12 or 20 (second series) questions with Shannon Robinson
Born andraised in Ottawa, Shannon Robinson is author of The Ill-Fitting Skin,winner of the Press 53 Award for Short Fiction. Her writing has appeared in TheGettysburg Review, The Iowa Review, Joyland, The Hopkins Review, andelsewhere. She holds an MFA in fiction from Washington University in St. Louis,and in 2011 she was the Writer-in-Residence at Interlochen Center for the Arts.Other honours include Nimrod's Katherine Anne Porter Prize for Fiction,grants from the Elizabeth George Foundation and the Canada Council for theArts, a Hedgebrook Fellowship, a Sewanee Scholarship, and an Independent ArtistAward from the Maryland Arts Council. She teaches creative writing at JohnsHopkins University.
1 - Howdid your first book or chapbook change your life? How does your most recentwork compare to your previous? How does it feel different?
Thepublication of The Ill-Fitting Skin, my debut short story collection,comes at a time in my life when I already have significant milestones behindme, so it does not feel “life-changing” ... but it does give me a great senseof accomplishment. My most recent work feels like a continuation of my olderstuff in that it’s concerned with similar themes (notably, female experienceand nurturing). I think my newer work is more confident, although my olderstories have benefited from recent revisions.
2 - Howdid you come to fiction first, as opposed to, say, poetry or non-fiction?
I’dalways loved fiction, but I never tried writing it: I admired it at a safedistance. As a teenager, I wrote the obligatory terrible poems—I was verypreoccupied with the prospect of nuclear Armageddon. (Those fears have now beendisplaced by fears of climate disaster.) At university, I wrote comedy revuesketches and feminist/cultural commentary/humour pieces for the studentnewspaper and later for community radio. I started writing fiction after Imoved to the United States and wasn’t legally entitled to work in the country;my husband, a poet,suggested that I take a creative writing class. I wrote my first story, and thatwas it: I knew I wanted to keep doing this for the rest of my life. It was likeone of those dreams where you discover a room in your house that you never knewexisted.
3 - Howlong does it take to start any particular writing project? Does your writinginitially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts appear lookingclose to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious notes?
How longdoes it take? Forever. Whenever I readinterviews with authors who say “I wrote this all over the course of one,intense evening …” I am filled with wonder and envy. Sometimes certain imagesor ideas will be gestating in my head for years before I push them onto paper.An initial draft may take weeks or months; I do several drafts and will makesubstantial edits. I’ve gone back to stories years later to make changes—toadjust some emotional turn or stretch of dialogue that never quite felt right,or no longer feels right.
4 - Wheredoes a work of fiction usually begin for you? Are you an author of short piecesthat end up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a"book" from the very beginning?
For me, awork of fiction begins with some preoccupation—some point of fascination,something that has a buzz of ambiguity and ambivalence. I press on that tenderspot; I go into that cave for narrative and characters. As I was writing thesestories, I wasn’t initially working toward a book—but eventually I could seethat they presented a thematic coherence that would make for a good short storycollection.
5 - Arepublic readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sortof writer who enjoys doing readings?
Iabsolutely love doing readings! I’m anex-theatre kid, and I’ve always enjoyed performance. My favourite events are ones with multiplereaders: these have great energy. I tendto read finished pieces rather than work in progress, so I wouldn’t sayreadings are part of my creative process … but I do think readings help authorsbuild readership. I have some events set up for the upcoming months, and I’mlooking to add more.
6 - Doyou have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questionsare you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the currentquestions are?
I trynot to be too “theory forward,” because I think initial certainty can be thedeath of good fiction-writing. That said, I think fiction is an excellent placeto explore fraught territory, be it emotional, social, philosophical, political… and I definitely have opinions … which I am always willing to unsettle. I am interested in maternity; I’m interestedin women’s anger; I’m interested in shame and forgiveness and emotional hunger.A phrase that echoed through my head as I was writing the stories for TheIll-Fitting Skin was a line from Margaret Atwood’s The Edible Woman:one character declares “Florence Nightingale was a cannibal.” If women aresynonymous with nurturing, who are we if we botch the job of caring forothers? How do we care for ourselves ifwe are socialized against our own interests?
7 – Whatdo you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Do they evenhave one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?
SometimesI feel like the Russell Crowe character at the beginning of Gladiator:“Hold the line! Hold the line!” he shouts, standing with his troops while theGermanic army thunders towards them. (In this metaphor, the approaching armystands for AI, corporate capitalist forces, conservative-driven censorship, orany entity hostile to creative endeavours.) Or maybe writers are better cast asthe “Barbarians,” charging wildly against the establishment and received ideas…?
I thinka writer’s role should be to entertain, to provoke thought, and to imaginativelyengage our empathy. I’m not going totell anyone what their art should be, but maybe let’s not encourage people tolean into their pettiest, cruelest, and most selfish inclinations.
8 - Doyou find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential(or both)?
I thinkit’s important to have an outside reader for work in progress. That may be aneditor, but it also might be friend or a fellow writer (or both) who caresenough about you and your writing to tell you what’s working and what isn’t. I’verelied on the feedback of my husband (James Arthur, the aforementioned poet)and on my writing workshop, who are all women I did my MFA with, years ago:Katya Apekina, Emily Robbins, and Lia Silver. They have all cheered me on andhelped me sort out problems. For my short story collection, I worked withfiction editor Claire Foxx, who provided invaluable line edits, particularly onmy older stories. I have a graduate degree in English, but Shannon of the Pastclearly did not understand comma splices. I am humbled by and grateful for eachand every correction.
9 - Whatis the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to youdirectly)?
Yearsago, I was talking with Jean McGarry, and I was struck by something she said: knowwhen you’ve arrived. That is to say, don’t waste time doubting yourself, justget on with it. Doubt will always be part of the writing process. And I thinkit’s easy for women especially to feel like doubt and self-disparagement are therent you pay for any current position of accomplishment. No need for that.
10 - Whatkind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How doesa typical day (for you) begin?
Am I partof the 5:00 a.m. club? Nope. I would sleep in until noon every day, but someonehas to feed the cats. And drive everyone to school. I am one of thosehypocritical writing instructors who tells her students that you must “writeevery day,” and then I fail to do so. During the academic year, my mind andtime are taken over by teaching, and I get very little writing done, but duringthe summer, I do write every day, for at least two hours. In the evenings, wecook elaborate meals and then watch a movie.
11 - Whenyour writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of abetter word) inspiration?
When mywriting is stalled, I turn to novels and short stories that I’ve been eager toread. I think we should all ignore that voice in the back of our heads thatsays we shouldn’t read others’ work when we’re trying to write, lest we bediscouraged by its comparative awesomeness or find ourselves unduly influenced… I always find that good writing juststokes my own fire. If you’re reading fiction, you’re still engaging yourimagination, but you’re giving your unconscious mind a chance to do some workon its own.
12 - Whatfragrance reminds you of home?
I thinkof several places as “home”: Baltimore(where I live now, in a three-story pre-war house with various eccentricities);Toronto (where I lived for seventeen years, in university dorm rooms andvarious apartments); Ottawa—and in particular, the house that was my childhoodhome, which has been sold, so in a way, it no longer exists. When I think ofthat home, I think of the smell of simmering Bolognese sauce. Or “spaghettisauce,” as we called it, because it was the 80s and we weren’t fancy.
13 -David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any otherforms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?
I’vealways been drawn to visual art and to music that might seem, on the surface,to be whimsical, and yet contains darkness and turbulence. As a child, I wasfascinated by Beatrix Potter’s illustrations, which are all delicately renderedanthropomorphized animals … engagedin acts of destruction and predation. I foundthe Beatles interesting, too: sure, the melodies are sweet, but you can justfeel the anger rolling off those guys, particularly Lennon and McCartney. Recently, I’ve been interested in the work ofMax Ernst—his surreal collage, which is full of sexy Victorian nightmarishdanger. And in Bjork’s music: peoplethink she’s cute, but her songs go through you like a crystal knife.
14 - Whatother writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your lifeoutside of your work?
Writerswho’ve been important to me include Alice Munro, Margaret Atwood, Toni Morrison, John Cheever, George Saunders, Kazuo Ishiguro, Lorrie Moore, Shirley Jackson, and Gabriel Garcia Marquez. This is by no means a complete list! I’mconstantly in the process of discovering writers who inspire me. It’s alwaysexciting come across a story and think, “Dang,” (see Ottawa author André Alexis’s tragicomic masterpiece, “Houyhnhnm”) or “Wherehas this been all my life?” (see Ambrose Bierce’s weird and magical “AnOccurrence at Owl Creek Bridge”).
15 - Whatwould you like to do that you haven't yet done?
I wouldlike to publish a novel. I’m working on it.
16 - Ifyou 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 awriter?
Thiswould involve going back in time … but I think I would be either an actor or apsychiatrist. As a younger person, bothpaths were appealing to me. Currently, as a writer, I sort of get to combineaspects of both those professions.
17 - Whatmade you write, as opposed to doing something else?
Inanswering this question, it was so tempting to look to see how other writersresponded—whether they all said some variation of “masochism” or “stubbornness”or claimed they write because they’re “not good at anything else.” You know—jokey answers that are nonethelesstruthful. Writing is the most difficult and the most frustrating thing I’veever done, but it’s also the most stimulating and the most satisfying. And yes,there’s a certain amount of sheer bloody-mindedness. And attention-seeking.Writing is the perfect intersection of my introversion with myextroversion.
18 - Whatwas the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
I justfinished reading Rachel Yoder’s Nightbitch. Incredible. The last great film I saw was KennethBranagh’s Belfast. Likewise.
19 - Whatare you currently working on?
I’mworking on a novel about a Victorian baby killer, based on an historical figure.I’m writing at the same time as doing research, and I’m wrestling with the ideaof form and historical fiction. I’ve just started reading Rachel Cantor’s Half-Lifeof a Stolen Sister, which looks at the Brontë sisters through akaleidoscope of the past and contemporary, using (to quote the jacket copy) “diaries,letters, home movies, television and radio interviews, deathbed monologues, andfragments from the sprawling invented worlds of the siblings’ childhood.” It’sbrilliant, and it’s really opening up my thoughts on what a neo-Victorian novelmight look like.
