Interview with Lisa Gundry

This is one of an ongoing series of interviews with contributors to The 3288 Review.

Lisa Gundry is a nurse, an avid motorcyclist and artist. She is passionate about crafting new things from old – whether it’s making poems from memories, a light fixture from a rusty bucket or earrings from scraps of leather. She placed 3rd in the adult division of the 47th Annual Dyer-Ives Poetry Competition. She has written for Rider, a national motorcycle magazine. Her book of poetry, A Crowd of Sorrows was published by Caffeinated Press in November of 2015. One of the poems therein was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. She’s in love with Grand Rapids, Michigan, and has lived there for 15 years with two kitties and a Triumph Bonneville. Two of her poems, “Learning to Swim with Daddy” and “Visitation”, were published in our inaugural issue in August 2015.

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3288 Review: When and how did you first start writing poetry? Was there a single moment or event which sparked the creative urge?

Lisa Gundry: I began writing poetry as a result of my work with another poet in my writing group. Her depictions were so clear and focused that for the first time I realized how much could be communicated with a poem. I’d been working on a memoir in essay form for years but couldn’t seem to find a way to tell the story that spoke to all the ways in which I experienced it. Poetry allowed me to capture intense feelings and moods in the way I remember them—like snapshots in time. So in the fall of 2011 I began writing poems about my childhood. Within weeks, this method of documenting my felt experience continued to call out to me and I began writing about other painful life events that needed a voice—my divorce and the death of my father. While poetry isn’t as natural to me as narrative writing or even expository writing, which I do in my work as a nurse, it has become a purer form of writing. I find I can express so much through the use of form, metaphor and meter. Poetry has allowed me to encapsulate an experience and in so doing, has freed me- both in the writing and the sharing of the experience. Continue reading →

Interview with Roel Garcia

This is one of an ongoing series of interviews with contributors to The 3288 Review.

Roel Garcia is a transplanted Texan, now living in Holland, Michigan with his wife and children. Formerly a journalist for the Holland Sentinel, he now teaches composition at Grand Rapids Community College in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Some of his work can be read online at His personal essay “My Father, the Stranger in the Room” appeared in our inaugural issue.

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3288 Review: How and when did you first start writing fiction? Was there a Eureka! moment, or was it more of a gradual process?

Roel Garcia: My affection for writing fiction began at an early in life, probably by age thirteen. When. I discovered Stephen King’s novels while in junior high and my imagination took off. Since I was interested in horror movies, horror novels complemented that love for being creeped out.

What discovering King did, though, was open a door to writing. Yes, I imaged horror sequences from his novels, but I also started creating some in my head. My own little horror stories started being played out.

It took about a year or so before I actually started to write down some of these tales on paper. These early stories were hand-written either in pencil or pen, usually one a few pages in length. These early stories came out more like a scene rather than an actual complete short stories. It was more exploration than anything on my part.

These early tales lacked character and plot but I kept at it. In the meantime, I kept reading King’s work over the following few years. It is no coincidence that many of these early tales resemble King’s writing. I had not yet developed my own style and imitated what I read. I was getting a grip on writing when at age fifteen something happened that altered my life—due to a virus, I lost a majority of my eye sight. Continue reading →

Interview with Gilbert Prowler

This is one of an ongoing series of interviews with contributors to The 3288 Review.

Gilbert Prowler is a freelance writer and independent filmmaker who has spent most of his life working, looking for work or running down checks. He was born in Brooklyn, New York at a time when you could use a public restroom without having to pass through security, the pornography was usually hidden in the attic by your old man and Pluto was a planet. His travels have taken him to the Alaskan oil fields, upriver past the French Foreign Legion in Africa as well as Hollywood, California, all of which required working in unforgiving environments with an odd lot of sorts. Gil’s credits include NBC’s “The Tonight Show”, BET’s “Comic View” as well as Oscar and Emmy nominated productions. You can find some of his work on his blog,   He currently lives in California with his wife, three children and a brown lawn. We published his short story “The Walk On Bye” in our inaugural issue in August 2015.

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3288 Review: How did you first decide to be a writer? Was there a particular moment or event which started you down this path?

Gil Prowler: Although there are some “firsts” you don’t forget (and I think you know what I’m talking about) there are others you don’t remember, and deciding to be a writer is one of them. But I can recall when I realized that words could bring about wildly opposite reactions within the same room of people.  When I was about eleven or twelve my parents went on a trip to Europe and I was being warehoused at summer camp. One evening my bunkmates and I presented a skit that I had written in front of all of the campers and counselors at the talent show. Halfway through our seemingly popular act the head of the camp came onto the stage and herded us all off.  He then admonished us about the nature of our content, a string of double entendres, few of which at that age I understood anyway, repeated in front of the mostly appreciative crowd.  Tellingly, my reaction wasn’t one of regret but of accomplishment. Although that happened years ago I think that was when I understood how words, written or spoken, mattered.

Continue reading →