed dog. 

Instagram: @Brnd_Sprng

Have you ever experienced Imposter Syndrome?

It is only recently that I have heard this term. Upon researching, I thought doesn’t everyone feel this way?  From my understanding, it isn’t the regular form of self-doubt, but one that lies over you like a blanket for prolonged periods of time. It is feeling inadequate no matter what, to put it brief. I always felt a heightened anxiety around making any declarative statement or choice. For this reason, I frequently followed the actions of my peers—at least, as a child--because I valued their judgment over mine.

I was once approached in a school yard about why I sat in the same spot every day and suddenly felt like I had no right to do so. Expecting a confrontation, I stood up and walked away without a response. A few years later, I chose to take ballet classes because my friend had already decided to; I believed that without her, I would get lost in the hallways of the small, two-story building. In college, I avoided the financial aid office for two years, convinced they would realize a mistake was made, because I did not think I belonged there. In my senior year, a professor told me my thesis could earn me a spot in graduate school, and I told myself it was her way of making me feel good, and that the occasion had elated her; that the next day, her mind would have changed.

Any thought I had, I questioned. Any accomplishment, I downplayed. I’m not sure how much of it was the fear in my own decisions or the fear in other’s judgment, but it was, and is, probably a little bit of both. I have always been aware of it, but altering my mindset is another story. It still lingers, no matter how much progress I think I have made. Despite having been published in print for the first time last year and closing in on the publication date of my first book, I tend to take a deep breath whenever someone asks, “What do you do?” I tend to answer about my day job and how that leaves little time for my passion. It’s not wrong to answer with what I spend forty hours a week doing, but still, I wish I felt the confidence to simply answer, “I write.”

Not all books are for all readers… when you start a book and you just don’t like it, how long do you read until you bail?

Usually, it depends on how often I want to pick up the book. There are some days that I want to read but am too tired or don’t have the attention span to give it what it deserves. But if that want isn’t developed within the first twenty pages, then I tend to give up. I try to give second chances after time has passed, before I convince myself it isn’t going to happen. Alternatively, when I love a book, I tend to step away for a great time when there are only three chapters left, because I don’t want to say goodbye. It’s not on purpose, but a pattern I’ve noticed.

Do you collect anything? If so, what, why, and for how long? 

I tend to collect hand-me-downs. It started with my Aunt Connie. She often gifted me old coin purses, which I’ve cherished. From there, I started to collect any relic that another family member was ready to part with, after holding onto for years. When my grandmother moved from her house of sixty-years to a one-room apartment, there was plenty of history to preserve while removing her burden. This included an old pair of glasses that might’ve belonged to my grandfather twenty-two years ago, a photo album from my aunt’s childhood, which my aunt was ready to throw away, my grandmother’s old make-up bag, etc. When a great-uncle passed, I took every photo left on the wall even of his past girlfriends, and accidentally a box of slides containing nudes of a woman named Sandy. I’m not sure what to do with it all, since I also live in a one-bedroom apartment.

Do you have another artistic outlet in addition to your writing? Do you sew? Paint? Draw? Knit? Dance?

I usually turn to painting and sewing when I have writer’s block, but I attempt new mediums whenever I can. Sometimes its collaging or knitting uneven scarves with lots of dropped stitches. My other go-to crafts include making skin-care balms (for which I infuse my own oils) and candles. I get the most joy out of a project when it is a gift.

What do you worry about?

I tend to worry how I make others feel and how I portray myself. I create ridiculous hypotheticals and let my mind wander down paths it shouldn’t take. I worry about my health, as well as my family’s.

Lately, I tend to worry more because any action during a pandemic seems to be a moral and ethical choice that affects others, no matter what.

I worry about this country. I worry about the white supremacy, hate and racial injustice: an understatement. I worry about local businesses and the welfare of people who have to work every day through a pandemic. The list can go on and on.