About Hidden River Arts

Hidden River™ Arts, the independent literary and performing arts organization based in suburban Philadelphia is dedicated to the service, support and celebration of all artists. Named after the Schuylkill (Dutch for "Hidden River") which winds its way through the region, Hidden River™Arts is committed to nurturing the artistic community by providing varied and supportive services to creative writers, and artists of all genres. We offer competitions, publication, shows and live events, as well as outreach through workshops, classes and audience building events.

HEATHEN HILL by Jason Forbach Reading September 9, 2019

HEATHEN HILL READING INVITE copy

 

Hidden River Arts is very pleased to announce that the winner of our most recent Playwrighting Award, Jason Forbach, will have his winning script, HEATHEN HILL, read at the Shetler Studios Bridge Theatre, 244 W. 54th Street, in New York, on Monday, September 9. 2019, at 1:30 pm.

Jason, currently in the cast of Phantom on Broadway, has been a Broadway actor for over 14 years.  HEATHEN HILL is Jason’s first play, which he describes: “Heathen Hill is an ensemble play set in the very near future in an ever expanding Alt-America. Six men in an internment camp for homosexuals turn toward creativity, art and truth as a way to survive. As the political environment of this country continually spirals toward hostility, the play examines the retaliative strength and liberation found through beauty and expression.”

The reading will be directed by Kevin Newbury, and will star Dan Amboyer, best known for his starring role as Prince William, Duke of Cambridge in the television movie “William & Catherine: A Royal Romance”.

Our other amazing cast members include Paul Schaefer, Kevin Ligon, Evander Duck, Jr., Daniel Ching, Alan Ariano, Jacob Keith Watson, Alan Wiggins and James Jackson.

After about fifteen years in Philadelphia, the Hidden River Arts Playwrighting Award has now moved New York, in a decision aimed at providing more benefit to our winning playwrights.

Broadway World wrote a wonderful article about this event, and about the play itself.

The Hidden River Arts Playwrighting Award is offered yearly for a previously unproduced full-length play. The winning script receives a $1,000 prize and a public script-in-hand reading. If you are interested in submitting, please consult our guidelines.

The next deadline for the award is June 30, 2020.

For further information about this event, or if you are interested in attending, please contact our Founding Director, Debra Leigh Scott, at hiddenriverarts@gmail.com at your earliest opportunity, since seating is limited.

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Slouching Towards Publication

A guest blog by David Hallock Sanders, author of Busara Road

© 2018 David H. Wells

This is not a feel-good story. It’s too full of disaster, disease, and failure.
It’s not a sob story, either, even though it does include some sobbing.
It’s also not a how-to story, although it does have bullet points.
But then again, it ends on a happy note, so maybe it is feel-good after all.
And maybe that’s where I should start, with the ending:
This year my novel, Busara Road, got published.

That may sound like solidly feel-good news, except that it took me 20 years to get the book into print – years filled with grave setbacks, personal traumas, and drawers of failed drafts.

Let’s go back to the beginning. In 1999 I wrote my first draft of something that was not yet a novel, but was more like a short-story attempt that got way, way out of hand.

It was titled Return to Kwetu, and contained many of the same characters, settings, and themes that would one day become Busara Road. The core story, which has remained remarkably intact over the years, involved an American Quaker boy who gets transplanted to Kenya in the early sixties, just after Kenya’s long and bloody struggle for independence. The story followed this kid, Mark, as he comes of age in a nation that is coming of age itself.

That first story was a long, royal mess. Rambling, leaden, and confusing, it just kept growing longer and longer, until it was so unwieldy that I finally abandoned it.

Two years later, though, I excavated the original story and took another look. That’s when it occurred to me that maybe I was dealing with a novel here. I renamed it Kijiji Road, and began again.

I fleshed out some of the more compelling characters. I wrote new scenes that became new chapters. I ended up with several hundred pages of new text – some of it interesting, most of it not.

That attempt failed as well.

I started over. This time I reconceived the work as a magnum opus in three parts. The first section would be the boy’s childhood in Kenya. The second would be the span of his adulthood back in the United States. And the third section would be his return, in his aging years, to the village where he’d lived as a child.

By 2007 the manuscript, now titled Busara Road, had grown to over 800 pages, yet I was still stuck fumbling around in the character’s early life. I was finding the whole thing completely unmanageable. Another failed attempt.

Here I was, eight years in, and I still didn’t have a legitimate draft.

So I decided, once again, to start over. I set parts two and three aside to concentrate on the first section. I decided to focus on the plot, a sensible approach that I should have taken eight years earlier. I bought new software to help me create a master plotline, filled poster boards with scene-by-scene index cards, and charted each chapter in detail to track my through-lines, thematic developments, character motivations, etc., etc. I lugged boxes of notes and source materials with me to more than half a dozen writing residencies.

It was slow going. But by 2011, I finally had what felt like an actual, presentable draft.

And then disaster struck.

My computer suffered a catastrophic hard-drive crash. Even worse, I had not been backing up for years.

I lost everything.

A long road back

The wonderful writer Pico Ayer has written movingly about losing his home and all of its contents – including 15 years of notes and manuscripts – to a devastating fire. He ultimately described the experience as liberating, one that left him with a strange sense of freedom.

I don’t have Mr. Ayer’s Zen Buddhist composure.

When I lost my novel I nearly lost my mind. I literally curled in a ball on the floor, sobbing and moaning, “I fucked up! I fucked up!” My wife, grasping the seriousness of the situation, fed me shot after shot of whiskey.

From there I began a painful, lengthy period of reconstructive surgery. I dug through cardboard boxes for old printouts of early chapters. I thumbed through file cabinets for old notes and searched through old thumb drives for discarded text. I reassembled all of this material the best I could, and assessed what I had.

The whole thing was a mess. The novel’s narrative voice was all over the place. Scenes meandered. Characters behaved in inconsistent, unconvincing ways. Story arcs conflicted. Tenses battled – present in some sections, past in others.

And this wasn’t only the fault of the disjointed drafts. The entire novel suffered from these shortcomings. It just wasn’t working.

That stark realization, I now believe, was a gift. My version of Mr. Ayer’s liberation.
So I started over, once again, from the beginning. I re-plotted the book in detail, chapter by chapter. I re-defined character bios and thematic threads. I dispensed with the wandering prose that had diluted early drafts and focused on simply telling the story. I even re-wrote the whole novel as a screenplay, which taught me a lot about plotting and pacing and efficiency.

I signed up for a one-on-one novel intensive with Nancy Zafris, a marvelous writer and teacher who literally tore the manuscript into pieces and helped me reassemble it with a better, stronger structure.

It took me two years to complete a new draft. I submitted an excerpt to the William Faulkner – William Wisdom Prize for a novel-in-progress, and was shortlisted as a finalist.
I pitched the novel to agents at conferences – AWP in Seattle, PWO in Philadelphia, Grub Street in Boston. I got requests to see more of the manuscript, and sent it off with high hopes.

I sent the new manuscript to more editors and publishers. I pitched it to the agents of writers I knew. I pitched it to the agents of writers I didn’t know. I got more requests to see the complete manuscript.

I was certain that acceptance was near at hand.

But no.

“The writing is beautiful,” said one agent, “but I don’t know how to sell it.”

“I love it,” said another, “but just not enough.”

I continued to collect rejections. I felt lost.

And then I got cancer. Nodular lymphocyte-predominant Hodgkin’s lymphoma.
Over the next half-year, throughout chemotherapy so debilitating that many days I couldn’t sit upright for more than an hour at a time, I started re-writing the novel again. I cut scenes, added scenes, moved scenes. I changed the entire narrative voice from past to present tense. Decided I didn’t like it, and changed it all back. I continued to send the manuscript out, and the rejections continued to arrive in return.

But as the Buddha said, “Each day we are born again.” And one of those days finally brought acceptance.

This spring Busara Road was published by New Door Books. Hardcover. Paperback. E-book. Big release party. The works.

So there’s my happy ending.

And what did this whole saga teach me? Here is my promised set of bullet points, my three-p finale of lessons learned:

• Patience. Things simply take the time they take to get to where they need to be. Had any earlier draft of the novel appeared in print, I would have been disappointed in both myself and the work.

• Persistence. I was determined not to give up. I was stubborn about seeing each stage through to its completion, and when it didn’t lead me where I’d hoped it would, I’d find another way forward. And finally:

• Pain management: Sometimes, when anguish overwhelms, a shot of whiskey works wonders.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

For more information about David Hallock Sanders, check out his website. For more information about his novel, Busara Road, check out information here.

Arts for Assets Sake

What’s Art Good For? Apparently, for collateral.

It is long known that the “art market” is filled with speculators and asset hounds who are hoovering up the “hot” artists not for aethestic purposes but as investment. The horror stories of what that has done to the art world abound. But I confess, I had to read Georgina Adam’s article, “In Debt We Trust” in The Art Newspaper several times before it began to sink in and I started to realize, with horror…..My God…..this is really happening.

Those same investors who have been turning the art world into a kind of Thunderdome are now part of an increasing trend: Art-secured lending. What does this mean? It means that the owners of art-as-asset are now borrowing against that art in yet another layer of frenzy – creating a bourgeoning market for lenders smokin’ hot to get in on the action.

Adam writes, “Warhol or a Wool hanging on your wall may give you great pleasure, but it used to be that art gave you no monetary return—unless you sold it….No longer. Today that work of art can remain on your wall and at the same time give you cash in hand, allowing you to buy more art, inject some money into your business, cover a guarantee at auction or pay off an urgent tax demand.”

If you have any doubt that this is becoming a huge market, “…according to a report published last year by Deloitte and ArtTactic, in 2017 the global total of loans outstanding against art was eye-popping: between $17bn and $20bn.”

Piles and stacks of money – coins and US dollars.

Evan Beard, who is a national art services executive at US Trust claims that “the market” of art-buyers are less likely to purchase art for aesthetic purposes, but as what he called a “strategic asset”.

Aside from the overwhelming nausea and disgust I feel toward the kind of people who treat the creative effort of the arts community as little more than a stock option, I have questions about what this means for the artist him/herself. It has long disgusted me that art is sold, resold, sold again, auctioned — and that the rising prices of any given piece of art do not benefit the creator of that work of art, but those who “own” it through purchase. It seems to me that some portion — if not the lion’s share — of the increasing value of a work of art should go to the artist or his/her estate. I know that this is distasteful to those who don’t want to monetize art at all — and I understand that completely. But my argument exists within the boundaries of a rapacious capitalist economy, fueled by greed, where it seems that the same, very few, elite at the top of the food chain are the ones who see ALL the increase. If we are forced, as artists, to live in this world, why shouldn’t there be new kinds of contracts upon the sale of a piece of work that withhold a certain portion of any financial increase for the artist alone?

Another question: If these purchasers and speculators of art can borrow against the value of their collection, can an ARTIST borrow against the value of his/her own unsold work? Or is such financialization reserved only for those 1%-ers who play in this game of capitalist roulette?

I’d love to hear from you about this. As visual artists, what do you feel about what has happened to the art market? As collectors, how do you feel about the direction that art-speculation is going?

IN PROGRESS by Catharine Leggett

 

Leggett good reads photo

We here at Hidden River Arts are thrilled to announce that IN PROGRESS by Catharine Leggett, which won our fifth annual Eludia Award, has launched.

Catharine’s short stories have appeared in the anthologies The Reading Place, Slow the Pace, Lose Yourself, The Empty Nest, Law & Disorder, Best New Writing 2014, as well as in the journals Room, Event, The New Quarterly, Canadian Author, and The Antigonish Review. Other stories have appeared online in paperbytes, Per Contra, and Margin: Exploring Modern Magical Realism, as well as on CBC Radio. The Eludia Award brings with it a $1,000 cash prize and publication on our Sowilo Press imprint.  Shortly after winning our award, Catharine learned that her novel, The Way to Go Home, was accepted for publication with Urban Farmhouse Press. She lives in London, Ontario, Canada and taught creative writing in the continuing studies program for Western University. We are thrilled to welcome Catharine to the Eludia Award family of fantastic women writers.

To mark this birth, we’ll be catching up with our earlier winners and sharing their latest projects and creative adventures. Please follow our blog, where we will be announcing some events and some sales in order commemorate this book launch and to celebrate our other Eludia winners.

The Emigrant and Other Stories, our sixth Eludia Award winner, by Justine Dymond, is scheduled for publication in fall, 2019.

The Eludia Award is given yearly as a first-book award, for a book-length work of fiction (either a short story collection or a novel) by a woman writer, age 40 or above. It carries a cash award of $1,000 and publication by Sowilo Press, an imprint of Hidden River Publishing. The deadline for our current cycle of submissions has been extended to June 30, 2019.

In Progress is available at AbeBooks, Powell’s, Barnes and Noble, Amazon, and if you don’t find it at your local bookstore, it is easily available by order. If you prefer eBooks, our Kindle edition has also launched!

Book clubs, reviewers and requests for interviews?  Please contact us at hiddenriverarts@gmail.com so that we can talk!

Exploring Emerging Forms of Storytelling: A Guest Blog by Duncan Brady

Brady, Duncan  Duncan Brady is an intern here at Hidden River Arts.  He is a fourth year student at Temple University studying, among other things, film and creative writing. This is the first guest post in a series, where Duncan explores some of the new, exciting ways of telling a story, and creating narrative. 

campfire storytelling

Why do so many people still dream of writing a book in their lifetime?

Seriously. Polls from the New York Times and Publishing Perspectives have shown us that around 80 percent of all Americans (myself included) want to write a book but only a small fraction of those aspiring authors ever even set out to actually do it.

Now, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with people wanting to be a storyteller. In fact, it’s just the opposite. There are so many emerging forms of storytelling today that I just wonder why the vast majority of American minds are still hooked on this tried and true “American Dream” idea of publishing a book.

Do people still read actual, physical books?

Despite our average daily reading time going down in the last several decades, WHYY online reports that print sales have been on the rise every year since 2013.

When I started looking around, though, it became quickly obvious to me that we are telling and consuming stories as a culture in far more interesting ways than simply reading ink off of a white page. (The irony of this written blog is not lost on me, of course). Whether it’s through spoken word, as in the famous Moth series, or the animations we’re so familiar with on YouTube.

Storytelling on stage

Just last month, my friends and I reeled in excitement over the latest installment of the Netflix show, Black Mirror, which became the first streaming service to offer a fully interactive choose-your-own-adventure story for the screen. This movie, (or is it more of a game?) Bandersnatch, can last anywhere between 30 and 90 minutes and has over one trillion combinations of filmic experiences.

bandersnatch

When I first played Bandersnatch, I found myself glued to the screen while I moved through the story almost a dozen times, spending nearly seven hours taking in as much of it as I could. It got me to thinking…

…Why aren’t we telling stories like this more often?

The more I thought, the more I realized that we really are telling stories in more interesting ways. Podcasting has become one of the fastest growing forms of storytelling in the last five years. The number of monthly listeners has more than doubled since 2013, and now, half of American households are podcast fans. (Podcast Insights 2018). Look no further than the episodic dramas, Serial and S-Town, or the metanarrative, Launch.

Beyond this, the average American spends over half of their household leisure time watching TV, a growing amount on streaming services and portable devices. Much of our other leisure time is spent playing games. Every year the capabilities of video game platforms increase, with higher demands for state-of-the-art gameplay mechanics, orchestral masterpieces for soundtracks, and innovative forms of storytelling to draw players into the experience. Here are the WatchMojo ranked Top 10 plots in video games.

Brady post image 1

It doesn’t stop there, though. Users everywhere are creating thousands of hours of content every second on social media platforms, whether through the outdated seven-second storytelling on Vine (R.I.P), live self-broadcasting on Facebook, or publishing short stories on Instagram and Snapchat. Our lives and stories are everywhere. It’s difficult to look at our collective obsession with sharing and storytelling in 2019 and not say that we are making new and interesting work.

And yet, our growing culture of artists is struggling to find financial success in content creation. Why? Clearly, people enjoy these new storytelling forms, both as makers and consumers. There just aren’t enough people getting paid for their work. This is a huge problem! Artists and storytellers are constantly pressed for money, and, save for the lucky few, need to work additional jobs just to keep going. There needs to be a real change with what media is assigned monetary value if amateur artists are going to see that their dreams can be bigger than Harry Potter.

Brady blog image 2

Yes. Bigger than Harry Potter. I think part of the problem with our aspirations as storytellers is our romanticization of literature as the acme of storytelling. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I dreamt of seeing my name on the spine of an old hardcover drifting around the shelves of a used book store in fifty years, but until we begin to show that we value these other forms of storytelling as much as we value the hardcover novel, the dreams of our artists are in danger of becoming stagnant.

Brad blog image 3

What I think it takes is for you as the storyteller to find the medium that speaks to you. I’ve spent the last several years experimenting with as many story forms as I can, and I’ve been invigorated about my own creativity since taking that exploration. So, try something new. Branch out from the old pen and paper (or, more likely, finger and keyboard). More than ever, we have the capabilities as amateurs to create in whatever way we see fit. Let’s start a revolution of storytellers who are tired of a culture where we read, write, and repeat. For my part, I plan to come back to this blog a few times each month with a brand new type of storytelling to rant and rave about. Here, I’ll share everything I know about the structure, the content, and how to stay true to your artistic voice without giving up and backsliding into the “financially viable” story forms once again. If we both do our homework, we can make our artistic landscape a little less repetitive, and a lot more fun. Are you ready?

Brady blog image 4

 

The Artist’s Dilemma: Refuse the Addiction of Social Media or Fail at Self-Promotion?

The common belief these days is that, without constant presence and self-promotion on social media platforms, an artist is doomed to obscurity. It can’t be denied that the platforms themselves have encouraged this thinking. But how much success can you expect? Does a constant promotional presence on Facebook, for instance, guarantee that you and your work become more recognizable, and most important, that your posts reach those who want to engage with your artwork or your activities?

Drew Zeiba takes on this topic in his article, “Can You Make It As an Artist in 2018 Without Constantly Plugging Yourself on Instagram?” on Vulture Just what is an artist’s role in society, and does that role include the endless need to self-promote? Zeiba says, “There is a long tradition of artists refusing to play the self-promotion game. Isa Genzken and David Hammons are famous for preferring not to talk to the press; Stanley Brown destroyed his early work and his own image. But in today’s globalized art world, in which collectors buy work based on pictures scrolled through on their phones, isn’t logging off forever rather self-defeating? Refusing to be an artist-as-public figure in the era of social media seems almost reckless — like willful career suppression, if not suicide.” Many cite the addictive quality of social media, and how much time and energy can be wasted on these platforms that is best used in making art.

On the other hand, as Zeiba says, there are those success stories that underscore the uneasy feeling that no artist can afford to unplug entirely: “Brad Phillips is in many ways the poster boy for why artists should be on Instagram. Thanks to the platform, he got a book deal with a prestigious British publisher, mounted solo shows in East Hampton and Oslo, and made direct sales by DM (which means he didn’t have to give a gallery 50 percent).”

But as Phillips himself points out, it is a “double-edged sword”. His article “How Instagram is Changing the Art World,” on Vice talks about the love/hate relationship that he, and other artists, have with Instagram and other social media platforms. Phillips writes, “I have, through Instagram, sold a great deal of work privately to people. I’ve had a solo show in Oslo at Bjarne Melgaard’s gallery. I’ve been included in many group shows. I had a solo show in East Hampton at Harper’s Books. Entirely due to Instagram I’ve had a hardcover book of my drawings published by a reputable English art book imprint. None of the above “developments” in my career, none of the sales, were facilitated by my gallery in New York. That’s not the fault of the gallery. The art world right now is a youth-fetishizing cannibalistic death cult of speculation and interior design masked as progressive painting.”

What is the role of the gallery in this new world? In the past, galleries offered validation, support, protection, promotion. It was the gallery that made the connection to the buyers. For that service they often required 50% of any sales, which while it sounds high to the outside world, was the only way that the gallery could be maintained — especially in an essential city like New York, where real estate costs are quite high and the space for a gallery is an expensive proposition. The gallery owner also needed to make his/her own living through the sale of the artist’s work.

The curators of creativity are being muscled out by these social media platforms. Who, now, is the arbiter of taste in the “art market”? Phillips, again: “Most collectors buy what other people buy, and what other people buy is what is happening right now, today, and if Instagram is anything, it’s an encapsulation and display of the most urgent present moment. Knowing that they can cut out the middle man, knowing that artists will be happy to sell work privately means collectors can arrive at the same point for half the price.” The point worth emphasizing here is that collectors can arrive at the same point for half the price That means that the artist is no better off in terms of profit from sales. It also means that the artist now must be his/her own promotor and curator, a job that was formerly a full-time job for someone else, someone who was devoted to being the social arbiter of artist’s work — and most importantly, who had a more extensive understanding of the artist’s work, and how it was positioned within the history of art movements and styles — a larger picture and a much more erudite approach. That, it can be argued, is a great loss. And, with the artist taking on the work of promotion, where is the time to grow and mature and create as an artist?

Obviously, this is not a new issue. Stephen Sondheim addressed it in Sunday in the Park With George — this situation where creative people find that much of their time is spent in doing everything BUT making art. In “Putting it Together“, illustrates the experience of the creative “market” and its demands on the creative person.

The digital world, however, presents other problems — one being the security of the artwork. Much like the problems with piracy that have plagued the musician or the writer, there is the issue of image theft for the artist who puts work on these platforms. Phillips bemoans this for himself and his colleagues, “But a key issue artists are coming up against now, myself included, is the loss of control over the imagery we post. Our work is screenshot, then disseminated without consent. In an age where a JPEG has almost as much value as the physical object, this is problematic. Artists I’ve known have had their work taken off Instagram and included in publications without being compensated, never mind notified. But at least there their work is identified as their own. Straight up duplication and theft is equally common. I’ve seen my own art recirculated back to me without credit or worse, credited to a stranger. Some people think artists should be flattered by imitation but in the end it just makes it harder to use those images later for artwork and there’s the risk of being accused of appropriating your own work after it’s recycled and reposted on the internet thousands of times.”

Another issue is the erratic, unfathomable application of censorship rules on these platforms. Many artists complain of having work flagged, or removed, or having accounts taken down completely even when the work does not violate whatever the terms of the platform might be. There are often no humans with whom you can speak. There are often no clear reasons for the haphazard ways in which the “rules” are applied. Censorship, it appears is visited upon women artists much more often than upon men, for instance.

Zeiba speaks about the response of artist Jake Borndal, who quit Instagram, citing several issues, addiction being among them. He quit Instagram when he quit smoking. Borndal also wants to remind everyone that these platforms, in particular Instagram, which seems to lend itself so well to the visual, is anything BUT a creative space. Writes Zeiba, “It is a space bound by certain social, aesthetic, and user-agreement constraints, all of them prescribed either top-down by Instagram design or policy, or more amorphously by cliquish consensus among a segment of users, in turn shaping the kind of content that might be made and shared.”

Bottom line: for the so-called benefits that might be offered through the use of these social media platforms, the loss — of time, of creative freedom, of quiet and personal rumination time — may just be too high. What does that mean for artists in these current times? Might there be other ways in which artists can find each other?….can find their audience? One suggestion: might we begin to think seriously about creating our OWN social media platforms where artists, writers, musicians, performers, can gather, can curate the work of each other, can provide a sort of gallery/performance space? Might there then be the possibility to address such issues as piracy, since these platforms are created by, run by and meant to benefit the artists themselves?

Tuan Phan Receives The Panther Creek Award in Non-fiction From Hidden River Arts

Tuan Phan, Winner of
The Panther Creek Award

Hidden River Arts, the inter-disciplinary independent arts organization located in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, is pleased to announce Tuan Phan of Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam as the inaugural winner of The Panther Creek Award from Hidden River Arts, for his memoir, Remembering Water.

Phan speaks of his memoir, “Remembering Water is a memoir of my escape from Vietnam in 1986 and my return to live there thirty years later. It delves into my memories of the past Saigon my family left, my return, the family members with whom I’ve reunited and the locals I’ve met. It encompasses the Vietnam of my childhood memories as well as the present-day version of Vietnam, from Saigon’s booming development and its high rises, to the countryside and Mekong Delta. In 1986, I escaped from Vietnam, a member of a mass exodus of refugees that have been named the “boat people”. I was only eight years old at the time. 21 years later, I returned to visit Saigon as a foreigner in the birth city. This new Saigon is now a humming modern metropolis, a complete remake of the quiet, poverty stricken city that I left. Remembering Water is a memoir and reflection of my departure and return. It encompasses the Vietnam of my childhood memories as well as its present-day form, from Saigon’s booming development and its high rises, to the countryside and Mekong Delta. I’ve lived in Vietnam for nearly two years, the book is an account of that return and stay.”

Tuan Phan is a Vietnamese American who arrived in the United States in 1986, when he was eight, where he and his family have lived and where he was educated. After a childhood learning English and forgetting his mother tongue, he is now back in his birth country, teaching English and relearning his first language, while re-immersing himself in Vietnamese culture and life.

The Panther Creek Award is offered yearly for an unpublished book-length work of non-fiction. The winner receives a $1,000 cash award and publication with Hidden River Publishing. Submissions for the next cycle of the award will be accepted beginning on January 1 and deadlining April 15, 2019. For more information about The Panther Creed Award, please see our guidelines.

For a list of the semi-finalists and finalists of this first cycle of The Panther Creek Award, please see our News and Awards announcement page.

Hidden River Arts was established over twenty years ago in Philadelphia, PA as an organization focused on “serving the unserved artist”, looking to provide supports in the form of awards, live arts events, workshops, and publication to bring attention to artists working in under-recognized areas, or in under-recognized forms. More on Hidden River Arts can be found at our website http://www.hiddenriverarts.com as well as here on our blog. We encourage you to follow us here to be sure you are updated with our news, events and activities.