(Conducted by Sarah Alouf via e-mail)
What first drew you to writing? Why do you
write?
I remember being fascinated by words early
on. How much of this was inborn, I don’t know, but my parents read
to me, my grandparents told stories, and my mother played word games, all
of which I’m sure contributed. I began writing because I loved poems
-- the fact that words could cast an emotional spell -- and wanted to make
some. As I made the transition from being an outgoing child to a
fairly shy adolescent, writing offered an important way of expressing myself.
It brought me delight and insight, comfort and hope. It still does.
I write because it’s my way of understanding and loving the world, of participating
in the ongoing work of creation.
What do you enjoy most about writing?
I enjoy getting carried away. Willa
Cather said, “To be dissolved into something whole and great, that is happiness,”
and while what I’m writing may not be “whole and great,” the creative process
is and I write for that joy. I also love the newness of it, the breathtaking
moment when a piece of writing comes alive and you know it has something
you couldn’t give it.
How has your life influenced your writing?
Asking how my life has influenced my writing is
like asking how rain and dirt and sunshine influence a garden. I
don’t mean that most things I write are autobiographical, just that I would
not be the lens that I am if I had a different life.
Do you have a particular writing process that
you go through?
My ideal process, when I’m home and things
are balanced, is to get up early and write a while before fixing breakfast
& making lunch for my son. Those first words of the day are usually
a poem draft, and I like to write in the living room by the window, rather
than at my desk. This writing is close dream, which gives it a special
quality. After Joey goes to school, I go upstairs to my writing room and
work at my desk on whatever project is underway. Sometimes
I begin by lighting a candle and saying or singing a prayer. Then
I may need to reread work from the day before to get started. If
so, I always read out loud so I can hear the voice. I write by hand and
enjoy using different shades of ink. Morning is the best time for new writing,
so I protect that time against phone calls and job-related work if at all
possible. And I’ve learned not to check the e-mail. It’s so
easy to lose concentration, to have my focus scatter like marbles dumped
from a sack. Around mid-day I exercise --right now I’m doing yoga
-- and after lunch I either go back to the morning project (revising if
I’m “written out”) or take on business work (such as this interview).
Last year I had forty-seven jobs, so that’s a lot to prepare for and keep
up with. Reading and journal writing come mostly in the evening,
after school pick-up, housework, cooking, etc.
How is your writing process different when
writing poetry, novels, and children’s books?
When I’m beginning a piece of creative writing
(an essay would be different), the process is the same, regardless of what
it genre I’m working in. At the outset, I may well not know what
the genre is anyway. I sit with the page. I listen for a voice.
I write WHATEVER comes into my head, no matter how nonsensical or confused,
just to make way for whatever will emerge. My job is not to question
or evaluate. If it wants short lines, I make short lines. If
it’s a one-sentence page, I let it go that way. I just try to keep
the pen moving. Of course, a lot of this writing never results in
a product. I just have to trust that it nurtures the process. If
the voice which appears is a child’s, and if the writing feels like a picture
book, then eventually I’ll start thinking about page breaks, and I’ll make
a 32-page dummy to see how the words fit in. If it’s a poem, I may try
different line breaks, which give different rhythms and emphasis, or I
may see if what I have lends itself to a fixed form. If it feels like it’s
going to be a novel, then I generally try to write a new segment each day.
These may or may not be in sequence or in the same voice. I don’t
lay out the plot or make a chapter outline. I’ve tried that and it
was a mistake for me. It killed the book. But for some writers
that’s the best way. There’s no right way; there’s just the struggle
to find what works for you. And that may change.
What do you hope to teach children with your
children’s books?
I hope to learn from children.
What do you enjoy most about working with children?
Paula Fox writes that “[c]hildren are not
a race apart but ourselves when new.” It’s that newness I love to
be close to in working with chldren. It’s questions like “Did you
ever make a big mistake?” and “How can you tell if a rhinoceros likes you?”
that let me know I’m in the right place when speaking to fifth graders
(1st question) or kindergartners (2nd).
What advice do you have for young writers?
Advice: Read & write a lot.
Be playful. Enjoy where words take you, what they show you.
Don’t worry about writing competitions or about publishing. Don’t
compare your work to anybody else’s. Just let it grow as you grow.
It’s helped me to read biographies and autobiographies of other writers,
to see how they developed. (Richard Owen’s Meet-the-Author series
is a good source for primary-aged readers.) It also helps to share
your work with others who love the process. (My writers group, which
meets once a month is still very important to me.)
In “A Wordful Child,” you say, “revision is
what makes you a writer.” Any advice to make the process easier/more
enjoyable?
Revision. First of all, read it out
loud. Your ears may tell you things your eyes don’t tell you. Second,
look for ways to take yourself by surprise. For example, you might
try listing the things you didn’t say in a poem or story to see if any
of them would improve what you have now. You might try changing the
story’s point of view or beginning a poem with the last line and writing
from there . . . you might put the original away and try to write at least
the beginning without looking at it and see what you get. Or you
could tell it to a friend and see if something new emerges. In writers
group, revision often begins with a question someone asks after I read
the piece in question. Maybe some part wasn’t clear or maybe the
listener liked it but wants more. Questions can shine light on the
writing road.
In Catalpa, you tell stories through many different
voices. Do you do anything to prepare for each voice?
Voices. Well, I listen a lot all the
time. I carry a little notebook in my pocketbook where I write down
interesting things people say and/or interesting ways of speaking.
So I’m developing my ear as well as my ability to transcribe that talk
every day. Then when I come to the page, I listen. I don’t
know how to describe this, but it’s sort of like watching a branch until
a bird lands. You just sit there. You just be still.
And when the voice “lands,” I don’t say “That’s not good enough” or “I
can’t write that down.. It doesn’t make sense,” any more than you
would say, “Wrong bird!” to the cardinal or goldfinch or unfamiliar bird
that hooked the branch in its feet. It’s your bird, whatever it is.
Once it’s there, you watch what it does. You follow it through
your binoculars or whatever. So I do with the voice. I follow
it and one thing leads to another. Whether it will lead to something
anyone else will care to read, I have no idea. My job isn’t to judge
but to stay with it, to give my energy and time to what I’ve been given,
despite the uncertainty.
How did you choose “Mystery of the Making Place”
for your residency theme? What does this phrase mean to you?
“The mystery of the making place” comes from
the closing lines of my picture book Who Came Down that Road? and
I wanted to emphasize that this residency is not just about my writing
but about a process that’s open to anybody. I believe that the ability
to create is sacred, that it belongs to everybody, and I hope to invite
those who come to each session into that process.
In A Wordful Child, you say that you
have over 60 journals. What does journal writing do for you?
Do you ever look back through your journals for inspiration?
Journal writing keeps me in touch with my
inner life, my dreams and fears, my shadow as well as my playful side.
And it helps me hold onto riches that would otherwise slip away:
things my kids say, questions, moments of surprise or understanding, jokes,
memories. And yes, I do go back to them for energy and insight (such as
that writing a previous book also gave me fits!) and to recapture
things I’ve forgotten.