a little bit about my writing life

file under: solicited advice

I visited an acquaintance’s “Writing for Publication” class on Zoom today, and the students had some very good questions for me. I thought that I’d take the time to paraphrase their questions and my thoughts here because it’s always helpful for me to know how other writers approach these issues. I hope it can be helpful for you to see how I approach these issues.

Q: How do you know when a piece is done and ready to send out?

A: In the beginning, I didn’t know when my work was finished, so I asked people to tell me whether *they* thought it was finished. This was my thesis advisor during my MFA program, then my dissertation advisor during my PhD program, but it could be anyone who you respect. Now I have enough confidence to trust my own judgment, but I think that I’ve earned that confidence.

In this episode of Vibe Check with Saeed Jones, Zach Stafford, and Penn Badgley, they talked about how artists and creators need to have a certain amount of self-delusion in order to keep doing their work, but it shouldn’t be blind hubris. I approach my work that way: I tell myself that it’s good enough and that I’m worthy of publication and recognition, but I also try not to devolve into overconfidence, which tends to make people lazy.

Q: I tend to obsess and overthink my work. How do you avoid that?

A: I don’t. I obsess and overthink my work too, and I think that’s a completely normal part of the process that should be embraced.

Q: Do you think that writers need distance before writing about a traumatic subject?

A: I think this is a nuanced question. The reality is that, when I wrote Goodbye, Sweet Girl, I didn’t have a lot of distance from the traumatic event, and that was difficult in ways, but also, my goal with that book was to show people why I loved my ex-husband. In order to do that, I had to access the memories of the parts of him that I loved. Realistically, I’ve grown and healed so much since then that I wouldn’t be able to access those memories of love, so if I’d waited until I had the distance, then I wouldn’t have been able to write the book that I was able to write.

I’m not sure that we always need to put a decade of distance between our traumas and our decision to write about them. The writer should be safe, of course, but writing can also require a somewhat visceral connection to the experience. In that way, I don’t think that writing and healing always work in tandem with each other. For me, they’re very separate processes. I write first, heal later. The writing is almost like a purging or “exorcism” as Chrissy Tolley once called it. My healing can only come after the exorcism.

Q: We’ve been talking about writing towards the aesthetic of journals that you want to publish in. What would you say the aesthetic of Best American Essays is?

A: It changes every year depending on the guest editor, but the series editor, Robert Atwan, does the initial culling of essays that are sent to the guest editor, and my experience of publishing with Bob and having multiple essays selected as notables has shown me that he likes essays that are somewhat quiet, that he’s not opposed to personal essays (but they should be idea-driven in some way), that he likes imagery, and that he enjoys work that’s formally and structurally challenging. Also, I have never submitted my own work to Best American Essays, but you can and should submit your own work. Alexander Chee posted the guidelines on Twitter (X), and though this was in 2022, I doubt that they have changed much.

Q: What would you say that your own writing aesthetic is? Why do you think that you’re drawn to the essay?

A: I started out writing poetry in my undergraduate program, and I think that I was a pretty good poet, but when I took an introduction to creative nonfiction class, I realized that I could use all of that lyrical language of poetry in prose, and that is what I have done ever since. I define “lyric” writing as language-driven and “narrative” writing as plot-driven, and I’m much more interested in lyric writing. I have very little interest in plot. Most of my essays center around an image or idea. I love collage and braided essays, and I like working with different essay structures.

The book that I’m working on now is very different than my first book [I just realized that I never announced the book here, so if you don’t follow me on social media, Hi! I’m publishing a second book!] This book is weird. It was a book that wasn’t the easiest to sell for that reason, but it landed in just the right place (with Roxane Gay Books), and with Roxane as my editor, I know I’ll have the freedom to write the weird book that I want to write.

I’ve realized that I have to separate my writing from my need to make money. I see people who live off of their writing having to really hustle, to think about “audience,” to pump out content, and to sell their work and themselves. There is nothing wrong with that, but I don’t want to have to hustle like that, nor do I want to need to monetize what I create or myself.

I like the artistic freedom that having a stable job and steady salary affords me. That’s a privilege, I know, but if I didn’t have my academic job, I honestly think that I’d choose to work at Trader Joe’s before I’d try to freelance for a living. Capitalism sucks, and it sucks to be a writer under capitalism, but this is the world that we live in, and my bills need to be paid.

Q: The writing world is built on networking and connections. How do you navigate that?

A: I’m allergic to networking. I think that, when someone is networking, it’s very visible, and people are turned off by that. I have made a lot of important connections during my time as a writer, but I’ve done that by being earnest and sincere. I’m also allergic to being “fake” (this might be an ADHD thing), so if I approach someone, it’s almost always going to come from a place of genuine enthusiasm and wanting to connect on some level as humans. I don’t see relationships as transactional.

I also take opportunities when they’re presented to me. I gave my first public reading in New York City for Guernica at McNally Jackson books. I was a second-year PhD student, and it was intimidating and scary as hell, but when the editors invited me, I knew that it was an opportunity I had to take. It wasn’t a paid gig, but I paid for it with my travel funding from my PhD program (again, a privilege that academia afforded me). While I was in New York, I had breakfast with an editor from Henry Holt (I accepted her invitation despite my shyness!) who ended up connecting me with my agent. When I was working on my memoir, Rebecca Solnit made a comment on Facebook that maybe I could housesit for her sometime, and I messaged her and said that, if she was serious, I’d love to do it. Months later, I spent two weeks in her beautiful Victorian in San Francisco. These are just a couple of examples, but I have lots of them because I say yes whenever I can.

I’m always amazed by how many people simply do not accept the opportunities that are right in front of them because the opportunities are scary, or inconvenient, or logistically challenging. (Financial obstacles, however, are very real, and I definitely do understand that.) The most “connected” writers that I know are genuine, sincere, enthusiastic, and unafraid to accept a challenge or try something new.

If you made it this far, thank you, and I hope this was helpful! If you have any questions for me, please feel free to ask them in the comments, and I’ll answer. Happy Writing and Happy Samhain!