Today’s post is an interview with Rachel Becker (Asst. Poetry Editor) & Judy McClure (Asst. CNF Editor), who share their insights into Porcupine Literary, a publication by and for teachers.
WRJ collaborator Rachel Lauren Myers conducted the interview, and she does a wonderful job of weaving together threads of the editors’ personal journeys, educational topics, and info about their roles at Porcupine.
Here is a bit about the publication.
We publish fiction, nonfiction, and poetry about the hard, the beautiful, the exhausting, the outrageous, the moving, the maddening, the ugly, the loving, the grieving, the anything-but-perfect teaching and teacher world.
We are open for fiction, creative nonfiction, and poetry that speaks to teachers and/or teaching. However you interpret that!
To start, I’d love to know a little more about both of you and your path to writing and working with Porcupine Literary. Can you share a bit about your personal writing journey, your background, and how you came to Porcupine?
Rachel: I’ve been writing poems since I was a teenager (I even went to writing camp—at the UVA Young Writers Workshop), but for Reasons, I was encouraged to take other kinds of writing (exegetical, analytical) more seriously. When I needed a break from academic writing, I trained as a teacher, and then after COVID decided to pursue an MFA in poetry. A dear friend (from writer’s camp!) and contributor to Porcupine Literary, Liz Ahl, messaged me about an opening for a poetry editor there.
Judy: I wrote constantly as a young adult, but never thought of myself as a writer. Then I began using writing as a sense-making tool for my teaching. I was part of a fellowship program that allowed participants to create individualized projects and during that time developed my first published essay about science teaching. I continued writing creative non-fiction, expanded my focus, took lots of classes, and eventually ended up in the Essay Incubator at GrubStreet Boston. Although I had been writing for many years before that, it was during the Incubator that I felt like I launched my writing “career.” One of my classmates in the program was the cousin of Porcupine’s cofounder and CNF editor and suggested I contact her about working with them.
I love the mission of PorcupineLit and its focus on teachers, and “the loving, the grieving, the anything-but-perfect teaching and teacher world” (from the Porcupine masthead). Teachers are the unsung heroes of our society—often working in impossible conditions, for low wages, using their own resources. I believe that teachers choose this line of work because they lead with their hearts. I’m interested in the loving side of teaching. As a young and sometimes troubled middle-schooler, I had an English teacher who played a significant role in my life, steering me towards reading works that were not listed on our academic syllabi, often lending me books out of his own library. I can trace my trajectory into writing and poetry all the way back to him, and my early exposure to challenging works like The Things They Carried, Their Eyes Were Watching God, and Dubliners. In your young lives, did you have any teachers that played a formative role, that inspired you to write and/or teach yourselves?
Rachel: I had several wonderful English teachers in high school, but I don’t think I was thinking about them when I decided to become a teacher. I’d been in a graduate program (for Early English Literature) at Oxford, and had picked up some tutoring gigs along the way: undergrads, but also refugees, kids learning English, etc. I realized that I had a more important role to play as someone who supported and facilitated learning. So much of academia seemed to be about a scarcity of opportunity. I thought about the friends I’d made at Young Writers—many of those folks were also teachers.
What I’ve learned—I’m wearing my writer, teacher, and parent hats right now—is that the loving side of teaching involves meeting students where they are, sharing with them writing I think they’ll love (as your teacher did!) and recognizing their need to be taken seriously as writers and humans.
Judy: I come from a family of teachers, but definitely did not set out to become one. I studied Biology in college and when I graduated I found myself working in a variety of education related jobs. Soon I realized where I was headed and decided to get my graduate degree in education and my teaching certificate. I taught in several places, but most of my career was in the Boston Public Schools. At one point, many years into teaching, I remembered my high school biology teacher from 10th grade. Her classroom, with a greenhouse, was my refuge. She instilled a love of science and a sense of belonging that became the cornerstone of my own teaching philosophy. The other teacher who inspired me, and again, I didn’t completely understand her impact until years later, was Eleanor Duckworth at the Harvard Ed School. Her approach to developing a deep understanding of science concepts through exploration was the basis for most of my lessons. As for the loving part of teaching, there were times when I would take a step back and watch my students as they explored concepts with lessons I had created and I would think, I can’t believe I get paid to do this. Finally, my parents who were both educators as well as great readers and writers, influenced me as both a teacher and a writer.
Photos by Annie Spratt
On the flip side of this question, I’m also curious about professional grief. It feels like educators are both held to impossible standards and often not provided adequate resources to meet those challenges. In an increasingly politicized educational environment, what are some griefs you’ve had to personally navigate? How do you find balance in a world where education seems less and less prioritized and often defunded?
Rachel: OY. While I’ve been lucky enough to teach in a district that is largely supportive of teaching both actual history and critical thinking, it’s not a place that has necessarily always supported the work educators do. Because the mayor refused to release funds for salaries and services, we went on strike in January 2024, and for over two weeks we stood in the freezing slush and tried to get the city to take us seriously. The chronic underfunding of schools in my district—where some of the wealthiest folks in the state live—is hard not to take that personally, for it to feel like loss, like grief. Our ceiling is still leaking; many buildings are in worse disrepair; we had to fight for living wages for our lowest paid professionals, for modern parental leave, everything just felt so fraught. But the act of striking was also joyous: students joined us at rallies, parents cooked and cared for us, canvassed with us. We sang and danced.
What stands out to me—reflecting on that experience—is that defunding schools (and dismantling things like the Dept. of Education) is part of a cynical campaign to protect the privilege of a few at the expense of civil rights and educational equity of many. It’s so transparently vicious. And I don’t think it will work. People generally don’t want rights taken away from them.
Judy: OY is right! I left public school science teaching about six years ago after a long career, although I was still several years from full retirement. There were days during my final year that I would cry in my classroom in the mornings because I was so frustrated by the system, humiliated by lack of respect for my profession, and exhausted by the physical and mental labor required of me. Grief is absolutely the right term. Currently, I find tremendous joy in teaching writing to adults. I realize though, especially with the current assault on science, how important my role as a science teacher was. I hope that my former students carry some deep intellectual memory of our work together when facing the complexities of this world. I do grieve, at times, that I’m not still teaching science to young people, but there are some great teachers out there doing that work.
I’m always interested in the inner workings of literary journals. As an editor for Memezine and a former reader for Wild Roof Journal, I’ve learned to appreciate the love and care that goes into reading the work we’re trusted with, and the honor of sharing that work with the world. One of my favorite things about being in this role is the collaboration with the other editors I work with, and the lively discussions the pieces we receive generate between us. I’m often looking for pieces that inspire me. Things that light up my brain or feel as if I’ve seen something familiar from an entirely new and refreshing perspective. When you’re reviewing submissions for Porcupine, what are some things you love or are looking for in the pieces you’ve received? How do you feel that working as an editor nourishes your own creative practice?
Rachel: I’ll speak to poetry submissions here: we’re looking for authentic and crafted poems that provide specific insight into the work that happens in a classroom and make visible what might be overlooked. We’re looking for work that avoid platitudes or some of those well-worn teacher tropes: teacher as savior, martyr, etc. I love poems that consider some odd moment that reveals something unexpected about the speaker.
Judy: I’ll echo Rachel’s call for authenticity and making visible teachers’ work and joy. I especially love pieces that highlight the complexity of teaching. I also value writing that focuses on events and experiences that the writer has let marinate for a while so that we get a sense of reflection and deeper understanding. If something has moved from a vignette to a story I appreciate that. And if a writer can pull off a piece with an interesting structure, that’s a plus.
What I’ve learned—I’m wearing my writer, teacher, and parent hats right now—is that the loving side of teaching involves meeting students where they are, sharing with them writing I think they’ll love (as your teacher did!) and recognizing their need to be taken seriously as writers and humans. — Rachel Becker
It can sometimes feel a little cliché to ask what your literary influences are, but I never stop asking fellow writers and editors about works that are close to their heart. What are some works you return to often, that have stayed with you throughout your writing and editing life, and why?
Rachel: Some of my first favorites: Edna St. Vincent Millay, Elizabeth Bishop, Phillip Levine (the poems “They Feed They Lion” and “What Work Is”). Seamus Heaney. Sharon Olds. Gwendolyn Brooks. My dad took me to see her give a lecture in Washington, D.C. when I was maybe in middle school. THAT was amazing.
Judy: So many! I turn to essay anthologies frequently. I love a good craft book. As for specific essays I return to: First by Ryan Van Meter, The Heart as a Torn Muscle by Randon Billings Noble, Work Lessons by Lizz Huerta, Portrait of My Father by Alexander Chee, Once More to the Lake by E.B. White. And I have to shout out to books from my childhood: Harriet the Spy,Eloise, Whistle for Willie, My Side of the Mountain, A Wrinkle in Time, Kindred, The Fantastic Mr. Fox, Pippi Longstocking, and I spent hours with The Childcraft Series, The Tell Me Why Series,The Encyclopedia Britannica, and any book about animals.
As a follow-up to the previous question, what’s on your nightstand right now? What are you reading lately?
Judy: A combination of reading lately, on my nightstand, and in progress includes: Emperor of Gladness, Rest Is Resistance, This Is Happiness, Cher- Part 1, Parable of the Sower, All We Were Promised, My Friends, Take to the Trees, and James. And a couple of queer romance novels for when I need an escape from reality.
Rachel: My summer reading is always a little (or a lot) all over the place. I tend to read more non-fiction in the summer (Raising Hare by Chloe Dalton and The Wild Trees by Richard Preston). I read Melissa Febos’ Body Work, which is so beautiful and smart and useful (about embodying personal narrative). Poetry-wise, I’ve been enjoying Lonely Women Make Good Lovers by Keetje Kuipers and reading Andrea Gibson’s work; I didn’t know much about them at all, and savoring Maria Zocollo’s Helen of Troy1993. Also Marie Howe, and Yours, Creature by Jessica Cuello (epistolary poems in the voice of Mary Shelley).
Imagine for a moment you live in an ideal world. You’ve been given a free pass to teach students of any age about something you’re passionate about. You’re not held to standardized lessons or budget limitations. You can teleport your students anywhere in the world for a day, present to them one magical thing that means everything to you. It can be a book, a piece of art, a forgotten language, a pottery class. What would you teach?
Judy: Great question! One of the foundations of my teaching (and learning) philosophy has always been how the skills and content of academic and creative fields overlap with each other. So, I would take a group of 5th graders to a spot in nature for a few days to explore, write, read, and do art. I would bring along a naturalist, an art teacher (my wife), an adventure guide, a lifeguard, and a culinary teacher. We would create journals and fill them up with nature observations, writing, and art. We would do cool science experiments in the well appointed lab/classrooms. We would sculpt, paint, and draw in the art studios. Afternoons would be spent swimming, reading, talking, time alone for those who wanted it. We would cook together in the evenings and then campfires and astronomy walks at night. The kids would fall into comfortable beds beautifully exhausted by the physical, intellectual and creative endeavors of the day.
Rachel: Oooh. What an interesting question! The first thing that comes to mind is an art museum, maybe the MET or the V&A in London, or the Chicago Institute of Art. I was an art history minor in college, and I learned how to read visual texts in ways that helped me better understand what I was looking at, both contextually and compositionally. People have been making art forever; art history is also human history and tells the story of bodies, religion, violence, colonization, war, everything.
Kids (and adults, too) spend so much time looking down at their phones, computers, etc. I can’t think of anything more important than a day spent looking and seeing. Last year I used the Edward Hopper painting “Nighthawks” with my sophomores to talk about tone and mood in analytical writing, how to move past words like “sad” or “gloomy” and into things like loneliness and alienation.
Judy: I love Rachel’s thoughts here. Slowing students down so that they can look and see is so profound.
I’m lucky to have gotten to meet Rachel outside of this interview in a workshop space, and spent time with her incredible poems. But I haven’t yet asked about larger projects, like manuscripts, themes, or rabbit holes, so it’s fun to spring this question now! What are both of you currently working on, as far as larger projects? Do you have any special topics you’re currently writing about, or a manuscript in the works?
Rachel: I finished my MFA in January and have been sending a MS (my first) out to some places. So far, this has been a summer of revision and reworking. And also of rest. Being a full time teacher, parent to two kids, and in a degree program was exhausting. It’s nice to come up for air.
Judy: I always have several essays in progress and eventually I would like to put together a collection of new and published essays. A project I’ve been playing with for a while is a long form essay based around family recipe boxes. Right now I’m working on three pieces: Going Home, Other People’s Stuff, and Following Football. They all carry the themes of grief, family, and time.
Judy, Rachel, thank you for holding space with me and my curiosity. I’ve noticed Aaron likes to end his interviews with a request for a writing prompt or exercise, and I’m going to borrow that for my question as well.
I’ll share one of my own: when a friend or colleague says something intriguing, I copy it into my notes in all caps, and try to write a poem using that line as a title. Some of my favorite pieces I’ve written started out this way! Can you share a prompt or exercise that you use to prompt yourself and get your hands moving?
Rachel: I love this prompt! And am definitely going to use it!
Judy: I am fascinated by objects and use them frequently in my writing. Here’s a prompt that taps into that:
Find an object in your writing space that has some meaning for you. Begin by “speaking” to the object.
—Describe your history together
—Tell it what it means to you
—Ask it questions
Now have the object “speak” to you
—Let it describe your history together
Rachel: This is such a great exercise/series of exercises; I use it with students (and it’s a great excuse to collect random objects from thrift stores, etc).
I often find inspiration in opening lines of poems, or repeating lines. “You are who I love” by Aracelis Girmay is a poem like that; it has an incantatory feeling. I think I’m drawn to lists that wrap themselves around something that maybe I hadn’t seen before, lists that expand and contract. I also find random parameters make for interesting starting places, like in the journal 3Elements.
I especially love pieces that highlight the complexity of teaching. I also value writing that focuses on events and experiences that the writer has let marinate for a while so that we get a sense of reflection and deeper understanding. If something has moved from a vignette to a story I appreciate that. And if a writer can pull off a piece with an interesting structure, that’s a plus. — Judy McClure
Give it up for Rachel Becker and Judy McClure! We’re grateful that they took the time to participate in our series of Lit Mag interviews.
Rachel Becker’s poetry recently appears or is forthcoming in journals including North American Review, Post Road, Rust & Moth, Wild Roof, Crab Orchard Review, and RHINO.A contributor to the Boston Globe, she holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Lesley University. She is a recipient of a Poet and Author’s Fellowship from the Martha’s Vineyard Institute for Creative Writing and a finalist for Write Bloody Publishing’s 2025 Jack McCarthy Prize. She lives in Boston. Find her on Instagram @rebecker30.
Judy McClure writes creative nonfiction that focuses on relationships, identity, nature, and education. Her writing is at Miniskirt Magazine, Chautauqua, WBUR’s Edify, 805LitMag, and HerStry. For many years she was a science teacher, but these days she is co-owner of Rozzie Bound Books and teaches writing to adults. She lives in Boston with her wife and dog Rosy. Find her on Instagram @McClureWrites.
Rachel Lauren Myers is a poet and writer living in coastal Massachusetts. Her work can be found or is forthcoming in Ballast, Action, Spectacle, ISSUE, RESOURCES, Okay Donkey, and elsewhere. She is the features editor for MEMEZINE. Find her on Instagram @hellostarbuck.
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Thank you so much for giving me the space to ask these questions! Teachers are my heroes, especially teachers that pursue writing and editing so rigorously and so well on the side. Both of you are accomplished writers in your own right and clearly have so much compassion for your students and for the difficult job of being a teacher in this climate. Hats off to these two brilliant individuals!
Thank you so much for giving me the space to ask these questions! Teachers are my heroes, especially teachers that pursue writing and editing so rigorously and so well on the side. Both of you are accomplished writers in your own right and clearly have so much compassion for your students and for the difficult job of being a teacher in this climate. Hats off to these two brilliant individuals!