BC Oliva
BC Oliva grew up a half-Mexican half-Mormon mutt in Podunk, north Utah. He put himself through school driving forklifts, changing oil, repossessing houses, and building custom Harleys. Despite graduating from the University of Utah, he went back to graveyards at the airbag factory until he almost got blown up. After that he decided to try writing and earned an MFA from the University of Montana and edited fiction for CutBank magazine. He’s currently wrapping up a Literature and Creative Writing PhD at the University of Houston and shopping his novel, Testimony of a Jack Mormon.
Excerpt from BC's novel, Testimony of a Jack Mormon
This mangy guy weaseled out the maintenance building. Hung one them plastic we’ll-be-back signs with an adjustable clock and spent way too much time bouncing back and forth between that and the watch on the inside his wrist. After four or five goes he went for the laundromat and stood in the doorway. Weasel looked my age, give or take, and wore this baggy blue sweater that said “World’s Best Grandma” across the chest.
“I don’t think you can park here.” He went at his ear with a Q-tip. “Not like that.”
“Sorry.” I didn’t want to talk to someone looked like him, dressed like that. I mean, slippers?
“No. I’m sorry.” He held both hands to his chest. “In my head I was thinking you must be really stupid and that’s maybe because you’re a Lamanite. But you probably just didn’t know. Or probably didn’t see all these stripes on the curb. They mean you can’t park here.”
“Lamanite?” I said.
“You ever try these?” Asking me about Q-tips? After calling me a Lamanite?
“I’ll move it.”
“These.” He pulled the Q-Tip out his ear and held it up.
“Q-Tips?”
“They’re just so great. I found out about them the other day and haven’t been able to stop.”
High on something, had to be. Pills, I figured, even though his eyes didn’t look it. “Are you not from around here?”
“Oh I am.” He jabbed the Q-tip into the ashtray up top the garbage can, like he’s putting it out, bent it and everything. Then he pulled another from his pocket and got into the other ear.
“Brigham City?”
“No not really. But, you know. Around.” He cocked his head into his hand and closed his eyes, dug deep. “It’s like one of those,” he did a back and forth with his fist. “Dildos. It’s like a dildo in your ear.”
That’s how I met Hyrum Porter Lee.
This mangy guy weaseled out the maintenance building. Hung one them plastic we’ll-be-back signs with an adjustable clock and spent way too much time bouncing back and forth between that and the watch on the inside his wrist. After four or five goes he went for the laundromat and stood in the doorway. Weasel looked my age, give or take, and wore this baggy blue sweater that said “World’s Best Grandma” across the chest.
“I don’t think you can park here.” He went at his ear with a Q-tip. “Not like that.”
“Sorry.” I didn’t want to talk to someone looked like him, dressed like that. I mean, slippers?
“No. I’m sorry.” He held both hands to his chest. “In my head I was thinking you must be really stupid and that’s maybe because you’re a Lamanite. But you probably just didn’t know. Or probably didn’t see all these stripes on the curb. They mean you can’t park here.”
“Lamanite?” I said.
“You ever try these?” Asking me about Q-tips? After calling me a Lamanite?
“I’ll move it.”
“These.” He pulled the Q-Tip out his ear and held it up.
“Q-Tips?”
“They’re just so great. I found out about them the other day and haven’t been able to stop.”
High on something, had to be. Pills, I figured, even though his eyes didn’t look it. “Are you not from around here?”
“Oh I am.” He jabbed the Q-tip into the ashtray up top the garbage can, like he’s putting it out, bent it and everything. Then he pulled another from his pocket and got into the other ear.
“Brigham City?”
“No not really. But, you know. Around.” He cocked his head into his hand and closed his eyes, dug deep. “It’s like one of those,” he did a back and forth with his fist. “Dildos. It’s like a dildo in your ear.”
That’s how I met Hyrum Porter Lee.
Recommended Books for Aspiring Writers
- Sin and Syntax, Constance Hale
- The Triggering Town, Richard Hugo
- Reading Like a Writer, Francine Prose
- Story, Robert McKee
Student Testimonials:
“Brenden really wants you to learn, he gives great examples, he wants people to participate, he is a true writer, and he knows what it is important about writing.”
“Most professors just like to read off the Powerpoints. Brenden did the exact opposite. He made the class interactive. He also talked to us with respect and treated us very well. If you want to have a fun class that you enjoy going to AND learn a lot, this is the class to take!”
“I would DEFINITELY recommend Brenden to other students (and already have) because he is an awesome teacher. Very organized, highly likable, funny, CARING!”
“Brenden really wants you to learn, he gives great examples, he wants people to participate, he is a true writer, and he knows what it is important about writing.”
“Most professors just like to read off the Powerpoints. Brenden did the exact opposite. He made the class interactive. He also talked to us with respect and treated us very well. If you want to have a fun class that you enjoy going to AND learn a lot, this is the class to take!”
“I would DEFINITELY recommend Brenden to other students (and already have) because he is an awesome teacher. Very organized, highly likable, funny, CARING!”
Teaching Philosophy
I’ve had many workshops where I hear smart observations and leave feeling inspired, but soon as I sit down to write I don’t know what to do. That’s why I teach writing exercises using incomplete or ineffective texts. My goal as a workshop leader is always to teach how to identify when something’s not clicking instead of just pointing it out. Because of that, I teach skills and exercises that students can practice with me in the classroom and again later, on their own. That way everyone leaves my classroom with a variety of practical tools they can put to use in their own work right away.
I’ve had many workshops where I hear smart observations and leave feeling inspired, but soon as I sit down to write I don’t know what to do. That’s why I teach writing exercises using incomplete or ineffective texts. My goal as a workshop leader is always to teach how to identify when something’s not clicking instead of just pointing it out. Because of that, I teach skills and exercises that students can practice with me in the classroom and again later, on their own. That way everyone leaves my classroom with a variety of practical tools they can put to use in their own work right away.