The Pitch Craft Interview Series: Dr. Anthony C. Ocampo
A very only-child conversation with California's hottest and most literary sociologist.
Dear friends,
No one understands the thrill and terror of distributing your whole heart in a book-shaped object like a writer friend. As we approach, with terrifying speed, the September 16 publication date of my book PITCH CRAFT (please pre-order it, my children eat so much), my hyperventilating into a paper bag has been much-soothed by my ongoing life-support-by-text relationship with the brilliant, generous, and frankly, iconic author and sociologist Dr. Anthony Christian Ocampo. I highly recommend you subscribe to his Substack WRITE AND SEEK.
This interview kicks off a new mini-series I’m curating, in which I ask other writers the questions that burn within me, like: Who, in your opinion, is the cuntiest queen in literary history? And: What is the most deranged thing you’ve ever done in pursuit of your dreams? If you’d like to suggest another writer who you think should address these probing questions, just reply to this email!
Contextually, it is crucial that you understand two things: 1) Anthony and I are both queer only children, which also means that we’re siblings now, and 2) we found each other after I wrote him a florid, fangirling email about how much I loved his first book, The Latinos of Asia: How Filipino Americans Break The Rules of Race. (Read it, it’s a life-changer, and so is his second book Brown and Gay in LA: The Lives of Immigrant Sons.) In the intervening five years, Anthony’s become one of my most important literary confidantes: we’ve supported each other through challenges, disappointments, blurb requests, and roadblocks, networked so hard that we have the same agent now (we love you, Amanda Orozco), co-chased free appetizers, and gossiped extensively about probably 80% of America’s living writers. (Again, please reply to this email as soon as possible if you have any additional gossip suggestions.)
Basically, Anthony is the fucking best, and he gives such phenomenal life-of-a-writer text that it felt criminal to keep his golden insights to myself. Read on to find out how he is exactly like Anne Hathaway in The Devil Wears Prada, and much more.
What story does your full name, chosen or given, tell?
My name is Anthony, which is the Americanized version of my father’s name Antonio. He was born in the Philippines, a former Spanish colony, hence the Antonio. Oddly enough, no one calls him that. They call him Chito. Named after some early 20th century actor Panchito (yes, single name, like Madonna or Beyoncé).
I often got/get asked if I go by Tony. My mom was fervently against the idea of me going by Tony because there are already a number of Tonys in our extended family. During childhood, my father’s older sister came up with the nickname Nini, which my mom took a liking to. Funny enough, when she was pregnant, she thought she was having a girl; her planned name for me was Cathy Lee. Dodged a bullet with that one.
In elementary school, there were two Anthonys: me and Anthony C. To avoid a confusion, my third grade teacher referred to us as AO and AC. Friends knew me as AO (AY-oh) all through high school. I like going by Anthony, but I have moments when I wish I kept AO as my preferred name.
And yes, my mom still calls me Nini.
On what topic could you walk into a room right now and deliver an impassioned 20-minute monologue with zero preparation?
As a recovering addict of achievement, my favorite thing to talk about is failure. Every good thing that has happened to me in my career has been because I fell flat on my face. I’ve blown job interviews, I’ve gotten rejected for a bazillion things—by universities, by mentors I hoped to work with, by fellowships and jobs that I thought were tailor-made for me. I think it’s because I came off as too thirsty, perhaps. There’s something about failure that knocks me back to my authentic self, and it’s this version of me that seems to win things for me. I like throwing myself under the bus when I give talks. Whenever I’ve heard other speakers do this, it gives me the courage to try. To grow. To fuck up.
All of this applies to my dating life too, btw.
Who was the first person who ever believed in your writing, and how did they show you that faith?
My elementary school and high school teachers were the first cheerleaders of my writing. Sometimes I’ll find a box of essays I wrote during those years, and I’m pretty darn impressed with myself. I don’t know where the knack for storytelling came from. Maybe it was because I was an only child that was raised around a lot of adults, so I had to learn quite young how to win their attention.
Even so, I never sought out to be a writer. But somewhere in college, some professor I looked up to made an off-the-cuff remark that I oughta write a book about Filipinos since there weren’t that many for me to read myself. I kinda just ran with it.
In my PhD program, we had to read a lot, and a lot of times, especially before I had proper training, the reading felt like a chore. For that reason, I always wanted my writing to be digestible, easy. And in academia, writing clearly can set you apart from the pack (sounds weird, I know). When I started publishing articles, the first things people would say to me was often, I love your writing, and that felt good, so I kept going.
Who, in your opinion, is the cuntiest queen in literary history? Interpret “cuntiest queen” however you like; it is not gender-specific.
While c—-- queen is certainly in the gay lexicon, including my own group of friends, I will start with the disclaimer that as a cis-male, this is not the moniker I have chosen to use to describe my literary s/heroes (LOL). As such, I will operationalize CQ to refer to writers who are like, “I’mma do me, unapologetically.” These writers include Samantha Irby, Michael Arceneaux, Danzy Senna. But remember, non-queers these are the writers who I think are serving c—- with their prose and their style. I am certainly not referring to them as c—-s!
Editor’s note: Laura Goode is the only author referring to anybody as cunts in this historical record.
What books, TV shows, or films did you love before you were old enough to worry about seeming cool?
For anyone that follows me on IG, Beverly Hills 90210, obvi. But if I had to choose cultural content that I was absolutely obsessed with as a child but knew I had to hide in order to not be called a faggot, it would be women’s gymnastics and women’s figure skating. And Miss Universe pageants. Oh, and Janet Jackson videos with iconic choreo (think, “If” from the 1993 album JANET, the one where the CD cover is just Janet headless and topless with hands over her chest. In sepia). Gawd, I was so gay.
What was the moment you came closest to giving up on writing?
Back in 2018, I was recruited for a job at University of _________ [buy me a drink, and I’ll spill the tea and tell you where]. At the time, I had two books published and was working on my third, I’d won nine or ten major awards in my field, and I had a Ford Foundation fellowship. In other words, I’d done everything absolutely possible one could do to land a job. I had my two-day interview in the School of Education, and I got a majority of votes, but they said they wouldn’t hire me unless another department went halfsies on paying my salary. And so I had another two-day interview with the Department of Sociology. Again, I got a majority of votes, but there was one senior white male faculty member who was determined to block my hire. And he was successful. The stress from this experience landed me in the hospital and I ended up with a chronic condition that I, to this day, struggle with literally every single day. At that point, I thought, what the fuck is even the point of trying?
That was when I gave up my career as an academic writer. By God’s will, that was the same time when a friend encouraged me to apply for VONA, a summer workshop for writers of color.
I got in and had the privilege of being in a workshop taught by the Kiese Laymon. That man changed my life, my art, my personhood.
I think this is why I am so passionate about talking about failure. Because had it not been for that failed job recruitment experience, I would’ve never met Kiese. I would’ve never become a writer.
What kept you from giving up on writing?
See above. Of course, there were times after VONA when I felt like giving up becoming a creative writer, but there were folks that offered me words that helped me muscle through. When a fancy NYC agent told me writing about queer people of color was too niche for a mainstream readership, Roxane Gay told me that that agent was wrong and lacked imagination. When I experienced a slew of rejection when first trying to publish in literary and media outlets, my friend, the historian Cynthia Greenlee, took the time to mentor me through writing pitches and editing pieces that became my first bylines. When an editor at my dream trade publisher ghosted me after months of working together, my friend, the sociologist Neda Magbouleh, would not let me not give up on the book–she pushed me to pitch it to NYU Press, where an editor had gave me the space to beef up my creative nonfiction chops instead of forcing me to conform to academic prose. There is another story I can’t quite share yet, but it was you, Laura, and my agent Amanda Orozco that had my back when it would’ve been so tempting for me to quit.
There are so many other folks I could name who have shepherded me away from quitting. All of them are the reason I’m still here.
What is the most deranged thing you’ve ever done in pursuit of your dreams?
I have a tendency to treat every job situation like I’m Anne Hathaway in The Devil Wears Prada. In other words, in the spirit of trying to prove myself or land a job or some other career advancement, I’ve compromised my physical and mental health, I’ve compromised my personal relationships–with family, friends, partners. I’ve landed in the hospital from stress and overworking. Not cute. Now that I’m in my mid-40s, I’m doing my best not to do that anymore.
MFA: yay or nay? Por qué?
I know people are split on this. Like everything, there are pros and cons. Let’s start with the bad news: Debt! There’s no guarantee that an MFA will land you an agent or a book deal or a teaching job. Also, most MFA programs aren’t great at helping you navigate the realities of the publishing industry. Of course, there are many pros: You get to have a built in writing community, you have a space to workshop your work, you have a place where you can connect with aspiring and established writers, you get to spend a whole lot of time nerding out about craft. But if you take a look at this list, these are also things you can do without being in an MFA program. In my first few years of trying to be a writer, I did the DIY MFA–I listened to podcasts where writers talked about craft (#1 on my list is THE STACKS with Traci Thomas), I went to tons of writers events just to get inspired, and most importantly, I read a LOT and I read widely (beyond the genres and topics I was interested in). I’m always shocked when I meet people who claim they want to break into publishing but don’t seem committed to reading. A lot of academics are like this, oddly. But there’s just no getting around it.
What is the most meaningful non-financial return your writing has ever produced in your life?
Whenever I get an email or a DM from someone who’s read my book. Especially when they say that my book was the first time they’ve seen their own story in an actual book.
Which rejection or disappointment are you ultimately most grateful for, and why?
Back in 2017, I applied for what I thought was my dream job–as a sociology professor at a university with one of the largest Filipino American student populations in the country. I was told that I had a majority of the votes, but in the end, a senior faculty member (a White man, surprise surprise) essentially blocked the hire from happening. I was devastated. But that was the same year I, on a whim, applied for my first writers workshop ever…with Kiese Laymon. And that workshop changed my life. I changed my entire career trajectory and pivoted to creative writing. And the rest is history.
ANTHONY OCAMPO’S BOOKS:
The Latinos of Asia: How Filipino Americans Break The Rules of Race (Stanford University Press, 2016)
Brown and Gay in LA: The Lives of Immigrant Sons (NYU Press, 2022)