There wasn't time last fall, after winning the National Book Award, for Will Alexander to celebrate. He and his wife had just had their second child, so now there was little Iris to look after as well as toddler Liam — diapers and preschool and midnight feedings and tag-team child care. It was November, so there were holidays to plan, and relatives coming to visit, and grades to get in for Alexander's classes at MCAD.
That is why Tuesday, when his second book is published, Alexander won't just hold a reading — he'll throw a party, a big one, with chocolate and wine and live music, and people will make masks, and Alexander might read a little, from one or maybe both of his books, because he does love to perform.
"It'll be both a launch party and a celebration," said Alexander, who lives in the Powderhorn neighborhood of Minneapolis and who is still a little dazzled at winning a National Book Award for his very first book — especially since, for a while, the book looked as though it might bomb.
At the Blue Ox coffee shop around the corner from where he lives, Alexander spends several hours most days at the end of the long wooden counter. This is where he writes, his laptop or composition book (he uses both) resting on the espresso bar. The bar was made by Minneapolis artist Heather Doyle out of tooled stainless steel, copper pipe and antique glass doorknobs, and it was meant to be a place for espresso lovers to gather and chat with the barista.
But it is the perfect for height for Alexander, who writes standing up, and he has taken it over (with the blessing of the baristas, as well as of Doyle, who says it's an honor). He calls it his steampunk writing desk.
Because of a spinal defect, Alexander can't sit for any length of time. A hairline fracture in one of his vertebrae grew worse over the years, and eventually the bones that held his spine together broke and separated. "At that point, my spine was only held together by muscle," he said. He had surgery in 2001, but the problems have since returned.
He cannot lift his toddler. He gave up the theater, his first love. And he writes, and reads, and talks, standing up. When asked if he's in constant pain, Alexander leaned on his cane, gave an oblique, wry look and responded: "He smiled politely and said nothing."
An orphan, a witch, a quest
Alexander is a slight man, soft-spoken yet fast-talking, with dark hair, a neatly trimmed beard and rather piercing dark eyes. He and his wife, Alice Dodge, came to the Twin Cities in 2006 so that Dodge could study at the Minneapolis College of Art and Design. Alexander worked selling books at Magers & Quinn, he wrote for Rain Taxi Review, and eventually he moved over to MCAD to teach.
"When we came here, I was completely ignorant about what an amazing art and literary community the Twin Cities has," he said. "I didn't expect this town would be so good to me — we moved here for her. But the local science fiction and fantasy community is amazing. The kid lit community is amazing. There are so many writers in this town!"