12 or 20 (second series) questions with Michelle Winters

Michelle Winters is a writer, painter, and translator born and raised in Saint John, NB. Her debut novel, I Am a Truck, was shortlisted for the 2017 Scotiabank Giller Prize. She is the translator of Kiss the Undertow and Daniil and Vanya by Marie-Hélène Larochelle. She lives in Toronto. 

1 - How did your first book change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?

Publishing my first book made me a writer; getting it shortlisted for the Giller made me a suddenly popular writer, an experience at once glorious, terrifying, wonderful, and fraught with self-doubt. Hair for Men is a more assured book than I Am a Truck; the concepts are stronger and better argued, the writing is more fluid... I used to worry about I Am a Truck out there in the world with its wobbly little legs; Hair for Men can handle anything.

2 - How did you come to fiction first, as opposed to, say, poetry?

I’ve always been a sucker for character and narrative. I love a story that develops as a result of the way a person is. It’s an otherworldly kind of fun.

3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project? Does your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts appear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious notes?

I won’t spend too much time planning, because I find the idea only develops while I’m actively writing. This means that I discover the story as I go, and it changes a lot, but it gets written!

4 - Where does a poem or work of fiction usually begin for you? Are you an author of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a "book" from the very beginning?

I keep a lot of observations, episodes, character studies, etc. tucked away in a Notes folder. There are Big Notes for novels and Small Notes for short stories. I usually know whether a note is Big or Small, but it tends to be a particularly compelling character that pushes a note into the Big folder and sets a novel in motion. I watched a man on a flight the other day close all the overhead compartments before takeoff, not in order to help the flight attendants, but because he seemed to think he’d do a better job. Then he stood in the aisle and talked about himself to anyone who would listen for the whole five-hour flight. That guy was a Big Note.

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?

I love doing readings. I only consider my own work complete once I’ve read it out loud - very important for flow and pacing. I studied theatre, so delivery is important. Hair for Men is written in such a way that you should be able to read it out loud, in character, as Louise.

6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the current questions are?

I like to think I’m turning over a number of rocks, taking a look at what’s underneath, and seeing how it responds to the light of day. I’m more an asker than an answerer, and the question I’m always asking is “Why this??”

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Do they even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?

The writer is there to reveal humanity to itself.

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?

I find it essential. My structure is absolutely everywhere.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?

Write for the top 5% of your audience.

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres? What do you see as the appeal?

I write, translate fiction, and paint. Translation is wonderful practice for my own writing; it’s expression without the strain of creation and is deeply satisfying. Painting clears the whole slate, returning me to my factory settings - but I can ruminate on a story/character idea while I’m painting, which is a refreshing way to get there. All the arty activities feed one another in a nice symbiosis.

11 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?

I still work a regular job, so when I’m not doing that, I’m cramming the rest of my moments with creative things. I do get a few full, glorious days a week where I can just write. Those days start with coffee (obviously) and proceed with as little interruption as possible. After dinner, I’ll jam in another couple of hours. Then a sensible hour of prestige television. Time is so precious.

12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?

Walking helps, and a good, long stretch, but also picking up any book from the shelf and reading a few pages reminds me that anything can be written. My idea is as good as any other. Sometimes, I listen to The Streets, A Grand Don’t Come for Free. It’s like an electronica hip/hop operetta about the mundane events surrounding a guy misplacing a thousand quid. Again, it reminds you that you can write anything.   

13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?

The smell of the Bay of Fundy at the Market Square docks in Saint John. The scent of a shipping port will always bring me home.

14 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?

Oh man, music, film, visual art – but I also love sitting quietly, watching my fellow humans. The things we do…

15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?

Martin Amis – for better or worse - has influenced me heavily my whole reading/writing life. I’m aware of his difficulties, but no one was more generous with humour – plotting it out bit by bit, laying his little trap, until he delivers the punchline, and you realize just how much work he was doing all that time - what subtle, devious work - in the pursuit of your amusement. I loved Mart.

I aspire to the brisk, no bullshit style of Patricia Highsmith, I seek guidance from Lynn Coady, Lorrie Moore, Lydia Davis, and the superhuman Jennifer Egan. Also, George Saunders, Barbara Gowdy, and Raymond Carver, of course.

16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?

I toy with a one-person performance – where I’m the person. Or maybe a musical...

17 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?

There’s a chance I’d have ended up back in jail.

18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?

The first word of fiction I ever set down was borne of anger and frustration, and writing felt like the only option. I paint when I’m happy. When something needs conquering, I write.

19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?

I loved Kick the Latch by Kathryn Scanlon. The last great film is (and perhaps always will be) Border – the 2018 Swedish one, written by John Ajvide Lindqvist. Utterly transforming. Oh, but I also just watched Jeanne Dielman, 23 quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles, which changed my whole cellular makeup. Hoo!

20 - What are you currently working on?

Paintings. Big, defiantly joyful ones. I also have some of a novel started, currently concerning a factory and an accidental murder. I’ll know when it’s time to jump in and write the thing, but for now I scribble bits and let them simmer while I paint and listen to true crime podcasts.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Rajinderpal S. Pal

Rajinderpal S. Pal is a critically acclaimed writer and stage performer. He is the author of two collections of award-winning poetry, pappaji wrote poetry in a language i cannot read and pulse. Born in India and raised in Great Britain, Pal has lived in many cities across North America and now resides in Toronto. However Far Away is his first novel. 

1 - How did your first book change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?

My first book, pappaji wrote poetry in a language i cannot read, was released in 1998 by TSAR. The attention that this poetry collection received completely exceeded my expectations. As well as winning the Writers Guild of Alberta award for Best First Book, the publication received a couple of mentions in the Globe and Mail and allowed me to do readings across the country. I have been working on a New, Unpublished and Selected collection, working title The Lesser Shame. I really wish I knew then, at the time of writing my earlier poems, what I know now about craft and structure. Writing and editing my debut novel, However Far Away, I have gained a discipline and rigour which has previously eluded me. In some ways, I am covering similar ground to what I covered in my two published poetry collections (themes of family and tradition, love and commitment) but the novel feels very different in terms of scope and reach.

2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?

My father was a published and much-admired poet, and poetry readings were a regular occurrence in my childhood home. He wrote in Punjabi and Urdu, both languages that I do not read or write. My father was only in my life for a short time before he died of a heart attack. I was ten at the time. In my late twenties I was desperate to understand my father: his life as a soldier, a headmaster, a poet, what led him to move our family across continents, why he wrote, and what he wrote. Poetry seemed to be the natural medium to examine this man and try to understand my relationship to him.

3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project? Does your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts appear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious notes?

I’ll speak to my novel, However Far Away. In June 2005 I was sitting on a bench in Kitsilano Park. It was a beautiful sunny day, the beach, the ocean, the North Shore Mountains in full view. As I sat and surveyed all the activity around me a determined looking South Asian man, approximately my age, ran past me. I immediately began to wonder what this man might be running from or running toward. That afternoon, at the dining table of my basement apartment I wrote seven pages of prose; an opening scene for what I imagined would be a novella. At that time, I was primarily a poet. I was not one for spontaneous writing. For the next twelve years, immersed in my career in healthcare sales and marketing, I wrote very little. Occasionally, I would open the Word file for Settle (the working title for However Far Away) and write a line, a paragraph or a scene but there was no substantial progress. In late 2018 I was retired out of my career and had to admit I had run out of excuses to not tackle this larger project. I completed dozens of drafts before it was even submitted to House of Anansi Press. The finer edits, however, were only completed once they had agreed to publish the book. The final shape only became clear after my editor and I had reduced the manuscript from 130,000 words to 90,000 words.

4 - Where does a poem or work of fiction usually begin for you? Are you an author of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a "book" from the very beginning?

For poetry I write individual pieces without a larger project in mind. For fiction I always had a larger project in mind, though just how large the project became is a surprise.

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?

Public readings are critical to the creative process for both poetry and fiction. Perhaps that is from growing up in a house where poetry was frequently read out loud. For me, both poetry and fiction have to work on the page and when spoken out loud. 

6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the current questions are?

I write fiction for the same reasons that I write poetry—as a way to understand, to come to terms with, to uncover a nugget of truth, to seek (or, dare I say, create) beauty and meaning, and perhaps enlighten myself.

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Do they even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?

I believe that there will always be a thirst for storytelling and meaning, that the rumours of the death of poetry and fiction are much exaggerated. For sure new technologies like AI will have some impact but we will continue to create and search for meaning through literature, whether through a concrete poem, a ghazal, or a long work of fiction.

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?

Essential. I wish I had worked more closely with an editor for my two books of poetry.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?

Before I published my first book, Nicole Markotic said to me, “You need an editor who could tell you to remove your favourite line in a poem in progress and you will consider it.” Those are not Nicole’s exact words, but the sentiment has stayed with me for over twenty-five years. The word “consider” is the most critical word in that advice; you do not have to eliminate that line but you should question what purpose it might be serving in the poem and whether it is necessary. The final decision is always yours.

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to fiction)? What do you see as the appeal?

If writing a poem is the bull’s eye, then writing a novel is the entire bull, its lineage, its character, and what it ate today. You need to choose the form based on what it is that you are trying to understand, to come to terms with, or uncover.

11 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?

During the most intense periods of writing However Far Away I had a strict daily schedule; three hours of writing each morning, two hours of writing and one hour of editing each afternoon. Most days I exceeded the scheduled number of hours, but it was okay if there was an occasional day when I failed. I took evenings off since I am a social being and needed the nourishment that good conversation provided. I am looking forward to the time that my next project will require me to get back to a similar routine.

12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?

There is a list of books, films and music albums that always inspire me to create. That list continues to shift and grow. It’s a long list, but some of the writers that I turn to are Michael Ondaatje, Robert Hass, Jorie Graham, Hanif Kureishi and, more recently, Sally Rooney and Anna Burns. I would occasionally revisit the film The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, especially for the two scenes that I consider to be the most emotionally wrought ever put on film. If nothing else works a bit of travel and long exploratory walks seem to help.

13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?

An Indian spice mix tempering in a pan.

14 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?

All of the above. I am as influenced and inspired to create art by film, theatre, contemporary dance, and music, as I am by books. If I am writing, I need to be actively engaged in other arts. I will carry a small notebook with me everywhere I go and often write lines that will later make their way into a poem or a work of fiction. These lines might be inspired by anything from a work of art to psithurism to a beautiful horizon to overheard conversation.

15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?

If a book really strikes me, I will read it multiple times. There were a few books that were constant companions during the most productive periods of writing However Far Away: The Sense of an Ending by Julian Barnes, Milkman by Anna Burns, Intimacy by Hanif Kureishi, All About Love by Bell Hooks.

16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?

I have an idea to create and produce a performance piece for stage incorporating poetry, music and film; something that could be performed at Fringe festivals as well as at literary festivals.

17 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?

I had a thirty-year career in sales and marketing in the healthcare industry. When I was retired out of that career in 2018, I was able to fully focus on completing However Far Away. In the future, I would like to facilitate creative writing workshops—poetry and fiction—but have no desire to be a full-time instructor. Other than that, I just want to create and stay healthy.

18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?

Standing beside an upstairs banister listening to emotional and powerful recitals floating up from the gathering of poets in the downstairs front-room.

19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?

Book: Soldiers, Hunters, Not Cowboys by Aaron Tucker. Film: Past Lives written and directed by Celine Song.

20 - What are you currently working on?

As well as the new and selected poetry collection, I am mapping out two possible works of fiction.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Pamela Porter

Born in Albuquerque, New Mexico, Pamela Porter immigrated to Canada in 1994, where she joined workshops with Patrick Lane and Lorna Crozier. Patrick Lane called her "a poet to be grateful for." Her work has earned many accolades, including the inaugural Gwendolyn MacEwan Poetry Prize, the Malahat Review's 50th Anniversary Poetry Prize, the Our Times Poetry Award for political poetry,  the FreeFall Magazine Poetry Award, the Prism International Grand Prize in Poetry, the Vallum Magazine Poem of the Year Award, as well as the Raymond Souster and Pat Lowther Award shortlists. Her novel in verse, The Crazy Man, won the Governor General's Award, the Canadian Library Association Book of the Year for Children Award, the TD Canadian Children's Literature Award and other prizes. Both The Crazy Man and her later novel, I'll Be Watching, are required reading in schools and colleges across Canada and the U.S. Pamela lives on a farm near Sidney, B.C., with her family and a menagerie of rescued horses, dogs and cats.

1 - How did your first book change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?
My first book completely changed my life. I was born in the US and studied poetry and prose writing  in undergraduate school at Southern Methodist University in Dallas. I even changed universities in order to be able to take the poetry writing class; I managed to do that during Christmas break one year. After undergraduate school, I was accepted to the University of Montana in order to take Richard Hugo's workshops in Missoula. But after graduation, I was on my own. I was born and grew up in the US and only came to Canada because my father in-law was in his nineties and wanted to retire from the business of growing wheat and other crops on the prairie land in Saskatchewan and Alberta, and my husband, and the only male son in the family, was the only one who might have any interest at all in Canadian farming. At the time, we lived in Montana, on the east side of the Rockies in a very fertile valley; as well, a river cascaded down river right beside our house and flowed into a lovely spot where beavers made their dams and even chewed down a few thin trees on our land to make their homes. We had very young children at the time and were happy where we lived. The only drawback as I saw it was that we would need to move to Canada in order for Rob to take on the farm business. Rob, my husband, told me of my father in-law's request, and asked that we think about the idea of moving to Canada.
My earliest experience of Canada took place when world's fairs were popular at the time and I goaded my family to drive us to San Antonio where there was going to be an abbreviated world's fair. When we arrived to the fair, I continued to nudge my family to visit the Canadian pavilion where, upon entry, cold air was blown at you on arrival and it was really dark inside, though the many photographs of Canada's beauty were spread along the walls. That about summed up what I knew about Canada. I was ten. Nonetheless, Rob and I thought seriously of moving north.

We had a Metis friend named Georgia who was looking for work and we were overwhelmed with the babies. We hired Georgia to help us with cooking and cleaning, and in return, she told us about her childhood.

Georgia lived in northwest Montana with her grandparents on a ranch and the family lived a hardscrabble life of poverty. A number of dams had been built on the east side of the Rockies, dams that were built by the Works Progress Administration in the 1930's, and all the dams were built from wood. One year while Georgia was still living with her grandparents, a storm came up and overwhelmed the area with rain. Well, all those dams burst at the same time. There was discrimination from the officials brought the flooded folks to rescue centers, who were tasked with separating the white folks from the First Nations. And slowly, the rebuilding.

That was my first attempt to write a novel. Of course, it needed to be a book my children could hear me read to them, and later, read to themselves.

I'd had rejection after rejection for so many years, I didn't know if this story, Sky, would be just another rejection. But an editor at Groundwood Books in Toronto, wrote back to me and said that the story had promise, but "it needs work," they said. I said that I was willing to do the work. How to start? We'll help you, they said. So I worked on Sky, the book, for weeks. The editors sent me more work. I did the work. One day I got a call from Groundwood Books to say that they were pleased with my edits and the board had decided to publish the book.

I held myself together enough to be able to thank the person on the other end of the phone; I hung up, sat down in a chair, and sobbed. I counted up how many years I had been working to create something that would be published rather than rejected. I counted that I had been working 25 years to see one of my stories published as a novel for young readers.

Once Sky was accepted for publication, I went to work on a book in free verse poetry, about a girl in Saskatchewan who suffers a catastrophic farming accident which alters her life, and how she works to recover from her life-long disability. As I thought about what I wanted to write, characters would come to me, as though each one sat beside me one by one and introduced themselves. I felt the presence of a large man sitting beside me, and quietly, I asked the presence his name. He said his name was Angus. That began the story The Crazy Man, over which I spent a year writing, and which later won the Governor General's Award for literature for young people. I still get cards and letters from readers about The Crazy Man and how some people say they keep the book on their bedside table and read from it their favourite parts.

I was having lunch with Patrick Lane some years ago, and he mentioned that it was as though the characters came across a kind of bridge in order to present themselves as part of the story. I said I had had a similar experience.

I wrote another book in free verse about WWII, titled I'll Be Watching which is read by students in high schools when teaching the second world war.

I came to fiction first because I wanted to tell Georgia's story. I came to poetry as a novel because I discovered from talking with students in schools that boys in particular will read a book in which there is a lot of white space on the page and often boys find reading such a book to be a relief and one they can enjoy rather that be overwhelmed by pages and pages filled with words. I have to say though, that for me, poetry really does come first for me.

As a child, I loved listening to to rhyming poetry, and as I grew up I looked for more books of poetry that would inspire me to write. I'm also a pianist, so music, and the music of words are important to me. The lyric for me is important, particularly in poetry. My father once gifted my mother with the Complete Poems of Robert Frost. One day when I was about 15, I finally drew up the courage to stand on a chair and take down that book, and I'd sit on the floor of my bedroom and read Frost's poems. I'd memorize many of them as I walked to school, though once I got to "Out, Out--" well, I didn't know what to do with that one, though over the years I realized what poetry can be in its many iterations.

How long does it take to start a writing project? Well, it depends on whether I see a novel in free verse or a poem of 15-30 lines. Sometimes the poem of 30 lines is more difficult because one may "worry the poem to death" when the poem is as good as it's going to get. Recently I uncovered the start of a poem and decided it just needed a little more attention. Sometimes first drafts appear fairly finished, though others may take much more time to come upon what the poet is working toward -- it is music that is needed, or some deft editing?

2 - How did you come to fiction first, as opposed to, say, poetry or non-fiction?
I came to fiction first when I wrote Sky, because I wanted to show readers, especially young readers the rough lives Georgia's family experienced in the flood: the discrimination, the poverty, so that young readers will have a glimpse into another person's poverty and struggle.

3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project? Does your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts appear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious notes?
It really depends on how much material you want to include in your writing project, whether prose is best -- and it can be a prose poem if that seems to be the way your brain is working, or it can open up to a story or a novel in prose. If the prose is working well, keep going. Some writers will present a piece of prose and then include a poem if it seems appropriate.

4 - Where does a poem or work of fiction usually begin for you? Are you an author of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a "book" from the very beginning?
Usually I want to start with a poem or several, or a whole book of poems. Two people in my life have passed fairly recently, so I have been writing poems about them and about their lives. That's not to say that one can't include prose poems or prose in conjunction with poetry, as long as there is a balance in the project.

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
I do enjoy doing readings, because if I may say so, I'm a very good reader to an audience. I was fortunate in middle school in that I had an excellent speech teacher, who taught us how to create space when speaking, and how to provide emphasis when needed and to speak in a way that allows listeners to take in everything you want to say.  I'm forever trying to get a speaker to learn how to use a microphone properly so that the audience will be able to understand all that is said.

6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the current questions are?
Yes, I want readers/listeners to hear clearly what a poem or paragraph or haiku is about, and how can the listener/reader best understand the poem or prose piece? In that manner, we need to speak clearly and naturally so that the information being delivered is clear.

The questions I want to answer in my work are those that are of significant importance: how should we live so that others can live fully as well? How can we write in a way that helps others to see the critical questions which we as a society need to answer? How can we be awake to those questions so that we can begin to live toward the answers? There is so much destruction and pain and poverty in many parts of the world -- how can we begin to discover the answers?

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Do they even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?
I believe the role of the writer is to ask the questions which the society at large needs to confront.

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
Both.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
Let another person whom you trust look through your work and give suggestions if needed.

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to novels)? What do you see as the appeal?
I tend to stick with poetry though recently I've been writing prose poems which is a kind of hybrid. One doesn't get the music of the lines as much as lined poetry, but it holds onto the visual elements, I think.

11 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?
Well, I have a writing group who keep me going and asking questions of the poems, or prose, which is always interesting.

12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
I look for books of poetry or of prose poems for inspiration.

13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
The pinon scent of New Mexico, where I was born.

14 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?
Visual art influences me, particularly Van Gogh.

15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
Music, whether written or sung or played on instruments.

16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
A book of poems with paintings: whose, I'm not sure.

17 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?
Probably, a teacher, though having to grade papers would be the end of me, I think.

18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
I wanted music in my life, and colour, and art.

19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
Esi Edugyan's Washington Black.

20 - What are you currently working on?
a collection of prose poems.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Nadine Sander-Green

Nadine Sander-Green grew up in Kimberley, British Columbia. After living across Canada—in Victoria, Toronto and Whitehorse—she now calls Calgary, Alberta, home. She completed her BFA from the University of Victoria and her MFA from the University of Guelph. In 2015, Nadine won the PEN Canada New Voices Award for writers under 30. Her writing has appeared in the Globe and Mail, Grain, Prairie Fire, Outside, carte blanche, Hazlitt and elsewhere.

1 - How did your first book change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?

Rabbit Rabbit Rabbit is my first book. Writing it for the past decade has been the most humbling and gratifying process. I wrote it living in different cities across the country, through marriage and divorce, suffering and healing from a chronic illness, pregnancy and the birth of my first child—this list goes on. Having the manuscript as a project to lean into during the highs and lows of my 20s and 30s, was, in retrospect, such a beautiful thing. It was a constant companion during the good times and propped me up through the hard times.

2 - How did you come to fiction first, as opposed to, say, poetry or non-fiction?

I was a journalist first, and then naturally shifted into essays when I wanted to dig into more creative projects. When I finally started to dabble into fiction about ten years ago, I felt a great relief and freedom to be able to just…make things up. I find the genre so much more joyous than non-fiction.

3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project? Does your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts appear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious notes?

I generally write slowly. When I sit down to write, I go back over what I wrote the day before to tinker and edit. That helps me get back in the flow of things and can take up much of the writing time. By the time I finally get to the end, my draft isn’t too far off from a final draft. Sometimes I wish I could write messy and just dive into the heat of the moment, but it doesn’t work like that for me.

4 - Where does a work of prose usually begin for you? Are you an author of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a "book" from the very beginning?

With Rabbit Rabbit Rabbit, I knew it was a book from the very beginning, but many other ideas start and stay as shorter pieces. A work begins with a certain feeling of heat and energy inside of me. I’ve learned to trust that feeling and that it means there is enough substance there to create a story with resonance. If I just go, Oh I would like to write about this character or this thing that happened to me, it’s not enough. It falls flat. As wishy-washy as it sounds, I wait for the energy in feeling or theme, and then I start from there and move towards story.

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?

I like doing readings. There’s a part of me that enjoys being in the spotlight for a few minutes and entertaining a crowd. I think I’m right on the cusp of the introvert-extrovert continuum, so I do get nervous for readings and I really only want to be on stage for a couple minutes, and then I’m happy to hide in the crowd again.

6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the current questions are?

I wouldn’t say I’m trying to answer any specific questions with my work. If I did frame it that way, I suspect it would paralyze my writing process and leave me with nothing on the page.

I do think a lot about who has the right to tell what story. These are not new questions, but do I write about a place—a land and a culture—from where I am not deeply rooted? If I visit or live in a place but then leave and write about it, am I “taking” stories that aren’t rightfully mine? When I wrote non-fiction, I felt deeply conflicted about writing about “real people”, and this is partly why I switched to fiction. The freedom in fiction is a relief on multiple levels.

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Do they even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?

I think the role of the writer is to cut through the theatrics of our everyday lives; to look deeper and see what’s there. Ever since I was a kid, I felt like there was a certain boredom to the daily routine of life. It was only when I started writing as a teenager when I understood that art is medicine for that unfulfilling feeling of solely living on the surface of life.

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?

Essential. As a journalist, I got used to the big, red editors’ marker and understand how helpful it was to have an outside perspective on my work. With my novel, Rabbit Rabbit Rabbit, my editor took it in directions I would never have thought of on my own. His keen eye made it a far better book.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?

Don’t obsess over renovating your body or renovating your home. It’s a never-ending cycle.

This advice isn’t particularly about writing, but I do think that if you want to have a deep writing life you have to put less energy into the more material, physical things of life.

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (short stories to the novel)? What do you see as the appeal?

The hardest leap for me was when I was much younger and moving from journalism to essays. I was so accustomed to writing short, quippy pieces that it was a challenge to go deeper into a piece and really let my mind wander. Once I got the hang of that, moving from essays to fiction was more of a breeze.

11 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?

When I was writing my novel, I managed to scrape enough money together to work part-time and then could spend a good chunk of the day writing. I usually wrote for about three hours. Now that I have a toddler, my writing life looks much different. When I do find time to write, it’s in short bursts while my son naps on the weekend, or during lunch hour in my office boardroom. Having a child has helped me be looser with me writing. I just don’t have time to be precious about it.

12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?

When I am deep in a writing project, I find reading books I love to be more of a distraction than an inspiration. I worry that my own voice will start to resemble that of my favourite writers instead of being authentically my own. Getting outside an going for a walk helps me immensely. It loosens the agitation and anxiety in my brain, that stuck feeling, and allows for ideas to flow again.

13 - What was your last Hallowe'en costume?

I haven’t dressed up in years. As an adult, I have never enjoyed Halloween. There’s something about the sickly-sweet candy and the booze and being forced to find a costume (last minute, for me) that never sat right with me. I also find Halloween is a time where the destructiveness in people comes out and it always puts me on edge.

That being said, I dressed my two-year-old son up as Einstein last year and it was a hoot.

14 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?

The wilderness inspires my work greatly. I grew up in a very outdoors-y family, and after a brief stint rejecting that lifestyle as a teenager, it’s always been a big part of my life. Living in the Yukon, in particular, defined my relationship with the land, which features prominently in my novel Rabbit Rabbit Rabbit. In my late 20s I went on a 16-day canoe trip in northern Yukon. Being immersed in the wild for that long changed everything from the way I saw myself to how I incorporate nature into my work.

15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?

I’ve been really into writers like Rachel Cusk and Deborah Levy, lately. There’s something so sharp about their work that I deeply admire. They don’t seem to care to stick to any rules about genre or style. There is never an explanation or self-deprecation, just a distilled, even steely, view of what it means to be a woman and a writer today. I find their work incredibility refreshing and I hope to be as confident and unapologetic as these two women one day.

16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?

Learn how to cook steak perfectly. Swim in Greece. Get my son ready for his first day of kindergarten. Adopt a dog. Teach a class at university. Take a long train trip.

17 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?

I’d like to be a therapist. I understand that dealing with the weight of other people’s problems every day would be exhausting, but I am just so intrigued by other people’s lives and how they work through their darkest times. I think it would be deep and meaningful work, like writing.

18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?

I was no good at anything else in high school, when I was thinking of what I wanted to pursue in university. To be honest, I was no good at writing either, but I had an inspiring creative writing teacher who made me feel like writing was a worthwhile thing to do with your life. I started my degree in creative writing quite young, at 17, and again, I really didn’t have the life experience or wisdom to write anything meaningful, but it was all practice and I truly believe practice is everything. At some point in my 20s I realized there was nothing quite like the feeling of having written for a few hours, and I have followed that feeling ever since.

19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?

I’m going to go back to Deborah Levy here, and her brilliant memoir The Cost of Living. After going through a divorce, she rents out a shed in an artist friend’s backyard and finds a new way of living. It’s somehow inspiring and bleak at the same time, which I find true to much of life.

As for films, I’ll jump on the bandwagon and say that Past Lives, from Korean-Canadian filmmaker Celine Song, has stayed with me for a long time. It hits the tone of bittersweet just perfectly.

20 - What are you currently working on?

I have a couple different idea for novels floating through my head, but I am in the thick of early motherhood right now and haven’t figured out how to dedicate significant time writing. I shaped my 20s and early 30s around writing and now the task is to figure out how to write when it feels like every hour of the day is taken up by these beautiful and complicated little people. At the same time, I’m trying to allow myself to transform as a woman and I understand my artistic practice might look very different for the next few years.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Deepa Rajagopalan

Deepa Rajagopalan [photo credit: Ema Suvajac] won the 2021 RBC/PEN Canada New Voices Award. Her work has appeared in literary magazines and anthologies such as the Bristol Short Story Prize Anthology, the New Quarterly, Room, the Malahat Review, Event and ARC. She has an MFA in creative writing from the University of Guelph. Born to Indian parents in Saudi Arabia, she has lived in many cities across India, the US and Canada. Deepa works in the tech industry in Toronto.

1 - How did your first book or chapbook change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?

Peacocks of Instagram is my first full length book. It’s coming out in May 2024, and I hope it will find its readers. I have been warned about the anticlimactic nature of publishing your first book, but I hope it will change my life in some way.

The writing of the book has been life changing. The way something changes your life slowly, like watching the sun set over the ocean, or clouds drifting away. I have lived with the characters in this book for so long, and their experiences, triumphs, joys, heartbreaks, have given me that ‘something beyond the daily life,’ that Virginia Woolf talked about.

2 - How did you come to short stories first, as opposed to, say, poetry or non-fiction?

I have a natural inclination to say things quickly and concisely. Taking up space, meandering, slowing down, were not part of my South Asian upbringing. So, the short story came to me naturally. I am continually amazed by the challenge that the short story offers: to tell something so universally true, and singularly so. To make the reader feel something in fifteen pages or less.

3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project? Does your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts appear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious notes?

Typically, the writing comes to me quickly, though I am anxious through the first few of drafts, until I find the bones of the story. I enjoy the revision process, combing through the prose over and over again until I’m satisfied with the words, the sentences, and the shape of them. Nine out of ten times, the final version is nothing like the first draft, except perhaps the opening paragraph.

4 - Where does a work of prose usually begin for you? Are you an author of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a "book" from the very beginning?’

I think I am always working on a “book.” Even while writing short pieces, I am trying to understand how they are in conversation with each other. How different each story can be, and yet be part of the same world.

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?

I love seeing an audience’s reaction to new material, what moves them, what does not land the way you thought it would. However, I typically read something in public only when I feel it is ready.

6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the current questions are?

I think writing is always trying to answer some kind of questions. The questions depend on what you are obsessed or preoccupied with, and what is going on around you, and in the world. For years, I have been consumed by questions about agency, about the powerful and the powerless. How does the world order dictate who has power now, and who has had power for millennia? What do ordinary people do when they are denied agency or find themselves utterly helpless in the wake of cruelties, big and small? How do they take power, or diminish themselves?

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Do they even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?

Arundhati Roy said in an interview that she enjoys the way the Russian writers “refuse to stay in their lanes. Especially now that the traffic regulations are getting stricter, the lanes are getting narrower and more constricted.”

The role of the writer should be to say the truth about the atrocities in the world, while not denying its beauty and its joy. To say that which is uncomfortable, as plainly and articulately as possible, without fear.

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?

I’ve always appreciated getting feedback on my work. Most of the time, I comb through the feedback, and instinctively know what I need to take, leave, or tweak. Sometimes, it can be difficult, but the difficulty comes from making sure you retain your voice, while considering edits. I had the good fortune of working with my editor, Shirarose Wilensky, on my short story collection, Peacocks of Instagram, who was gentle with me, and most importantly understood my intentions.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?

It’s hard to pick one thing, but there’s something Murakami said about running that is resonating with me today: “Being active every day makes it easier to hear than inner voice.”

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (short stories to the novel)? What do you see as the appeal?

It is not easy for me to move between the genres. It takes me some time to untangle myself from one and move into the other. I usually work on one form for stretches of time.

11 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?

I try to stick to a routine, though it is not always consistent. I usually wake up at dawn or earlier, have some coffee or tea, and write for a couple of hours before the day makes its demands of me. Over weekends, I spend longer periods of time writing. When I am working on a project, I am always thinking about it, so I can write anywhere. At home, in airports, cafes, the hospital waiting room.

12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?

I turn to books. I have a stack of books by my desk that I turn to when I can’t seem to keep going. Norwegian Wood by Murakami, The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy, How to Pronounce Knife by Souvankham Thammavongsa, Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri, to name a few.

13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?

The smell of campfire, though I don’t know why.

14 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?

Being in nature always infuses me with creative energy. It helps me think better, and be more flexible with my ideas, allowing stories to go where they want to go.

15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?

Alice Munro, Chekhov, Murakami, Kazuo Ishiguro, Orhan Pamuk, Arundhati Roy, Jhumpa Lahiri, Hemmingway, I can go on and on…

16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?

Music moves me deeply, and I’d like to take vocal lessons. I’d want to sing, even if I am mediocre at it.

17 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?

I’ve had a long career in information technology, I ran a business, taught yoga, taught math and creative writing, but the work that makes everything else tolerable is writing. I think I’d always be able to find something to do, but without writing, I’d be a lot less happy, and perhaps insufferable.

18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?

I am a sensitive person, deeply affected by everything around me. Writing helps me make sense of life, to ease some of its pain, and to help see its beauty. I’d be miserable if I didn’t write.

19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?

I read a story titled My Good Friend by Juliana Leite (translated by Zoë Perry) in the Paris Review last Fall, and since then I think about it at least once a week. It is a love story between the narrator and her good friend who is losing his memory. It is masterful and reveals the kind of everlasting love that withstands decades and spouses and children.

I watched this movie Past Lives recently, and it shattered me, in the best possible way. The film has a singular, haunting texture, that I think would be interesting to explore in prose.

20 - What are you currently working on?

I’ve been working on a novel, that follows the lives of three characters, whose lives are inextricably linked by a single tragedy that takes place in a small town in Saudi Arabia.

I was travelling recently and took a break from the novel and started a new short story. I’m attempting to write a love story, which is difficult for me as I am naturally cynical. But this one seems to be coming along well. I think I’m going to give it a happy ending.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;