Michael
Dibdin,
author of Thanksgiving
For me, at least, writing is never
satisfying, because whatever you do is never as
good as you feel it ought to be. Knowing when to
stop is a matter of knowing when to give up. Someone
said that a poem is never finished, only abandoned.
The same goes for novels, whether they're packaged
for sales purposes as "literary" or "mystery."
But Thanksgiving stretched me in a way I've
never been stretched before, and it wasn't altogether
pleasant. Reaching your limits as a writer is like
reaching the top of a mountain where the air is
thin: the sense of accomplishment is rewarding,
and the view is great, but it's hard to breathe
and you start to panic.
***
I think we're living in a "Silver
Age," as regards all the arts. In other words,
we're very accomplished, very knowing, and very
ironical, but with a strong understreak of disgust
at our essential shallowness and inability to cut
to the quick. We live in a post-everything culture,
and hate it. And since you get no marks for trying
in art, only for succeeding, maybe it's a good time
to be a mystery writer. Richard Strauss once said
that while he may not have been a first-class composer,
he was a first-rate second-class composer. Maybe
that's all we can aspire to. Raymond Chandler went
to his death with the job description "mystery
writer;" now he's published by the Library
of America.
Click here
to read the complete WAG interview with Michael Dibdin.
Bobbie
Ann Mason,
author of Zigzagging Down a Wild Trail
The stories take longer for me
to write now. The early ones were bursts of inspiration,
reckless plunges, followed by intense reworking
and shaping. But as I learn more about stories,
they get more difficult, harder to manage, less
conducive to the reckless. I think as the sensibility
deepens, the deeper are the possibilities that occur
in the writing of the story. But that makes them
harder to pull off. I don't mean precisely that
the critical faculties get in the way; it's more
like the imagination is biting off more than it
can chew.
***
Usually, there is some little
bit of something that sparks a story. Usually, it
is the sound of something: a few words, maybe. It
may not end up being in the story that evolves.
It has to agitate my curiosity and resound in my
mind—an image or sound that repeats and begs
attention.
Click here
to read the complete WAG
interview with Bobbie Ann Mason.
Peter
Nichols,
author of A Voyage for Madmen
I find the sea to be a perfect
crucible. It's a place where people are stripped
of all the pretence they normally use or rely on
in life ashore, and without it, in that spare and
elemental place, they find themselves face to face
with who and what they really are. This happened
to me, and it seems to happen to the people I write
about, real or imaginary.
There are so many books I admire
and love to read—Richard Ford's Independence
Day, James Salter's A Sport and a Pastime—but
I seem to be able to write only my own thing my
own way. Although I'm writing some quite different
fiction and nonfiction now, but it still feels unalterably
mine, as in what I'm burdened with and must write....
Click here
to read the complete WAG
interview with Peter Nichols.
David
L. Robbins,
author of The End of War
When I sit down to research a
book and certainly to write a book—which is
one word, one thought at a time—it's humbling.
It mounts very slowly. I mean, you work your fingers
down to the bone and your spirit down to a nub for
a month and you've got forty pages. The temptation
to walk away never goes away.
***
I don't allow myself the luxury
of enjoying what I do. Because enjoying it would
almost make it finite. At such point when writing
becomes unenjoyable, I might stop doing it. So I
really don't allow myself the luxury of determining
whether I'm having fun. This is my destiny. It's
what I do. I'm proud enough to say it's my gift.
I'm not going to subject it to the minutiae of whether
or not I enjoy it. It is profound to me. That goes
so much deeper than enjoyment.
Click here
to read the complete WAG
interview with David L. Robbins.
George
Saunders,
author of Pastoralia
We would all like to think that
doing our best work will also benefit us in the
physical world, but history is full of people who
did amazing work and never got a break in life,
and, conversely, people who did sucky work and lived
like kings and died never knowing their work was
bad. There are also, of course, those who did great
work and lived like kings. And there are those most
rare of birds, those who did great work, had the
means to live like kings, but instead spent their
time and energy benefiting other beings. So let
us aspire to be part of the last class, cautious
not to be part of the second class, and willing
to be part of the first if necessary.
Click here
to read the complete WAG
interview with George Saunders.
Susan
Richards Shreve,
author of Plum & Jaggers
I suppose I write because I love
it. I think you write to make a connection. I think
that is why you read, too, is to connect. It's the
old E. M. Forster, 'only connect.' I'm never conscious
of a reader when I'm writing, I'm really conscious
of myself as my own reader. But when a book is out
there, it gives me such enormous pleasure to feel
that someone has not so much liked it, but gotten
it. We all go through life feeling that nobody gets
us; that teenage feeling that nobody understands
you does continue. The sense of being understood
and having an opportunity and creating a world that
might be better understood is terrifically satisfying.
Beyond which, it is pretty nice to wake up in the
morning and say, "Well, this is what I wanted
to do today," and do it.
There is no part of the process I don't like, except
the publishing. The writing, the re-writing, the
criticism—I really love it all.
One of the things about being
a mother and a writer is that we have to be very
economical about our time. And so a lot of work
happens in our mind while we are doing other things.
I remember when I watched [my son] Porter starting
to write, I was appalled and embarrassed because
it seemed to me that he was sitting at the desk
all day. I never do it for more than two hours.
And that's because he had the time to work all day.
And I think that makes it—if I sat all day,
and had a bad day, then I would hate writing.
Click here
to read the complete WAG
interview with Susan Richards Shreve.
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