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Shelly Norris, M.F.A Creative Writing

Shelly Norris. Photo courtesy of Shelly Norris.
Shelly Norris

Nearing the end of my career (which began in middle age), I wonder what inspiration I can provide to English majors and creative writers in this economic climate. I am not and never was a traditional academic. I grew up on a farm in Wyoming, the first person in my family to earn a college degree. Honestly, I feel like a goblin girl who stole her higher education from off-limit filing cabinet drawers.

I was also a very poor student all through my public schooling. My teachers and parents labeled my inability to pay attention laziness. The truth is, all through my schooling, my brain was drafting a very long novel with my thinly veiled alter ego as the heroine. The teachers interrupted my robust internal narrative with their nonsense. When my mind quieted, I doodled and scribbled poems in my notebooks.

Only when I attended university as a non-traditional adult student did I figure out that I am ADD. Though my verbal linguistic capabilities always ranked high for my age, when it came to achieving higher education, I had to devise strategies to teach myself to focus and comprehend. At the same time, I encountered professors who saw in me capabilities that I did not see or believe.

I ended up at UAF because of a premonition that dawned on six-year-old me. I stood next to my grandmother’s chair as she watched some Sunday evening program regaling the marvels of Alaska. From a distant trance-like place I said, “I’m going to live there one day.” Of course, she laughed. About thirty years later, when it was time to decide what to do after earning a BA in English, Alaska once again popped onto my radar. My sons and I often reminisce about our years in Fairbanks. They were challenging, rough, spare, magical years, the best memories of their childhood, they tell me.

Over the next decades applying for jobs and maneuvering for positions, employers expressed awe that I hauled three children to Fairbanks, Alaska, and lived there for three years. As did I, my colleagues in my MFA cohort moved out into the wide world to pursue many avenues of work and creativity. Most teach at some level, some have been your teachers at UAF, some have become administrators, and many have published. Some work in fields unrelated to English or creative writing, but their degrees allowed them to get their foot in a door somewhere.

That’s been the bottom line, the one consistent factor over the years: we earned a degree. Called to an adventure from our ordinary worlds, we arrived from the four corners, met our mentors, and passed their tests. Through the ordeal, we discovered new parts of ourselves to carry home; reborn as scholars, teachers, artists, we returned to share our gifts, what wisdom we gathered. And naturally, we continued to grow.

I can tell you that not once has an employer looked at the grades on my transcripts or asked what I learned in 18th century lit class. What matters to them is the evidence that I set my intention and carried through with it. Though after graduating UAF, I worked a short stint as a youth advocate for a mental health agency (hired because I had report writing skills and teaching experience), as a substitute teacher, and as a night desk clerk at a motel, I had the currency to throw my hat in the ring. For months that first year after graduation, I prowled The Chronicle for job openings and mailed out ten applications every Monday morning. Some around me remarked that my degree turned out to be a waste. I told them, no; it is my ticket.

Oddly, I responded to an ad in the Billings Gazette that led to my first full-time teaching position at Fort Belknap College in north central Montana. After a few truly patchwork decades of teaching at a few community colleges and an HBCU, I have come full circle to what is now Aaniiih Nakoda College on the Fort Belknap Reservation. The college has grown. The campus has grown. The programs have grown. I have grown, as a teacher and a writer. It is easy from here to reflect on the journey, to understand that I have always been led by a deep intuition toward this calling.

I’ve been called to teach students who do not learn easily, students who are undereducated, students who fell through the cracks in their local schools. The world is full of students who need good teachers. The world is full of students who need good writing teachers. Institutions need some administration, and it’s easy to get pulled into those tracks. I’m not remotely administrative in nature, and they tried to track me that direction. I had my run at a tenure track. I always return to the fire in my gut: institutions need teachers committed to finding strategies for teaching each student.

I am an effective teacher precisely because I was a poor student. I was a poor student because I could not learn in traditional ways. Though I was a strong reader, I realize now I often read aloud. I was always first and foremost an auditory learner. Once my father asked, “How many times do I need to tell you?” I answered, “Three! I need to hear it, see it, and do it three times.” That was an amazingly intuitive early insight into my own learning needs. And now I pace my classrooms moving between students repeating, repeating, repeating what I just said, what is on the page in front of them what is projected with a corresponding image on the screen, what I ask them to repeat back to me. Eventually, what they need to learn will wire in and stick.

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Born and raised in the Big Horn Basin in Park County, Wyoming, Norris graduated from the University of Wyoming with a BA in English in 1992. From there, she journeyed to Fairbanks, Alaska with her three young sons, where she earned an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Alaska Fairbanks. Upon returning to the lower 48, Norris began her teaching career at what was then Fort Belknap Tribal College on the Fort Belknap reservation in northern Montana. In 1998, Norris returned to Laramie where she taught at UW until 2010. After a short reprieve residing in her home area, she moved to Missouri where she taught at various colleges, in person and online, most notably Lincoln University of Jefferson City. Homesick for the landscape of her soul, in spring of 2024, Norris returned to the Montana Hi Line and to the position of Liberal Arts and Communications instructor at Aaniiih Nakoda College.

Shelly Norris announced the recent publication of two poetry collections: Hyperbola, her first collection, debuted February 2024 from Impspired Press based in Lincoln, UK. Her second collection, titled Dry Lake, released November of 2025, is available from Powder River Publishing based in Thermopolis, Wyoming.

Of Hyperbola, poet Agnes Vojta writes, “Norris presents an honest and unapologetic collage of life. A thought-provoking, multi-layered book.” Poet Diane LeBlanc adds, “But these poems don’t despair. Each poem sprouts from a space between wanting and joy, shadow and light, or duty and magic ritual to conjure empathy and hope.”

Of Dry Lake, writer Lauren Scharhag states, “Shelly Norris speaks in the language of geology, landscapes, and nature. This collection is not merely a conceit or even a poetic memoir. Rather, Norris creates a poetic alchemy, matching the interior with the exterior, the soul with its worldly environs.” Memoirist Julianne Couch adds, “Norris’s storytelling voice, her sequencing of the concrete and the evocative, leads us to think about our personal narratives. Through her lyricism, we experience how the framework of language shapes ideas as clearly as landscape does.”

Early poems appeared in UW’s own Owen Wister Review, as well as Open Window Review, and Blood, Water, Wind, and Stone: An Anthology of Wyoming Writers. More recently, individual poems have appeared in Gyroscope Review, Verse-Virtual, Silver Birch Press, Uppagus, Piker Press Review, Rye Whiskey Review, Spillwords, Broad Shoulder Press, Amethyst Review, The Drabble, vox poetica, and The Cabinet of Heed. Norris is currently compiling a collection tentatively titled Migrations.

 

 

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