I met Arisa White several years ago at the Centrum Writers Conference in Port Townsend, Washington. Fifteen minutes into our first conversation, I knew she was nothing short of an Iconoclast in the making. I had never met a writer so multi-faceted, so playful yet self-possessed, so learned and accomplished and completely unconcerned with whether anyone took notice. It wasn’t long before I started skipping my morning workshop to sit by the Puget Sound with her, drinking coffee, exchanging poems, and arguing heatedly over strategies for revision.
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