Amy Dupcak tells us the story behind her story, “illuminated destruction“:

“illuminated destruction” was originally the fourth (and last) part of a longer story I wrote in 2005, as a junior at Sarah Lawrence College. This year, when I was looking over the piece, I decided that this fourth part was the most poignant, and separated it from the rest. After thoroughly smoothing it out and tightening it up, I sent it off to Fringe.

But back when the story was conceived, I was in a rather experimental mindset. I had been readily digesting the Beats, Tristan Tzara, e.e. cummings, and Steal This Book.  I’d recently switched from studying/writing poetry to diving headfirst into fiction, undertaking a semester-long independent study with the writer Kathleen Hill, and putting my poetry skills to new use. For “illuminated destruction,” I incorporated imagery from vivid dreams, which continue to inspire my writing (in fact, my entire novel sprung from a combination of two dreams).

Awash in a neo-hippie sort of liberalism and way of life at SLC, I began writing from a 1960s’ point-of-view, with an us versus them theme, maintaining a spirit of pacifist rebellion for my generation. I decided to write in lowercase because I thought it added to the somewhat hallucinatory and anarchic quality of the story/situation. I think there’s something childlike, and anti-academic, about writing without capitals.

I love referencing other writers or musicians and, here, I mention Sylvia Plath and William S. Burroughs, and also poke a little fun at “hip kids” and their artsy spaces. “max” was based on a real person who did indeed dance on stage in white shoes. “violet,” however, is totally fictional, and the “i” character is sort of me, sort of not. At that point, I hadn’t ever traveled to California, having always been a New Yorker, but since then I’ve happily ventured to Cali-land twice. The “book i barely remember” is a reference to Alice in Wonderland because Alice complains about her older sister’s book not having pictures, only words. Ever since I was thirteen, I’ve always pondered the notion that all words are essentially lies.

Thank you for reading, and thank you Fringe!