Artist in Residence: Rachel Kolb
On "Pigeonholing" & Writing the Deaf Experience
A couple of months ago, I published this note about wanting to use the Artist in Residence feature to platform emerging Substackers. The response was incredible and I feel so fortunate to have had the opportunity to read so many wonderful pieces.
One writer, however, really stood out for me and I’m thrilled that
is the first Substack author to take part in this new format of the Artist in Residence feature.I’ve been learning BSL for about four years now and am currently in the midst of preparing for my next set of exams. I’m a big believer that everyone should learn sign language as children (or even as babies!) and I dream of the accessible world that will create. A world where we all have a language beyond words.
Given my passion for BSL, it’s fair to say I also have a keen interest in D/deaf culture and D/deaf perspectives. Although Rachel is American and uses ASL, we instantly connected over email and I was over the moon when she decided to write an original piece for this feature.
Her wonderful, thought-provoking essay is followed by a short profile on Rachel that we worked on together. There, she discusses her process and creative journey, and offers her best advice for emerging creatives.
“You should be careful not to pigeonhole yourself as a Deaf writer. Remember to write about other things, too.”
I’ve gotten this advice many times through my life: from hearing editors, creative writing professors, even some friends and family members.
Their larger implication: that d/Deaf and disability-related topics are too small, too niche, too particular to write very much about.
It’s fine that I was born deaf, and it’s also fine that my experience shapes the way I see language and human interaction. It’s even fine that I’ve decided to write some pieces about these topics. Expressing oneself and exposing readers to new perspectives is a valuable pursuit.
But being a “Deaf writer”? Embracing this label wholeheartedly, and persisting in my writing about other Deaf people, about signed languages and about navigating larger expectations for skilled and intelligible communication? This is somehow too much. And it’s where the larger warning can arise.
Now, as I work on final edits for a memoir on deafness and voice (which will be out next year), I keep puzzling over where such advice comes from. And I also keep puzzling over why I’ve persisted in ignoring it. I’ve written an entire book about this “niche” experience! Which, when it’s published, will engage with lots of books that are already out in the world, even while it’s entirely unique and particular. The “Deaf bookshelf” is still too small. We still need more writers to add their experiences to it.
The thing is, many of us who write from one minority perspective or another can feel subject to such worries about “pigeonholing.” Yet I believe that no human being really exists in any so-called hole. We’re humans, not pigeons, and we all exist in our own fullness. Our writing, if it is serious, will always reflect that.
“Most writers I admire write from a very specific perspective. The real question is which perspectives we consider “specific,” or perhaps “niche” or “alternative” or “other,” and which ones we don’t.”
In a way, there’s no such thing as a quintessential “Deaf writer,” just as there’s no such thing as a quintessential “hearing writer.” Most writers are assumed to be hearing, and that is all. And the Deaf world is an entire world in itself.
Even before I got the advice to be careful with what I chose to write about, I used to ignore the d/Deaf perspectives that informed my own life. I grew up devouring the pages of books, which were all populated with hearing characters. These characters all spoke aloud. They all heard, and they all described sound.
So this is what I did, too, in my earliest stories. Many of these stories featured characters talking to each other, their verbal repartee proceeding with an ease that I never encountered in my own personal life among hearing people. These characters heard scary noises outside and went to investigate. They shouted to each other from across the room. You know, the usual. The highly particular and strange things that hearing people do with each other.
Throughout all my high school and college fiction classes, I kept writing about hearing characters like these. I ignored the other things I knew about language and how it can work, how it can be deeply visual and not auditory, how we all need to work to accommodate each other. If I say I know how to write myself into the hearing perspective, please believe it.
Only as a young adult did I start to wonder why I did this.
Were all books really by hearing writers, and about hearing characters and their experiences? And why did I find that my own experiences, which I found so complex and multilayered, scarcely appeared in any general-audience books? Why were they still treated as novelties in the media? Why were there such gaps in what had been published and circulated and read?
These questions have been the impetus of my writing for years, as I’ve written essays (and now an entire book) that try to examine various unstated cultural expectations about language, hearing and deafness, then make them explicit for general readers. My ambition, in my current work, is to defamiliarize hearingness, to cast it out of its assumed normalcy, and to reveal it in a new and perhaps surprising light.
Another ambition is to center my own experience of deafness, an experience I know is distinctive and particular and not the same as all other Deaf people’s. Cue above remark about needing more writers on the Deaf shelf, so that I don’t need to keep pointing this out.
The particular can shed powerful light on the so-called “universal”: I believe this is true, which is why I’m skeptical of premature warnings about pigeonholing. Most writers I admire write from a very specific perspective. The real question is which perspectives we consider “specific,” or perhaps “niche” or “alternative” or “other,” and which ones we don’t.
This is as much a publishing and marketing question as it is a writing one, and it means there’s still a lot for readers to gain from pressing into experiences they may find unfamiliar. There can be joys here, too, which I’ve always found in reading books about worlds that are vastly different from mine.
For now, I’ll keep embracing that adage to write into what I know. No, not all my writing ideas are as explicitly “Deaf” as my published essays and my current book — but I also don’t know if I need to label them as such.
Deaf people are everywhere. We live complex lives, and we participate in many activities and care about many topics. If we write something that ostensibly is not “Deaf-related,” is it still a work of “Deaf literature”? Perhaps. I just know that I cannot sever myself from my perspective, nor am I going to try and do that. I’ll keep seeing where my ideas take me.
When there’s too much writing out there about Deaf people and our experiences, maybe we can have this conversation about breaking new ground in the works we publish. But we’ve gotten nowhere near that point yet.
Rachel’s Creative Journey
I’ve always loved the written word. I feel like I grew up through the pages of books, which transported me to all kinds of places beyond my upbringing in New Mexico. I was also fortunate to have many encouraging English teachers, including several creative writing teachers who first introduced me to writing fiction and creative nonfiction during high school. I went on to study English in college, alongside even more creative writing courses, which were always among my favorite classes. Several faculty members encouraged me to keep working at my craft, and, around the end of college (and shortly afterwards), I got some of my first essays published.
One piece I wrote about lipreading, “Seeing at the Speed of Sound”, wound up in my university’s alumni magazine and later inspired a short film project collaboration with some terrific filmmakers. It’s still one of my favorite projects I’ve worked on. (You can find “Can You Read My Lips?” here.)
Why did I choose to write about lipreading? Well, perhaps because I was born profoundly deaf and grew up communicating in both American Sign Language and English. I’m always thinking of the nuances and complexities of communication (and of living between both Deaf and hearing worlds).
After college, I continued studying literature in a formal, more academic way for a while, while also publishing more essays and more creative multimedia pieces. I eventually got my Ph.D. in English in 2020, but I often felt torn between the worlds of scholarly research and publishing and general-audience writing and more creative work. My time in academia taught me a lot, from the value of literary analysis to teaching and classroom skills. However, I’ve now left the faculty path behind: I’m at the point in my career when I’ve decided to lean into more mainstream writing from here on out. I’m looking forward to seeing where that goes.
I’m now a writer, educator, and advocate for Deaf and disability communities. I see myself as an essayist at heart. I love trying to digest various aspects of language and accessibility while inviting readers into thinking about communication in new ways. Deaf and disability perspectives are still very underrepresented in publishing and literature, so I hope my work helps put words to those experiences.
One challenge I’ve found in publishing material that relates to deafness (and disability-related topics in general) is pitching ideas in a way that appeals to editors, who are nearly all hearing. The editors I’ve worked with for general-audience publications typically don’t know very much, if anything, about Deaf and disability issues. This isn’t always a bad thing: they can ask me questions that might also occur to a broad readership, and they push me to make my writing clearer and better for these audiences. But these editors also sometimes don’t have enough context to understand why I want to write about a particular topic, or why I find it interesting or compelling.
Making the case for my own writing and why it matters (or why it isn’t only about “niche issues”) can be a big part of my work. This kind of constant educating and advocating is something other writers from underrepresented groups understand, I’m sure. And it’s part of why diversity in all parts of publishing is important, including in the institutional and staffing structures that make creative work available to readers. I’m glad to have worked with many smart editors, once I’ve had my pitches accepted, and I hope to keep adding to the body of work about Deaf and disability issues, among other writers out there also publishing their own smart ideas.
I’m very excited about the publication of my first book, ARTICULATE, next year with Ecco Press! This book is my memoir of deafness and voice, and it’s been several years in the making. I’ve always had this book in me somewhere, but I first started thinking about it more concretely in around 2018. Ideation, writing, revision, pitching and publishing all add up to a long road, and I now appreciate books I’ve read so much more! It’s such a process!
I’m currently working through book edits with my editor, and I have been having a good time giving feedback on various cover art possibilities. I hope this book stirs more conversations in the world about contemporary Deaf life, including the complexities of living a life between various languages and cultures - from ASL to spoken and written English and beyond.
Rachel’s Routine
When I sit down for a writing day, I often try to start by 8:00 am or so, if not before. I’m a morning person and I often find it impossible to write later in the day, so I try to be mindful of my innate biological-clock tendencies. Sometimes, I sit down at home with my coffee. Other times, I make myself go out to a coffee shop to work for several hours.
Coffee shops are often where I do my best work. I like to sit near a window whenever possible. The constant low-level stimulation of watching people walk by or leaves fluttering outside and so forth seems to get my inner creative juices flowing.
Like everyone else, I find that getting into an artistic space can be a challenge. It feels so great when it happens, so why can’t I live there all the time?! I sometimes get sidetracked by reading articles online or dabbling around in my email. Doing that for a few minutes is fine but, eventually, I do need to get down to business.
I’ve found that one good trick is to start by writing out a few stream-of-consciousness paragraphs. Something, low-stakes, slapdash or irrelevant. It doesn’t need to be a total “free-write”, but it can be. Once I feel the language flowing, I can either revise the idea I’m working on or I can return to my actual project for the day and try to jump in there. I’ll often have thought the previous day about how to pick up where I’ve left off, and will have written out some rough sentences or general notes as good launching points. It’s a good way to know where to get started.
When I’m writing more creatively, I like to work with overall sketches and loose sequences of written ideas rather than creating in-depth formal outlines. I figure out the piece’s overall structure, some images or moments I want to incorporate or emphasize, and then I go and see how it flows. My thinking often arises through the writing itself, so I learn as I go, and then I reevaluate and rearrange as I need. It helps to keep a “writer’s journal” to keep track of ideas I’m working through. I’ll often jot down notes to myself, aka ideas and problems for “future me” to consider as she returns to this draft. When I get stuck, I get up and go for a walk outside, or I talk about it with someone. Once in a while, I’ll brainstorm on physical paper, though I’ve noticed I don’t do that as much as some other people I know.
As well as taking on creative projects, I teach and lead workshops. I’ve also written academic research papers and other university-type projects in the past but now I’m moving into doing consulting projects, including in the accessibility space.
When I’m not working or writing, I enjoy contributing to local Deaf events and community life, including some things like serving on nonprofit boards and so forth. I’m continuing to ponder over how I want my own writing and advocacy work to intersect, and what forms they might take during the next few years. We’ll have to see what happens.
Decompressing, for me, almost always involves getting back into my body. I work out, I go on a walk or a bike ride or a hike, I cook something for dinner or clean the house or pet my dog. I also do read a lot in the evenings, just because I love reading and find that it stimulates an important part of my writing brain. But being outside and with other people and animals is definitely the best way to unwind!
Plan B
I think I’ve always felt like I would be a writer, however that came about, and for whatever reasons, but for a while some folks I knew told me that I would have made a good lawyer. I always found the idea of law school a little dry, however, so don’t know if I’d have been happy doing that.
I grew up riding horses and thought for years that I would be a horse trainer or have a ranch out in the mountains somewhere, so maybe if I didn’t have a creative career, that would’ve been my focus. Perhaps I could’ve led outdoors programs for the National Park Service or something.
Rachel’s Advice for Emerging Creatives
Be disciplined, because discipline trumps motivation
Don’t be too attached to perfection (I know, easy to say). Figure out your own ways to churn out bad first drafts and let them be what they are. You can always return to them later
Rewrite, rewrite, rewrite
Find the people and activities that nourish and sustain you, outside of writing. Get out into the world, since the world is where we gather our ideas and our inspiration to keep learning, growing and creating
& For Deaf Creatives, Specifically…
Trust your instincts. Lean into what your own insights and perspectives tell you, no matter how you think you “should” write or create, and no matter what the larger world has told you about your art
Find other d/Deaf people to hash things out with, both about your creative work and about the art of living in this world as a d/Deaf person more generally
Seek whatever larger learning opportunities you can (though I realize this sometimes means advocating for accessibility).
Don’t be afraid to ask for input from others, including hearing editors and creatives. So many people are willing to offer advice and/or encouragement, and their involvement can be an important part of learning how to get published or how to get your art out there
I absolutely loved putting this together with the wonderful Rachel and I’m so excited to platform more brilliant Substackers over the coming year. So keep your submissions coming.
Don’t forget to follow the guidelines in this note and be sure to submit to my website not via DM on here (I rarely read message requests).
Elsewhere on The Ampersand…
If you’re still looking for a unique Christmas gift for a loved one, check out this post featuring some of my favourite small businesses (all of which take orders online):
& If your New Year’s resolution is to write that book here’s a post detailing my journey through the publishing world, exploring exactly how I wrote my second novel and how I got both my books published:
I’m also offering paid subscribers The Ultimate Writer Toolkit that will give you everything you need to write your next stage play/screenplay/TV pilot/novel. It’ll teach you my very best tricks of trade via six fun and easy exercises and, once you’ve completed them all, you’ll have created a story bible that will guide you through your entire project. Grab it here:
That’s all for this edition of The Ampersand. Please feel free to give Rachel her much-deserved flowers in the comment section below. I’ll see you there!
With love,
xK
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Thank you for sharing Rachel. I look forward to reading your Substack x